Crazier

Anywhere But Here (3)

"Today was misery, 
And I just can't believe this happened"

-Mayday Parade, Anywhere But Here

I rolled over, pressing my face further into the hotel room pillows. They weren't nearly as soft as my ones at home, and the white blanket wasn't my favourite quilt that my Aunt Maxine had had made me - you could call it a hard night.

When Luke and Toby had finally returned to the bus, hours after Toby had stormed out, he refused to look, smile, or talk to me. It was the full-on cold shoulder, icier than the iceberg that downed the Titanic.

I had even made an effort to get him into a conversation, but he had quite literally turned his back, pulled up the hood of his hoodie, and put in his earbuds as he went to bed. I had heard him playing guitar, but instead of the usual steady rhythms, it was short, sharp, and choppy - he gave up after about fifteen minutes and went to bed.

Luke wasn't talking much either, only telling Claire to quiet down once Toby had managed to fall asleep and she was squealing on about her usual whorish activities and how much of a 'lying douchebag' I was. Not that Luke denied it, but he did tell her to quiet down. Put out, she had babbled on about how she wanted alone time with him, hinting heavily at what I knew she was in the relationship for, and only whined when Luke had taken her to bed to actually fall asleep.

Evan would speak to me, but only in short answer murmurs. He had been glancing at me all night, his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawing away in his usual awful habit. He had looked worried, but it wasn't unusual and it didn't bother me as much as Toby's anger did.

Cynthia didn't bother to keep her anger at me under control, glaring at me whenever she got the chance and making rude remarks every chance she got. The tension on the bus was more than awkward, so I had our driver pull into a hotel for the night. The boys stayed in, while I got a room for one.

The clanging sound rang out again, and I reached for the alarm clock on the nightstand, pounding on the top of it. The noise didn't stop, even when the clock fell off the surface and landed with a thud on the floor.

Annoyed, I pulled myself out of my pillows and sat up, rubbing my eyes. The blinds were closed, my backpack on the dresser, and shoes over by the door. It was a simple room, plain white walls, plain beige carpet, ugly painting on the wall over the plain wooden desk that needed a paint job, badly. The clanging was coming from somewhere outside, and I scowled as I got out of bed and walked over.

The town was so incredibly small, I could see the other edge with it's small farms and horses and haybales. Stereotypical Texas, probably all riding around in hay wagons and writing on chalk slates like in Little House on the Prairie. The clanging was coming from a restaurant across the street, where an older lady with a hunched back and cowbell in her hand was yelling, "Breakfast! Breakfast for five dollars! Breakfast!"

I scowled as I pulled the blinds closed again, walking towards my bag. I'd change into a pair of jeans, then head down to the bus and deal with whatever anger the boys were still hanging onto. I grabbed the strap of my backpack, throwing it to the bed. The contents spilled out, and I raised an eyebrow.

Last night, I had thrown in a simple black t-shirt, a pair of black jeans, my sunglasses, and my phone with earbuds.

On the bed, spread across the white linens, was three items. My shirt, my jeans, and a white envelope with my name scrawled on it. I picked up the bag, shaking it out then shoving my hand towards the bottom when I heard nothing. I checked every pocket, the uneasy feeling in my chest growing with every passing second.

The name on the envelope was mine, written in Toby's narrow, slanted writing. There was the familiar drag between letters that made it a bit difficult to read, lead smeared slightly where he had dragged his hand across it.