Camera Shy || Ben Barlow

Fifteen

           

When I woke up, it was still dark. My neck ached from sleeping at such an odd angle; apparently, these chairs were definitely not made for sleeping on. "Es?" Someone, said, a hand on my shoulder. I rubbed at my eyes and groaned, trying to re-position myself in the chair so that I could go straight back to sleep.

"I'm sleeping," I half said, half moaned.

"No you're not. Get up," the voice said. I tried to shake my head but I was already nearly gone. "I'm not carrying you up the fucking stairs, Essa. Get up." Their other hand was on my other shoulder now, forcing me to sit up and open my eyes, to find a distressed looking Ben staring down at me, crouched slightly so as to not severely damage his back.

Ben.

I didn't want to look at Ben, today, I didn't think. I jerked back into the chair, but winced at the hurt look that flashed across his face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. He stood up, clearly managing to take the hint.

"Where's Cara?" I asked groggily, realising that she'd been a part of what had ruined my night, but also that she hadn't been in the wrong in any kind of way. I needed sleep. Proper sleep. In a bed, not some solid armchair in a rundown hotel lobby that I no longer wanted to be in.

"Here. How much did you drink?" She asked, genuinely sounding concerned as she looped an arm around my waist and pushed hair off of my cheeks, as though she was the older sister I'd never had. I missed my brother, suddenly, with an abrupt ache in my chest that hadn't been there before. I shrugged my shoulders, even though I knew exactly how much I'd had. This wasn't intoxication, but she had no idea how much I wished it had been.

I didn't feel like dressing myself, back in the room, and ended up sleeping in the same pair of underwear I'd worn to the club, a t-shirt I'd borrowed from Zach (forever, without asking) thrown over my head, probably the wrong way round. Cara seemed concerned, wrapping her arms around me before I got all the way over to my little bed. "I love you, you know? You can talk to me," she said, brushing a hand through my hair. We hadn't had a moment like this, not in a long time. She knew something was wrong, and I hated myself for being so transparent, but appreciated the comfort of my best friend's presence.

"I love you too," I mumbled, half asleep, hoping everything that had happened had all just been a terrible dream.

In the morning, I wished Ben had never kissed me. I wished that I'd never wanted to kiss him back, that I'd left quickly enough for it all to have never happened. Work was never going to be the same, with tension this dense between one of my employers and me. I wasn't even sure I could talk to Fil anymore, not after the extent of what had happened last night. I didn't want to make him choose sides.

I sighed, lacing my shoes before doing my best to shove everything I'd brought into my bag, ready to load it back onto the bus.

We'd all been travelling on one bus, recently. During the day, anyway. At night, we obviously all wanted to be in our own beds; after a while, these cooped up little buses did start to feel a little like home. Hotels weren't really necessary, but they were a lot more spacious than the bunks and, if we're being honest here, a heck of a lot comfier.

I wasn't sure I wanted to be on the band's bus, today, but Cara (still blissfully unaware of what had happened) insisted. They'll be hungover, too, Es. I was not hungover. I curled myself into my seat, Ben directly next to me, with my headphones in. First song that played? December. I was ready to scream, but refrained, and turned my attention to Take Off Your Colours, the You Me at Six album, instead.

Josh Franceschi's voice legitimately gave me life, even when he was singing weird incestuous duets with his sister. They never got old, You Me At Six, in the way that bands like All Time Low sometimes did, and I was grateful for that. They were like a best friend who was impossible to argue with.