"The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere; they're in each other all along."
—Rumi
Beep, beep!
The sound of an obnoxiously loud horn cut through the otherwise quiet air of my apartment complex's parking lot. Simultaneously, my cell phone started vibrating with alerts of new text messages. My phone, however, was mostly unnecessary in this regard, for I knew it was Laina, and I knew we were running late, but I was almost finished. A few more minutes were all that I needed.
Rare was the occasion when I would be the one to run late, but it had been another rough night. As such, the effects of the previously-downed sleeping pills had not yet quite subsided in me.
There was simply no way I would have had enough time to make myself a pot of coffee, so I settled for temporarily dealing with the blurry vision and sensation of heavy limbs. With any luck, I thought, getting some fresh air in my face would have been just what I needed to wake up and feel better.
From the parking lot came more beeping. As the seconds dragged on, it became more aggressive in nature.
Hurriedly, I finished curling the last section of black, dried ends and carelessly spritzed some perfume onto my neck, before running down the townhome's stairs and slipping into some shoes. In a staggering motion, I flung the front door wide open to reveal Laina standing outside of it, with her impatient hand hovering in the air, about to knock.
I had always thought Laina to be a beautiful creature, but standing before me as she was, my partner-in-crime looked particularly gorgeous. Her hair, flawlessly styled. Her choice of attire, feminine and fresh. A black-and-white, floral-print tank top complemented the slightly loose, white shorts on Laina's small—almost elven—frame.
It seemed that she had heeded my advice after all, to forgo the homemade "Punk Hunks Welcome" t-shirt. Messy glue and blue glitter—on tight, black cotton—could not have come close to the beauty of her final look. For just a second longer, I studied her.
My decision to take in Laina's appearance, nevertheless, resulted only in added exasperation.
"What are you doing?!" she asked, practically huffing the words. "I've been waiting almost twenty minutes! Let's go! We're going to hit traffic!"
"I woke up late. I'm sorry!" A pathetic excuse, maybe, but that was all I could muster.
Past her shoulder, and toward Laina's Volvo, I momentarily glanced. If time had been on our side, perhaps we could have dealt with the old car's inability to hit sixty-five miles per hour.
But time was not on our side. Not on that night.
"I'll drive," I promised my anxious best friend. It produced an odd feeling within me, to see her in such an unfamiliar, frazzled state. "We'll get there in time."
Saying it almost had me believing it for myself.
Into my tensed palm, I gripped my own set of keys as Laina and I hopped into the black Civic—which had been my first and only large purchase since moving to Arizona. Like her car, mine was definitely getting older, but my transportation-providing piece of machinery had not yet lost its capacity for speed. Of that, we would need plenty.
Hastily, I buckled and turned the radio down, just before peeling out of the parking space and aiming us toward the highway. While glancing at the vehicle's clock—with neon-blue numbers mocking me—I silently and inconspicuously calculated how much time we had. In all likelihood, we would miss the first opening act, but if I could competently mix momentum with caution, we would definitely catch the second—Laina's new favorite band from the United Kingdom.
Well, they were my favorite band, too, but Laina was borderline obsessed. She had recently turned 24 years old, but when it came to these ultra-talented musical artists, Laina seemed to be regressing toward her teenage years once more.
The poster my best friend had hanging on her bedroom wall—of the founding member and rhythm guitarist—was proof enough of that. I never asked how much she had spent on that thing, through her preferred online auction service. My only concern was how many lip prints she would leave behind on the glossy paper.
Quite a few, I imagined.
Firstly, and solely, I was a fan of the music. Sure, I'd skimmed through some band interviews in printed magazines here and there, but rarely felt compelled to read about the personal lives of most celebrities. What was that old phrase? "Never meet your heroes?" I was sure, though, that Laina would have adamantly rejected that mindset, especially when it came to this new band. Still, I couldn't fault Laina for her growing infatuation with them. I gathered that she would not remain alone in her extreme adoration for very long.
And it was partially justifiable.
