Deception (Michael Clifford)

Thirty

And that was it.
The concert drew to a close, the band came off stage, shining with exhilaration and sweat, to be instantly surrounded by eager assistants, cheery faced managers and publicists. Because that's what it all is isn't it? A publicity stunt. Here in Los Angeles anyway...
Image counts.
I drag the rucksack over my shoulder and follow wearily at the back of the group, leaving behind the empty dressing room and it's blank, staring white walls. The noise of the crew up ahead echoes down through the hall, toward a set of double doors at the far end. I doubt they'll be heading straight back home tonight, despite the hangover they all suffered this morning, a party is in store. Because hey, why waist a good opportunity to get drunk?

I shake my head and look down at my tattered shoes, treading softly across the grey carpet floor of the corridor. It's about 10pm. And even though it is considered early, my eyelids are heavy. I didn't exactly get much sleep on the plane. I can't wait to get back. Back to a small room, back to the privacy, back to a comfortable bed.
I look up and watch as the band is escorted down the corridor, Dave taking up the space behind them, the nimble assistants and techs following shoulder to shoulder, two abreast. The rest of the crew tagging along behind. And then me. I leave a decent gap.
But despite this. There's a small, nagging feeling in my chest. I clutch more tightly onto my strap. Like an invisible rope pulling me down the corridor. I watch as they swing open the door at the end of the white hallway. I can't explain it, it's been happening all night. This feeling that I need to do something, that I need to go somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it. It's putting me on edge.
As I pull up in front of the heavy double doors, the light from inside spilling out onto the pavement, I get a funny taste in my mouth. Metallic. I touch the side of my cheek and realise I've been biting the inside of my lip. I stop, and push open the door.

The herd that is the crew has moved across the backlot, and towards the three waiting vans on the opposite side, idling under the harsh light of the venue. Large trucks are parked around the edges in orderly lines, silent for now, and stacks of fencing sit pressed up against the dark walls.
I sigh.
This is the last ill see of all this for the next three weeks. After tonight, there'll be no more shows until we move onto the next city, which they still haven't told us. Not that I mind. I'm used to changing cities with only a days notice. But my mind isn't on that, it's on the fact that Kellin and the guys are currently staying in the same city, and considering I haven't seen them in months, I'm beyond excited. Whilst everything else changes around me, they are the only thing that remains the same.

I spot my mum waiting by one of the vans. Her thin hands twitching nervously as she looks from each of the vehicles, and doesn't find me. I take a deep breath, and start forwards.
"Scar." An urgent whisper comes from somewhere on my right. I freeze. Looking around at the thick shadows that cling to the walls. But it's too dark, my eyes still haven't adjusted from the brightness in the corridor. The voice comes again.
"Over here," and then I see him. Only just. Hiding in the thick cloak of the shadows, camouflaged by the the thin, black sweater that gently hugs his arms. Two dark eyes stare at me out of the blackness.
"I need to talk to you." His voice is barely a whisper, like a scent on the breeze. But there's no breeze. The air is thick and stagnant, like the tension tugging on my chest.
I seem to stare at him for a few moments, forgetting where I am, his eyes the only part of him I can clearly make out in the darkness, then I blink. I look back over to my mum, who's still searching the group milling around the vans. I turn away from her and slip into the darkness, where Michael is waiting.
"What is it?" I demand, not too kindly, "can't it wait?"
"Not really." He replies with a sharpness in his tone, his eyes are steady and analysing. I look at him with a flicker of surprise.
"Everybody's loading up, were going to get left behind." I cross my arms and look over at the line of vans, a couple are standing around, turning their heads anxiously.
His response is simple, "they won't leave me behind."
"Of course not, what was I thinking." I mutter under my breath, looking down. Michael ignores it.
"I wanted to ask you where the gig is," he shifts his weight under his right foot, "for next Thursday." I look up at him. A muscle in the side of his neck twitches, and even though his gaze remains steady and his voice level, I can see that under all that he's not as collected as he's making out to be. I uncross my arms.
"That it?" I stare at him, still confused as to what provoked him to actually talk to me at all, "you dragged me over here just for that?"
He could have picked a more convenient time.
A few more have emerged from the vehicles, my mother standing with them. I'm not sure why I'm annoyed, or why I'm even still standing here, but maybe a part of me thinks that the longer I drag this out, the more likely he will be to bail on coming with me.
"Where is it going to be?" He asks again. Amongst the shadows I can only just see him, if it weren't for his pallor skin, he may as well be invisible. Other than that, I can see his eyes clearly, the green is almost black with the lack of light.
"Michael it can wait,"
"Just tell me where it is."
"Ill text it to you," I stall.
"You don't have my number," his voice is flat, but matter of fact.
I fold my arms and try to look authoritative, but it doesn't work. "I have Ashton's number, ill text it to him."
"You have Ashton's number?" He blinks, and for a moment the steely facade vanishes from his eyes. He even looks... hurt? But then he shakes his head, and it's gone. "Would you just tell me where it is?" He sighs with a hint of impatience.

I look back over at the convoy again. Getting a little worried, despite the other things occupying my mind, I realise they're going to launch a search soon, if we don't turn up. I look back up at Michael a few feet away from me, being able to see him more clearly now my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. He stares at me through his fringe, black like the sky above us, the faint light catching on his sloping jaw, and the ring above his right brow. I sigh defeatedly, feeling my shoulders sink.
"The Isle Rey theatre." I tell him finally, lowering my gaze to the floor, then turn to walk away, "doors open at 7-"
"Wait." The desperation in his voice makes me stop, and when I turn to look at him, I see that his hands are out of his pockets. I watch him carefully, swallowing that anxious, nagging feeling as it rises in my chest again.
"Give me your phone."
I blink in surprise, "What?"
"Give it to me." The authority in his tone catches me off guard, like a sharp stone hidden beneath the surface of a river. I blink at him, his expression unforgiving, but he doesn't move. I'm compelled to pull out my phone and place it in his held out hand. He takes it quickly and types something, I watch. His black fringe hiding his face as he looks down into the light of the phone. Then he hands it back.
"When you get back, text me the name of your hotel, ill pick you up at 7 on Thursday."
And with that he turns, and walks away, stalking over to the vans with his hands in his pockets, the shadows peeling off him like a cloak.

I watch in a mixed sense of confusion and wonder. After days of ignoring me, and even longer pretending that I don't exist, he's agreed to accompany me to a show. Not only that, he's picking me up, and has given me his phone number. I don't know what to make of it, or whether there is actually anything to make of it at all. I mean, he's not exactly the most predictable person. Maybe this is just what he does.
I watch him now, as he walks purposefully over to the vans, the light reflecting off his hair, making it shimmer, like it's mirroring the thousands of tiny stars above his head.
The team surges toward him, but he ignores them, just vanishes into one of the vans, the door sliding closed behind him.
I look back down at my phone, which he held only moments before, and feel my mind go blank.
If I don't text him, he won't know where to go...
I slide my phone into my pocket and readjust my bag, and walk over to the van.

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