[AustinCarlile] Live Forever

[AustinCarlile] Live Forever [ChapterTen]

The sweat was dripping from the tips of his hair and onto his shirt as he jogged over to the side, the four others still playing. “Water?” Even with sweat covering his skin, he still looks attractive, like this is what he was made for, and I guess he was made for this, for inspiring people, for singing, for going in front of so many people who look up to him. There’s something about him – his personality, his aura, something – that draws people to him, maybe it’s his story, this story of hope and perseverance, and it’s hard to not put him under the limelight.

No one around me appears to move, interested in helping him, but not interested in giving up their fluids when it’s so hot out, not seeing any spare bottles around anywhere. Sighing, I run a hand through my hair, my other hand reaching out to him, my half empty water bottle waiting for him to take to drink from as he raises a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t backwash.” Lifting my shoulders, I force the corners of my lips to curve upward, my eyes meeting his as he cocks his head to the side, as if asking if it’s okay. “I wouldn’t have offered. It’s still cold, well a little.”

Smiling, his eyes shining at the gesture, he wraps his fingers around the water bottle, brushing against my fingers as he does. “I’ll give you a hug as compensation.” My eyes grow wide as I pull my hand back, my fingers letting go of the water bottle as if it’s burning, shaking my head I take a step back. “Are you sure? I'm not that sweaty?” Grinning, he takes two large, quick steps over to me, wrapping his arms around my torso, hugging me to his body, pressing me against his sweat as I groan, squealing as my hands rest on his chest, pushing against it gently.

“Get off. Don’t you have a set to play? Get off.” Gagging, I arch my back, trying to pry myself out of his grip, get away from the dripping sweat, not enjoying the contact of wet skin on mine, not enjoying the looks that I was getting from the people standing side stage, especially the people who were fans, the ones with the passes. “Go play music. You’re all gross.” Whining, my voice high, I feel a lump form in my throat as my eyes are blinded by a flashing light, a camera snapping, the noise causing him to drop his hands to the side quickly, taking a sip of the water and handing it back to me, as if I'm going to drink from it again, and he runs back on stage.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I forget that the water bottle in my hand in open, allowing it to spill onto my feet as I untangle my arms, turning the bottle upright, groaning slightly. “Fuck my life,” I whisper to myself, to no one else, just to myself, knowing that I shouldn’t have, that people are surrounding me and they can hear me, but saying it anyways, not really caring at this point. People are going to think what they want, so stubborn, so unchanging in their ways, that no matter what I say or do or don’t say or don’t do, it isn’t going to change anything, their opinions and assumptions aren’t going to change.

He’s just feeding their assumptions, basically telling them that they're right, that we’re together, but we’re not, I don’t even think that I would consider him a friend, I don’t use these terms lightly – friend, best friend, brother, boyfriend. He doesn’t know anything about me, only knows what I'm willing to tell people in interviews, what I put into lyrics, but he doesn’t know the reasons behind these stories, doesn’t know the events that led to the words. I don’t trust him, I want to, I want to be able to confide in him, but I don’t, we don’t know each other, it’s insane if someone would jump into a relationship with someone he or she doesn’t really know. I'm not saying he has to know everything, I wouldn’t tell him everything, there are things that aren’t my stories to tell yet they affect me, I wouldn’t tell him those things, but he would still know me.