This band, after all, was like our very own hidden gem—starships preparing for take-off. And fully take off, I believed they soon would. They were already impressively successful musicians, but their talents, I decided, could not continue to stay relatively under the radar for much longer.
Well, if one could consider "under the radar" to be touring in various parts of the world, as a supporting artist.
Although they had played concerts around Europe and Asia earlier that year, this was their first time playing in the United States. We nearly thought the day would never come, but it had. As such, my best friend was redefining what it meant to be ecstatic. Greatly, I shared in her enthusiasm, even though our favorite band was opening for a much bigger act that Laina did not really care to see.
The more prominent act would take up a larger slot of time during the show, cutting our preferred band's set a bit shorter. Pressure built in my head to grasp the fact that it was entirely up to me, to ensure Laina did not miss a single beat of their set. She had stayed awake for thirty-three hours prior to the concert presale, to ensure she'd clinch our front row seats.
For someone that needed occasional assistance in modern technology—apart from social media platforms—that was quite a feat. If only we had known a computer genius of sorts at the time, to assist us in the endeavor.
Nonetheless, Laina had done it all on her own. Determination had paid off, and we had the tickets, but because of me, my best friend's efforts may have been squandered. It was a distinct possibility that we might have missed a few tunes of their set. No sooner did my ruminations of this begin, did Laina perk up again, to mimic my fears.
"It's okay if we miss the first few songs, Brooke," she chimed. With a flick of her chestnut-shaded strands, Laina gave the impression of being in a much more optimistic mood. "You look so beautiful in that dress, by the way. I don't think I've ever seen you in one before. Where'd you get that?"
"We won't miss anything," I snapped, with the guilt of this real possibility already weighing heavily on my mind. After taking a deep breath, I spoke with forced serenity. "...And thank you. I, uh... I just got it yesterday."
Sincerely, I hoped that Laina was telling the truth, about myself looking presentable enough in this coal-black dress, because I had been in such a rush to get out the apartment door, I had not even been able to take a good, solid look at myself. Our seats were close enough to the stage that it might have been fathomable for the musicians to notice us that evening.
In a way, it was kind of mind-boggling: the chance to earn a piece of time and attention from them was real. For the briefest moment, I allowed myself to imagine the possibility of Laina's musical heroes giving her a smile—a grin meant just for her—and...
"Watch out!" Laina cried, effectively breaking through my slipping thoughts.
Gaining entry onto the highway beside me was another car—the driver of which was about to cut me off. In fluid motions, I switched lanes and adjusted my mirror before accelerating again. Being able to do so told me just one thing: rush hour traffic had, ever so thankfully, died down earlier than usual that night.
The roads—that were usually a sardine-packed mess—were merely loosely scattered with vehicles. For seven o'clock on a Friday, I could not have asked for better driving conditions.
Perhaps, I thought, a divine entity had aided us somehow, as we breezed past three more exits in record time. It was difficult to comprehend we were only ten minutes away from the arena at that point. Should I have been fortunate enough to find decent parking there, this could have turned out to be a piece of cake.
Almost too easy, it seemed... all things considered.
This thought had me settling a little further into my car seat—covered in black fabric—and Laina did the same. That was, until her index finger reached for a particular button on my previously muted radio panel.
Abruptly, the CD changer switched discs and the treble began to surround us. Toward a grinning Laina I glanced, and began to feel the stress in my body oozing out. Replacing it, instead, was rising excitement.
We were going to hear this. Live. Tonight. It was actually happening. Nearly a half-year of waiting was over, and we were just minutes away from having the time of our lives.
Ascend the Stars was here, in our city, and our seats were close enough to later witness the beads of sweat drip from their foreheads.
Upon my balm-soaked lips, a smirk kept growing—involuntarily widening—and Laina noticed. In reaction to my own perceivable joy, Laina began scream-singing at the top of her lungs. If the gig in retail did not work out for her, I imagined my best friend to have a plausible career in karaoke performance... if such a thing even existed.
Even her halfhearted attempts at the sparely-sprinkled vocal growls were entirely amusing. All I could do was laugh—softly at first, then uncontrollably as her avidity grew with each line. It was an impulsive action to roll the windows down. Into Tucson's nighttime atmosphere, I let all of the cool air out of my small car.
