The Orion Star

Tantrums

If you stay apathetic

You fear the pathetic

Did that hurt?

Not as much as it should've

--From the song Differential Lane

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Behind the red I'm proverbial seeing is an amp ten feet below me, it's guts puked out onto the ground. Did that SERIOUSLY just happen? Did the stupid mother fucker just drop an amp off the God damn stage?

I know we have extra amps on the buses. But that's not the point. That's not the God damn point.

I stalk over to the guy who's name I can't think of right now. It's Bob or Rob or something. Pretty soon it'll be Sob. I'm going to make sure of that.

"What the ACTUAL FUCK?" I get up in his face. "Did you SERIOUSLY just drop that amp?!"

Gloria is standing off to the side. Her head is craned down, looking at her tablet. She sighs heavily and shakes her head. She doesn't even bother to step in anymore unless it's really bad.

Yeah, that's right. This isn't even really bad.

"I-I'm sorry," Rob or Bob replies.

"SORRY?" I scream so loudly it hurts, and I'm shaking. The back of the stadium could probably hear me. It was sound check though, so it was just the band and our crew on stage with empty seats. "What do I even pay you for?"

Gloria sighs loudly again, still not looking up.

"Hey."

Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I immediately fling it off, ready to fucking lay out whoever had the audacity to touch me. But then I stop when it's Tristan. He's looking at me boldly.

"It was an accident," he says softly to me. "We have more on the bus. The show's not ruined."

I'm panting. But I'm not angry. How the fuck did that happen? How did merely looking at someone calm me down? Seriously, what was it with me and this guy?

It dawned on me how quiet it is. I look around, and everyone is awkwardly staring at us. I mean, granted they have every right to be. I don't think anyone has ever touched me mid freak out. They were probably waiting in trepidation for me to literally murder Tristan.

Instead I glare. "That's not the point, Tristan," I say, loud enough so everyone can hear me, but I'm no longer screaming.

I turn from him, grabbing the microphone and fling it off stage, stand and all. Then I stalk off towards the stairs, my hands balled into fists.

"I'll be on the bus," I snarl, not even looking over my shoulder.

"The show's in three hours," Gloria reminds me.

My response is simple. I flip her off.

As I board my sanctuary I'm relieved that the driver is MIA. I'm panting. I'm sweating. I feel like I'm suffocating. Gasping for breath I tug at my collar, but it doesn't help. I feel like a hand is clamped around my neck.

Calm down I scold myself. It's just the fucking heat. You're fine. Relax.

Gloria keeps reminding me there is an entire spectrum of light. She's been suggesting to me since we hit the Southern leg of the tour that maybe, just maybe, I should invest in clothes that aren't black. But fuck that. I'd rather swelter and complain and look sexy than wear something that'll make me look weird. I look weird enough as it is, I don't need a bad wardrobe to add to it.

I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and flop down on the beige couch. I take some deep swigs. When I'm done I'm still desperately gulping down air. No matter how much I try, I cannot get enough air into my lungs.

Moaning, I fan myself. I press the cool bottle to my throbbing head. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. And as my stomach starts to twist itself into a painful, nauseous knot, tears start to slip out of my eyes.

"F-fuck."

"Orion?"

Quickly I turn over towards the wall, back facing whoever is there. Meekly, I wipe my leaking eyes.

Maybe if I don't say anything they'll go away. Maybe if I pretend I'm asleep they'll leave me alone. Maybe if I pretend that I'm dead--

"Are you okay?"

It's Tristan. I don't want to sniffle so instead I just wipe my nose on my sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Why do you care?" I snap before I can even stop myself. "Get out. Get the fuck out before I fire your ass."

"Are you always a dick like this, threatening your underlings to get them to do what you want?" When I don't reply, he continues. "Fine. Enjoy your man-child tantrum."

I'm floored. No one on my crew has ever spoken to me like that. The kid's got balls, I gotta give him that. So I switch gears and abruptly sit up. "W-wait."

I'm strangely relieved when he turns around and walks back through the door. For a moment we just stare at each other. Then I look away.

"Look, I'm--I'm--I'm--"

A small smile plays on Tristan's mouth. He raised his eyebrows. "Sorry?"

I deflate and look down. "Yeah. That."

"You don't say that often, do you?"

I furtively swipe my eye with my thumb and pick up my head. "No, actually."

Tristan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. "You've been crying."

For a moment I freeze. Then my mind goes into overdrive, and my admiration for his boldness disappears in a cloud of smoke. It turns to annoyance.

"No I haven't."

"Yes you have."

"No I haven't!"

He rolls his eyes.

"I haven't!" I say desperately, and I don't like how my voice betrayed me and cracked.

For a long while Tristan simply looks at me. There's silence, and it's uncomfortable. And the more it goes on, the more I feel like crying. It gets to the point where I can't blink because otherwise the tears are going to fall. I'm a grown ass man, I am not gonna break down.

"Whatever," Tristan finally relents. "If you ever need anything come find me. You're stuck with me for the rest of the tour, so."

And with that he leaves.