I Only Want What I Can't Have

Chapter 13

When we arrived in Charlotte, I was once again surprised by the size of the venues the boys were playing in. This arena was just as big as the one they'd played in New York, and I'd almost got lost just wandering around backstage. I finally found my way to the door we had all come in just a few minutes earlier, and let myself outside into the harsh sunlight. It was much warmer here than what I was used to from Chicago summers.

    I sat down on the curb, just in front of the tour bus, and pulled out my cigarettes that Joe had bought for me. I had tried, and failed, to convince Andy to let me stop at a store for smokes, but of course he had said no. I'd gone about two hours without cigarettes before Joe snuck me a pack, claiming that it was his one vice, and he understood. I thanked him, grateful that someone could understand how difficult it could be to just drop a bad habit like that, but I had taken some grief from Patrick over it.

    He hated that I was still smoking, even if it was sparingly. He'd asked me just that morning to imagine what it was like to kiss an ashtray, and then compared that to kissing me right after I'd smoked. I was annoyed with him for it, but I knew he was right. So, when I had slipped away from the boys to come out here, I hadn't told any of them why I was going outside. I'd hoped that he'd be too occupied with pre-show routines to come and look for me, but of course, the universe hated me as much as I hated it.

    I wasn't the least bit surprised when I felt him standing behind me, silent as a statue. I took a long drag on my cigarette, then glanced over my shoulder. Patrick was standing there, hands in his pockets, and an annoyed look on his face. He wasn't speaking right now, in preparation for the show, and I took full advantage of that. I turned right back around, focusing on my cigarette, and pretending he wasn't there.

    He nudged my back with the toe of his Converse, and I sighed dramatically. "I'll be inside in a minute," I told him, still not looking at him. He nudged me again, a little harder this time. "I'd appreciate you not kicking me, thanks," I mumbled, starting to get annoyed at him.

    Patrick huffed heavily from behind me, and I heard him marching away before I heard the door to backstage slam shut. Great, now I'd pissed him off. I sighed and finished off the cigarette, flicking it away and getting to my feet. I trudged back inside and eventually found my way back to the dressing room. The door was open, so I went inside. Pete and Joe were getting their instruments ready, but no one else was there. Joe glanced up at me when I walked in, and saw me looking around. "He's on the stage," he said, looking back down at his guitar.

    "Thanks," I mumbled, turning around to head out there. Of course, my brother was out there with him. Andy was working on his drum set, and Patrick was already sitting in our usual spot, on the edge of the stage. I went straight to him, sitting down beside him awkwardly. He didn't look at me, he just kept staring out at the empty seats. When I couldn't take it anymore, I scooted an inch closer to him. "I'm sorry I'm an asshole," I muttered, drawing my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on one knee.

    Patrick didn't say anything, of course, but he let out a soft sigh. I stayed silent as well, wondering if he was actually mad at me, or if he was just annoyed with my bad habit. We hadn't really had an argument yet in our short relationship, but I didn't want to be the reason we started to. Luckily, my question was answered when Patrick reached one hand out and gently shoved my shoulder, making me almost topple off the edge of the stage. I gasped and caught myself, barely, then glared at him. He was smirking at me, his eyes sparkling with the laughter that he held back. I frowned and pushed him in return, harder than he had pushed me, and managed to shove him flat on his back on the stage. He immediately clapped one hand over his mouth, desperately trying not to laugh as I giggled.

    When he sat back up, he grabbed both of my hands, pulling me to him for a kiss. He realized his mistake at the last moment, just barely touching his lips to mine before he reeled back and screwed up his face in overly exaggerated disgust. When I looked at him in confusion, he held one hand up to his face and pinched his nose, shaking his head. He was telling me that I smelled like a cigarette. I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes, playfully pushing him away again and making him almost laugh.