Insomnia // Shawn Mendes

// part vi

{ Once again, a short chapter! Favourite, comment and enjoy. }

♥ ♥ ♥

shawn // part vi

The sound of sugar-coated, manufactured vocals falling back on a catchy guitar tune and booming drums comes onto the speakers and I find myself being dragged into the writhing mass of sweaty, tightly packed bodies by Jasmine, despite my silent protests in the form of me digging my heels into the floor. But my worn Vans provide little grip and I have no choice but to obey.

I find myself wishing I’d never offered to dance. So much for this ‘spontaneous’ thing.

I gulp as we start to dance, trying to feel the music pumping through my veins and forcing my body to move, but my effort only results in small, unrhythmic, awkward jumps on the spot.

A smirk crosses Jasmine’s face and I blush violently.

“What?” I yell out over the tune.

“Nothing,” she replies, unconvincingly. I shoot her a look, wordlessly willing my body to cooperate with the music.

“Come here,” she says lowly, her arms snaking around my back and pulling me closer to. Her chest presses against mine and she moves in time to the beat, her feet shuffling and her hips swaying in a way that looks both sexy and natural. “Copy my movements.”

I mirror her movements and suddenly I don’t feel as gawky and awkward anymore. The dance still looks unnatural on me – she makes it look easy - but Jasmine’s close proximity ensures I just have to follow her lead.

The songs collide into one long song; the sound waves push us into each other and wrap around us like colours. We are paying attention to each other. The room has no ceiling; the room has no walls. There is only an open field of our excitement, and we run across it in small movements, sometimes without our feet touching the ground. We move in sync; my hot breath beating down on her cheeks, my eyes fixated on only her.

Suddenly I am swept away from the dance floor as the mass of bodies reappears in my consciousness. I exhale deeply, breathing in the air which isn’t shared with many other strangers. I head over to the bar, taking small steps. Slipping onto a bar stool, I order a glass of orange juice, fearing the strength of the alcohol would steal the feeling of muted euphoria I am currently experiencing. Not that I would drink anyway.

Jasmine reappears just moments later, with Will’s arm slung across her waist. I frown slightly. I can’t help the spark of jealousy that ignites when I see her with him, even though she’s already assured me that they are just friends.

I clear my throat when they reach me. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she counters, smiling. “Are you still up for a trip to The Farmery, Shawn?”

I check my watch, frowning slightly. 9:39pm. “Won’t it be closed by now? It’s almost ten.”

“No, it’s always open until late. Let me just get my guitar,” she excuses herself and scurries off backstage.

I’m aware of Will’s eyes burning on me as I sip my orange juice slowly, his gaze slight dazed as if he’s intoxicated. “It’s Shawn right...?”

“Uh-huh,” I reply absently. The juice tastes far too acidic and bitter.

“I’m just trying to remember when I’ve seen you from.”

“YouTube? Or Vine?” I offer.

“Oh!” he exclaims in realization. “The Famous Shawn Mends!”

“Mendes,” I correct with a small smile.

He nods. “Sorry. You know, I haven’t seen Jasmine recently, but I do know that I haven’t seen her as happy as she is now since her father's funeral. You’re good for her.”

I don’t know how to react to his words. Suddenly, it makes sense why Jasmine doesn’t like to mention her father.

He punches my arm lightly. “Take care of her for me, yeah?”

“I...of course,” I stammer, catching sight of Jasmine walking back over to us, her guitar case slung over her arm. Will nods at me and saunters off into the crowd again.

“Will left without saying goodbye?” she says, faking a pout.

“Yeah, I scared him off,” I joke.

She laughs and beckons for me to follow her towards the exit, wading through the thick mass of bodies effortlessly. I get trapped in a group of girls in tight, thigh-skimming dresses who envelope me with their screams and try to drag me back onto the dance floor. They don’t know my name, so I assume that they are just drunk and not fans.

Outside, the night is surprisingly warm, a balmy breeze laced in the air. I follow Jasmine to her car; a small, rickety vehicle which could easily be older than me. I have to wriggle in to the passenger seat and my head grazes the roof when I sit down.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “It’s hardly a luxury drive but it gets me from A to B.”

We jolt along a busy freeway; even at this late hour, the traffic crawls along slowly and we encounter an infuriating amount of red lights. After a few minutes, Jasmine sighs impatiently and jerks the car onto a back lane.

The engine purrs faintly as Jasmine eases it along the deserted road, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. The streetlights waver slightly out of focus and the abandoned roads stretch out before us, empty shadows pregnant with promise and adventure.

Jasmine winds her window down and a gust of bitter air drifts into the car. She shudders in its icy embrace and leans forward, flicking on the radio.

Instantly, pounding synths and a heavy drum-beat announce an overwhelming club offering. I tap my foot vaguely in time to the beat, unable to myself from humming along softly. I catch Jasmine glance at me out of the corner of her eye.

 “You like this song?”

I shrug non-comittedly, singing along in response. “I could blame cupid and his shooting arrow.”

Suddenly, we are singing at the top of our lungs, the lyrics spilling out of the open window. A pop song that is as substantial as a balloon, but lifts us in the same way when we sing it.

Jasmine jolts the car off the main road and barrels down a narrow, winding lane until the buildings fade into dense shrubbery, sweeping oak trees lining the road. A lone diner stands to my right, bathed in the soft orange glow of a single streetlamp, open more out of optimism than demand.
Beside it, a small building which resembles more of a miniature converted barn then a shop.

She brings the car to a halt and kills the engine. The radio cuts off immediately, taking me by surprise and my voice trails off shakily.

Jasmine laughs and steps out of the car, gesturing to the store before her. “Welcome to The Farmery.”