Worlds Apart

Chapter Nine

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened the other night?”

“What other night?” I quickly grew tired of staring up towards him since my core was giving me threats about it and turned my gaze back to the roof.

 Although he made a disbelieving sound at my words, Cash still divulged, “After you pouted away.”

When I realized he was speaking of that night in particular, I automatically tensed even if I tried to make a show of hiding it. I even cut him off before he continued, only to say, “I didn’t pout or sulk. I don’t know what you’re all talking about. I was honestly tired and I had a headache.”

He just made the same noise as before, but thankfully didn’t comment on what everyone guessed was a lie. “You were giving me the ‘this isn’t over look’ when you left yet you haven’t even asked me about them.”

“Haven’t I?” asked I stoically.

Cash paused, and after a breath, added, “Cam left early too.”

This time I was sure I was being transparent when my gaze hardened on the ceiling. My fist even clenched on my stomach. However my voice was as even as ever when I countered calmly, “Did he?”

“You were both really hungover the next day. You were slightly more bearable, you can be glad. I met him in the hall and he was a nightmare after two minutes.”

“Wow, Sherlock,” I drawled out sarcastically, “Your deduction skills have reached an all-time high, I can promise you. I didn’t think anyone else would notice. Two alcoholic musicians that are hungover on the same day, it must be a conspiracy! I mean, such suspicious behaviour, the two of us sneaking away together.”

Obviously my sardonic nature worked wonders on not only strangers, but my closest friends as well. I wasn’t very fond of lying, but I was lying to myself as well so if I kept my eyes on the ceiling, I was safe.

Heaving a great sigh, I heard a snap before Cash sounded wearily through the room. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

With a groan, I rubbed my hands over my face, flashing him a look before stretching my arms languidly in the air. “What’s to tell? I was tired of everything English, so I went to my room and drowned my sorrows in Scottish gin until I passed out. It’s not exactly news worthy material, sweetheart.”

“But it is tabloid worthy,” he responded surely as he pushed out of his chair, “So I’d tread lightly, sweetheart.”

His words had my brow puckering, because there was truth in that which most people didn’t recognize, but I didn’t have time to reply. He was already stepping over me as if it was the most normal thing to have me sprawled across the ground – it didn’t reach the list of odd things I’d done – and headed towards the door.

By the time I had a witty comment that would deflect from his words; he was already out the door. I almost said it anyways, yet caught myself before I could. What was the point in trying to make a point when he was already gone?

And as the minutes passed with me lying on the ground, I still wanted to speak.

So maybe I was trying to make a point to myself, not only me.

Man, I really had been locked in this studio being morally demolished for far too long, hadn’t I?

Despite those thoughts, it took me longer than it should have to convince myself to get up. All I wanted to do was stay there, staring up to the ceiling. I couldn’t say why, but that was the only thing that occurred to me. Walking back to the motel was too much effort. Even sleeping would take the time of closing my eyes.