With my fingers on the radio's volume dial—turning it up even further—I could feel the enveloping warmth of the June wind. It whipped against our skin, and through each strand of hair atop both of our heads. The vision of this must have caught the attention of the driver beside us—a young guy, who was splitting his focus between driving and watching our enthusiastic performance.
Even his smile was contagious—and he did flash us a flirtatious one, with his thumb in the air—as I moved one lane to the right, and took our exit toward the venue with ease. Eight blocks and seemingly only seconds later, we were pulling into the crammed parking lot. Out the car window, I held a twenty dollar bill, trading it for a parking sticker from the older, bored-looking attendant.
Alternative rock bands were clearly not his cup of tea.
As I wove through and around the gravel—searching for just one vacant spot—I could hear music vibrating from the buzzing arena. The song being performed was definitely not one belonging to Ascend the Stars, nor the headlining artist. At this discovery, dots connected in my discomposed head: we were going to catch their whole set.
The sigh of relief spilling through my parted lips only amplified when I found one open parking spot, toward the very back of the lot. It would have been a challenge to run the distance from our vehicle, to the arena doors, in heels. So, I silently relished in my decision to instead opt for flat-heeled shoes.
Laina, on the other hand, would have to work some magic in those monstrous, three-inch concoctions beneath her ankles.
In a heartbeat, I turned off the ignition and ran a nervous set of fingers through my hair that had required more than an hour to style, and just two minutes to ruin while in the vehicle. Currents of static seemed to be shooting through each vein of my body.
I just wanted to get inside, and immediately.
For a moment, Laina remained in her seat to utilize the visor mirror. Upon her pouted lips, Laina applied a fresh layer of coral-tinted gloss, and folded her lips in on themselves, to evenly blend the sticky-looking substance.
"Don't forget the tickets!" Laina half-demanded, half-begged. As she spoke, the gloss seemed to form tiny, pink strings between her lips. At her immediate recognition of this, Laina sighed and began dotting at her mouth with a spare napkin she found promptly in my glove compartment.
From my small purse, I pulled the concert tickets out—the ones I had safely kept for months, since Laina did not trust herself to not lose them somehow—and gripped them tightly. Just as I was about to tell Laina to hurry up, I heard a small gasp escape her bare lips. To find a clue of what had happened, I looked around... seeing nothing at first.
Toward Laina, I looked again, seeking her source of shock. The path of her open-mouthed stare, I followed, until I found it for myself. Not very far behind us was a parked tour bus, and just outside of it was Julian Miles, having a cigarette.
In the dark of night, his face was barely lit—in a muted manner—by the burning, vermilion end of the stick that was pressed between his lips. Before I could even attempt to read the severe expression on Julian's face—or find the source of my insanity for believing he was watching us at all—Laina rushed to my side.
Her fingers—cold to the touch, despite the compelling dry heat which surrounded us—were gripping onto my forearm for dear life. Laina's speech, however, was momentarily halted by a nearby stirring. With the sound of compressed air escaping, the tour bus door opened, and Mason Everett stepped off to join Julian.
Although the frantic state of her was apparent from the shakiness in her soprano voice, Laina was able to regain enough sense and composure to speak directly into my ear.
"Oh my God, what do we do?!" she breathlessly asked.
On my nervous feet, I shifted my weight. Thinking.
"Did you bring anything?" I asked her, far more calmly. "Markers? Anything to be signed?"
Desperately, Laina looked around, before exclaiming in would-be expletives. "Damn it! Fu—"
"Now, now. That language isn't very nice," I heard a familiar voice interrupt. It was somewhat deep, husky, accented, and could only belong to...
"Mason Everett," he said while approaching, and extending his hand to shake ours. "You ladies are quite late. Not a fan of Secrets and Shallows? You're missing some good stuff."
Mason's impressively long, brown curls loosely draped the sides of his neck and cheeks, as the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Furtively, I noted how impeccable Mason looked, in black skinny jeans and a blue-checkered button-up, left open to reveal a clean, white t-shirt beneath. Even in person, he epitomized the aura of a rockstar, but this did not surprise me much. What did, however, was his height—Mason was barely an inch taller than myself.
