To the Beat of My Heart

These Moments

Is it okay to get comfortable with the idea of always waking up in a new city? It's exciting. Maybe even exotic. Never boring, at least. It does kind of blend in with somewhere like Canada, which does tend to snow a lot. Can't complain about the snow. I still think of when we were eleven, and Clay rocked up at my house at seven in the morning. I'd barely opened the door, the whole yawning and rubbing my eye routine when a bowling-ball-sized snowball crunched into my face. I wasn't even wearing any socks or shoes. I'd just woken up. I ran into the snow. And regretted it immediately.

Couldn't even blame my Tourette's when I screamed 'fuck'. The neighbour flashed me a look of pure revulsion, then tried to lecture me. I just gawped at Clay, and a smouldering fire burned inside me. I needed revenge! I ran, practically tripped over my feet to get back inside, clumsily forced my shoes on and I chased Clay into the snowy forest that dwarfed our houses. Wasn't wearing a coat or scarf. I didn't care.

Okay, so maybe I cared a little. The mist escaping my lips should have tipped me off. My arms were screaming for relief from the blistering cold. I just kept running, lobbing snowballs at him, no matter how measly. I just needed to hit him, to make him laugh. I imagined huddling up close to Clay. I just wanted to be close, maybe even hug him. Hold him tight for more than a few seconds. I've always been needlessly sentimental and clingy.

It was a simpler time back then. We lived so close, and every day was an adventure. I wanted to kiss him right there. I mean, I wanted to kiss him a lot back then.

I was mortified. I was a boy. He was a boy... It just didn't happen, couldn't happen. I was so sure I'd grow out of loving him. I'm so glad I didn't.

This morning I wake to a grey Edmonton Sky. Tomorrow will be Saskatoon. Then Winnipeg. You get the idea.

It's crazy to think Clay's only growing bigger each year. Last year he felt unstoppable—a global sensation. Shit, what even is normal?

Hotels are where it's at. God, but sleeping on a tour bus breaks you down in so many ways. The smell, the stuffiness... everything's personal. You're always brushing up against someone else, elbows in faces, the foul slap in the face of morning breath. Usually with a hearty mix of beans and beer. Always that iconic mix.

You feel groggy and cranky half the time, and did I mention the smell? I did? Hey, you need a refresher. Stale beer and sweaty armpits kind of become the norm. The ringing in your ears and the sudden juddering and hops of traffic are just accepted grudgingly. Feels bad to be on the loo. That shit comes right up. Literally.

KIDDING. We don't crap on the bus. Come on, golden rule, remember?

If, uh... if Kai could bloody well stick to those. I hear Tommy muttering foul curses and vendettas nearly every day and I don't know when he's just gonna snap and wring Kai's neck. Thing is, I don't know if anyone would actually try and stop him. Kai's not very popular to anyone on this bus, 'cept Clay. I mean, if he gets people drunk, they forget and laugh merrily along with the devil... and he does that a lot, so... He's got his bases covered, I guess.

I fall on my face, the bed catching me like a dream. When Clay slips in I don't even budge. He just has to work around me. We manage.

I can't sleep though. I'm bone-tired. Floppy and lightheaded, my limbs deadweight. But Clay can't sleep either. He keeps stroking my cheek with his fingertips and I watch him. His smile is titillating. I grab his hand at nibble at his fingers, and he pulls them away, sliding closer still to me. Okay, so I'm feeling a little more alive. Some sensations are stirring. Pulsing.

Clay starts massaging his fingers down my back, pressing two fingers down on certain pressure, er, pleasure spots. I purr. Then groan, feeling the stress of a nonstop life on the road melt like butter. Hell, I don't even do much. I should be giving him the massa—