Deception (Michael Clifford)

Twenty Eight

I toy with the wet glass in my right hand, the golden liquid circling around at the bottom. The sound of laughter and chatter can be heard over the noise of the music.

A relaxed environment. I think to myself.
I lift my head up from studying the green placemat under my glass, and look around. Dark, rosy coloured wood boards stretch across the floor, and rise up the wall on the left side where a group of gentleman are playing darts. To the right, is a stage, where a cover band is entertaining the crowd that have made their way onto the dance floor. Surrounding that, is a decent number of marble patterned tables, most occupied by an aggregation of highly dressed ladies and their partners. But not too formal. I note. This is a bar after all.
Behind me, I look carefully over my shoulder, I make out the shape of 3 boys slouched back in one of the black leather sofas. Their eyes pass to each other as they laugh happily, clinking their glasses together and celebrating the great show they just played.

I swivel back and pick up my drink, taking a swig from the strong, sweet scented liquor and watching as a bartender quickly runs to serve a customer.
The band insisted on coming here straight after the show, high off the exhilarating set they just played to an arena of around 20,000 people.
I don't remember seeing Michael with them.
Somehow I let myself be persuaded to come. To be honest, I'd have rather gone straight back to the hotel, shedding off the days events with a nice hot shower and collapsing into bed. But then I remembered that my mum would be there, and probably insist on having a conversation as to my disappearance the other night.
That's why I'm now sat alone at some bar in the middle of London, my cold hand wrapped around a nearly empty glass of Stella.
I pull my hand out from under my chin and press my phone for the time.
12:27am.
I sigh.
We're flying out early tomorrow. Not that the guys seem to care. They're probably used to waking up and catching planes to the next city with a throbbing hangover.
I swig down the last of my drink and slide off the bar stool. Grabbing my phone and purse.
So much for trying to drown my emotions with alcohol, I should know by now that it has the opposite affect on me.

I look around to the little booth at the back of the bar, the low table littered with half empty glasses and bottles, and make my way over. Ashton sits lazily in one of the arm chairs, laughing over his hand at Calum who's waving his hands animatedly.
I approach from behind, and cough slightly.
He turns and looks up at me.
"Oh hey Scar," he says, still giggling at whatever Calum is talking about. Well if he did see what happened at the show, he's masking it very well.
"Hey, um, I'm just letting you know I'm heading back, ill see you guys tomorrow." I pull my jacket around me self consciously.
"Yeah that's cool! We'll see you tomorrow, and thanks for coming, hope you enjoyed yourself."
Yeah, I had a great time.
I smile and say good bye to the others, then turn and head for the door.
Feeling like I don't really have any right to be in here in the first place.

I asked mum to pick me up earlier, via text. The answer was no. 'I'm not picking you up at that time of night when it's only a 10 minute walk around the corner.'
I guess it saves her from having to ask for permission to borrow the van. But I doubt it somehow. A part of me says she just doesn't want to do me any favours, not after I disappeared over night without letting her know where I went.
My defence was that she didn't even notice I was gone, so she couldn't have been that worried about me.
Needless to say she hasn't spoken to me in the last two days.
Plus it's not like I went far, I was in safe company.
I shake my head and push open the door.
The cold almost knocks me over as soon as I step outside, I breath in the icy air and feel it sting my nostrils.
Why is London always like the inside of a fridge?
At least it's only a short walk, I tell myself.
Quickly I zip up my thin, cotton jacket, and pull my hair further around my face, trying to protect my ears.
Then start walking.

I get no further than a few metres down the cracked sidewalk, before I hear the door swing open again, the noise from inside the bar drifting out into the crisp night air.
"Scar!"
I turn around as suddenly as my name is called.
Michael stands in the door way.
"Mind if I walk with you?" He asks quickly.
I stare at him, incredulous. He holds open the door with one hand, the warm glow from inside the bar catches on his jet black hair, making the edges shimmer with gold. A thick black jacket hangs off him, decorated with zips and buckles, which perfectly frames his soft shoulders. And his uniform black jeans and combat boots.
I look up at him, his eyes flickering like a thousand tiny stars.
"Sure," I gulp, hoping he didn't see my hesitation.
He steps out and lets the door swing closed behind him, once again cutting off the chat and laughter coming from inside.
I watch as he approaches, then turn around and begin to walk.
What the hell is he doing? You've been ignoring me for the last 2 days.
And where did you come from? I think silently. I could have sworn he didn't come tonight, at least, I didn't see him get into any of the vans leaving the venue.
And I didn't notice him hanging around with the boys inside.
I look at him out the corner of my eye, his legs taking shorter strides than he normally does, as if he's trying to match my pace. I notice as well, how he immediately took up the side closest to the road.