His height—combined with his cool, calm demeanor—helped to lessen my intimidation a little. Laina, on the other hand, had turned into a total mime beside me. Never had I known this girl to swallow her words, but I supposed I vaguely understood—spacial dimensions were probably mind-boggling, when she had only ever witnessed Mason in pictures, but he now stood just inches away.
Casual. Friendly. Entirely down-to-earth.
As he shifted around on his feet, Mason's fern-green irises glowed under slightly slanted brows. I risked stealing another quick peek at Laina, who continued staring directly at Mason with googly eyes, and her mouth slightly agape. Softly, I touched her chin—to remind her to close it—and spoke for us both with my heart hastily beating.
"It's my fault we're late," I said, tremulously. "My friend and I are just relieved to catch your whole set."
Warmly, I smiled at Mason, and he returned one. There was a certain disarming quality to his grin, which allowed me the confidence to notice some other features of him—like the slightest hint of dimples that were set into his sharp, yet box-shaped, face.
"Picture!" Laina blurted out at last, startling us both. "I mean, Mason, could we please get a picture with you?!"
A twinge of embarrassment sunk into my warming face—in the form of reddening cheeks—for my best friend to have asked such a stereotypical favor... but Mason did not seem to mind it at all.
"Of course, yeah." Mason nodded along with his answer, before turning to look behind himself. "How about a two-for-one? Julian, come over here, please."
I glanced over at Julian, who was already looking this way. He blended effortlessly into the night, with black jeans hanging slightly off his waist, and a form-fitting, black t-shirt clinging to his skin. Julian threw his cigarette onto the ground and rubbed the toe of his tan boots into the burning tip, extinguishing the flame against the pavement. He glided over to us with his head up, shoulders back, smiling softly.
His smile was slightly lopsided, with one corner of his mouth sitting higher than the other. His lips remained pressed together, and Julian said nothing while he strolled along. Toward us, he came closer and closer.
It was nearly impossible to grasp that this was actually happening—enjoying friendly chitchat with these guys who would soon be supplying the aural entertainment for thousands, and being approached by them, to boot. Luck had never been on my side before, and now that it seemed to be, I was left partially dazed.
The daze, however, was short-lived, as Laina interrupted my thoughts by violently shoving her cell phone into my palm. The camera application was already pulled up and ready to go. Back toward the two musicians, Laina ran. As quickly as she could, Laina found her place next to Mason, and I watched closely while Julian strode up to her left side, already posing for the photograph.
His smile was warm—no, fiery. Pyretic. Burning. Never would I have thought a simple smirk capable of turning my blood—which kept pumping through my busy heart—into molten lava. But his did.
With unsteady hands, I held up the phone and waited for the lens to finally focus.
"Smile, Laina," I called over to my best friend, who had an odd expression on her face. "...And remember to breathe."
At this, Julian laughed. It was a subtle, beautiful sound—one of which I immediately wanted more.
In a split second, Laina's dumbfounded expression turned into a huge grin—allowing me the opportunity to capture the ideal snapshot. Promptly, I snapped two quick photos. She would be happy with these, I thought. "Okay, perfect."
Laina came running over to grab her phone and began looking at the pictures, an approving smirk spreading rapidly over her lips.
"Your turn, love," Mason offered, and motioned for me to come over.
With my eyes on the ground, I walked forward. Although I did not actually feel my feet moving, I—by some miracle—made it over to them without faceplanting and stood between Mason and Julian.
As the three of us were getting in position to pose, I felt a warm, strong arm wrap around my shoulders. It was Julian. At his face, I peeked quickly, while harboring the fear that he might have caught me staring... but Julian was entirely facing the camera.
This, I thought, would buy me a few extra seconds to study him. And he was one worth studying. Even in the dark, I was sure that I had never seen someone so beautiful before.
My eyes followed the nuances of his face—admiring the apparent softness of his skin, apart from the slight stubble surrounding his chin. Some of that stubble had found a home, also, along the surface of Julian's neck.
