Hopeless Haze - Volume One

Chapter 1 - Stupid On The Streets Of London

Brandon was nervous. He sat restlessly in his dreadfully uncomfortable airport chair, trying to calm himself down by humming a Morrissey song. That always seemed to help whenever he felt scared or anxious about something. He looked to his left to see his bandmate, Dave, nodding his head along to some song in his headphones that Brandon could faintly hear due to the volume of the music. Dave didn't seem too phased by the situation at hand, which kind of made Brandon feel better, but not by much. Across from him sat Mark, who seemed to be incredibly interested in the book he was reading. Mark wasn't very expressive, but he could tell he liked the book because he was reading it the whole cab ride to the airport. Next to Mark sat a snoring Ronnie, whose mouth hung slightly agape. Brandon gave a small smile to the sight of his band's sleeping drummer, who seemed to be drooling on himself. Brandon snapped out of his hopeless haze when Dave nudged him on the arm.

"You okay, Bran?" Dave asked with a concerned look on his face.

Brandon stared at Dave for a moment, half because he was still so afraid of his oncoming flight to London, and half because he wasn't used to Dave being so compassionate. "Hm? Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. You should not be worrying about me. I am completely, one hundred percent, A-okay. In fact-"

"He's nervous about the trip," said Mark, not looking up from his book. Brandon's head jerked in Mark's direction when the usually quiet man spoke. He had been exposed. When the young man looked back to his left, he noticed Dave's raised eyebrows.

"This..." Brandon paused, trying to think of a good lie. "This is not true."

"Brandon," a new voice added in. "This is the reason you were a bellboy and not a professional gambler. You can't lie for shit." Oh, Ronald was awake now. Brandon was about to reply when a woman on the intercom spoke.

"International flight two-nineteen, Las Vegas to London, will be boarding in thirty minutes."

All eyes turned to Brandon as he took a sudden intake of air. Ronnie took this as a cue to try to either calm the boy down or change the subject. "Brando," he started. "Have you had anything to eat today? Maybe a bottle of water or something?"

Brandon replied quickly, "I have had five cans of coke." Dave muttered something under his breath and put his head in his hands, letting out a long sigh.

"How about I take you to get a bottle then? You must be thirsty." Brandon did not want to move from the spot he was currently sitting in. He didn't want to be any closer to the plane that he was certain he would die inside in approximately forty-five minutes. But he was thirsty and he would be alone with Ronnie, so what more could he possibly lose. Brandon flashed Ronnie a quick, not-so-reassuring smile, stood from his incredibly uncomfortable plastic chair, and followed the older man out of the waiting area that Brandon liked to call his own personal purgatory.

Brandon knew that thousands of people flew around the world every day and were fine. Brandon knew that planes were said to be safer than cars. But that does not mean that he can just waltz into an airport and hop in his shitty third class seat and not worry about dying in a fiery crash or drowning out at sea. +7

Brandon did not understand how Ronnie could be so calm in the situation at hand. Dave was understandably calm since he was actually from Iowa and Brandon doubted that Dave would bother to drive the long road to Nevada. Then again, he also didn't seem like the kind of person to just throw out the money to take a plane. It was at this point that Brandon realized he hardly knew anything about Dave other than the fact that he was from Iowa and a few other random things, like his favorite movies. Brandon also assumed that Mark had been in a plane before because the tall man was from Texas. That made sense. The only thing that Brandon knew for sure was that none of them had ever left the country.