When I woke up, Remington was curled up on my side, his eyeliner streaked face looking peaceful for the first time in several days. There was a brief moment of panic when I thought he was late to the radio interview the band had scheduled for eight, but when I looked at the time I realized that Remmy didn't need to be awake for another two hours. Thank god for that, every single person on this bus is going to feel the aftereffect of heavy drinking and wish they never woke up. Just another aspect of the amazing life on tour.
When I think back to last night, the first part of the memory makes me smile. Remington's random speeches were always entertaining, especially when he was on the topic of music. Sometimes he would try to sing the song he was speaking of, but that rarely ended with any of the lyrics being correct. The adorably wide smile I would get when I would sing with him made my heart stop. I tried to think about that instead of the grueling words of self-hatred Remington cried last night that seemed to be fighting their way into my consciousness like a bullet through the head.
The way Remington's hand was placed on my bicep, the way his legs were resting between my own, the way his cheek was pressed against my chest, it felt so right. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, with my hands placed on his half-exposed waist. The alcohol was still evident in his breath, although the most distinctive scent was from his cologne. It was a mixture that was intoxicating in its self, more addictive than any drug on the market. And I got to hold him, at least until the morning.
A couple of hours later, an alarm clock started blaring, dragging me from the half-asleep daze I had been in. I can't believe it had already been two hours. When the beeping finally wakes up Remington, I was fully prepared for the dramatically pained groan that was almost louder than the alarm. The amount of effort he probably puts in to being that level of over-dramatic absolutely baffles me sometimes. The alarm, whoever it belonged too, finally quieted after nearly every person on the bus threatened to murder the owner.
After several more groans and mumbled curses (and a few that were not mumbled, yelled would be a more appropriate term), Remington decided that just going back to sleep was his best idea. He had rolled off of my chest, and never had comfortably breathing been such a disappointment. After curling up to my side for what I assumed was for warmth, he fell back asleep for another 10 minutes, which just led to a repeat of the alarm clock fiasco minutes earlier.
Thirty minutes later, Emerson, Sebastian, and Remington were "ready" for their radio interview, still extremely hungover but now medicated and caffeinated enough to successfully do an interview. They had just left, leaving me to drink coffee and talk to Phil for the next hour. Phila and Samual had one hell of a time with the fact that Remington had climbed out of my bed this morning, this being the seventh time they had been given the chance to do so. They would never know the actual story, but it was entertaining to hear them talking about their wild theories.
{Please forgive me for this short ass chapter, I promise the next one will be longer ((Even though this one was only about 50 words behind my goal)). Please vote and comment, it really means a lot to me,
xoxo Em (still struggling with these outros)}
YOU ARE READING
Redeemer
Fanfiction"I want to see what your dreams look like. I want to know what you're thinking about, all of the things you want to say, your dreams and aspirations, all of the good, all of the bad. I want to know you, but you never let me" D.C. + R.L.