His neck—as he harshly swallowed, the Adam's apple bobbed in it. His neck—a trap within which he was modestly keeping every word and thought. His neck—for a moment, just a moment, I imagined what it might have been like to kiss it.
"This way, Brooke!" Laina shouted.
With my heart pounding furiously, I hurriedly looked ahead, thoroughly embarrassed.
"Brooke? That's a beautiful name," Mason noted, just loud enough for me and Julian to hear.
"Very beautiful," Julian agreed, speaking to me for the first time, while offering another lopsided smirk. "It's memorable."
Silky, fluid, and powerful—with an unexpected gentleness that only entranced me further. Middle-toned. Modulated. Bewitching. There must have been better words, I thought, to describe the sound of it, but in truth, his voice was unlike anything I had ever heard before. I could have listened to the peculiarly enchanting qualities of it all night, but my attention was momentarily drawn elsewhere.
There was something about his eyes... they sent my heart fluttering into a rather confounding condition. How was it possible to feel electrified, yet simultaneously—and strangely—at ease, all at once? Maybe they were magical eyes, I reasoned. Considering the fact that I had never before seen a color like that, it did not seem entirely implausible.
Red? No, brown. Or a faded copper? Whatever the hue was, it must have been distinctly his own. A shade meant just for him.
Since it was so dark outside, I was not able to see his features as clearly as I would have liked. Despite this, flecks of soft light from a nearby lamppost reflected off his piercing irises, making it very difficult for me to look away.
But for a second, I did—just long enough to take my own photo with these two talented men.
"All set!" Laina exclaimed excitedly. "Got it!"
Down at the time on his wrist, the rhythm guitarist glanced with a sigh.
"Alright, ladies, we've got to go. Almost time for us. You should probably go inside as well," Mason suggested. "Wouldn't want to miss something more exciting, now would we?"
Laina's tongue seemed to mysteriously stop functioning once more, so I took it upon myself to respond.
"Thank you so much, Mason," I blurted out. "Thanks, Julian."
The burning eyes of the latter named individual, I somehow managed to avoid.
"Thanks," I awkwardly repeated, while shifting my focus between the pavement and Mason.
I was grateful, but not graceful. I was a writer—not a conversationalist. As such, my unrehearsed, spoken words felt far too plain. Simple. It was certainly not an adequate show of my appreciation, I thought, but it would have to do. The nerves—sparked within my warm blood—would not allow for anything more eloquent from my lips.
Even if I did not show it as plainly as my best friend, I was nervous. So, so damn nervous. To abate this, I tried reminding myself that Mason and Julian—musicians or not—were just regular people. As he continued the conversation, the rhythm guitarist's affability greatly helped in this regard.
"No problem." Toward myself specifically, Mason winked, before looking between my eyes and Laina's. "Just don't tell anyone we're out here, okay?"
"We won't! We promise!" Laina said with too much enthusiasm. "We have front row seats, so maybe you'll see us inside! You could throw me a pick if you wa—"
For Laina's upper arm, I reached, to loop my own arm under it.
"Shh..." I whispered in her ear, while turning us both around, to begin walking toward the arena's entrance.
Gravel, shuffling. Laina's shoes, flopping and clicking.
Just once, I allowed myself to peek behind us. Even in the dark, I noticed the smirk remaining on Julian's face, as he waved at us. Rudely, I stared, until the lead guitarist turned in the opposite direction, to follow Mason back toward the tour bus.
They both began jogging. Rushing.
With the sensations of lightning and lava still lingering in my bloodstream, I, too, began jogging. Rushing. Onto Laina, I held, as we bolted across the lot, toward the faraway entrance doors.
➳➳➳➳➳➳➳
♫ Chapter Playlist ♫
1. "Anchor" by Novo Amor
2. "She is Love" by Parachute
3. "There's No Way" by Lauv ft. Julia Michaels
4. "When You Were Young" (The Killers cover) by Abandoning Sunday
5. "Take Me Home Tonight" (cover) by Every Avenue