It wasn't fine.
I was sitting alone, fortunately, but fifteen minutes into the six-hour bus ride my buttocks began to ache. So, I switched positions and lowered myself into the seat a little. My knees were pressing against the back of the seat in front of me, but they didn't complain. And when my buttocks started aching again, I lowered myself into the seat until my knees were supported onto the seat and my book was fully propped on my lap.
Every few minutes, after I turned a page, I glanced out the window to look at the warm sun shining down on me. It felt nice, but the air conditioners were keeping it nice and cool inside the bus, so the heat of the sun didn't help me much in regards to the cold air conditioning.
The music helped me focus on the book and drown out anything that had to do with Louis Tomlinson on the bus. People were still excited over his presence and although I was a little star-struck myself, I was leaving him alone to do his own thing. My world didn't revolve around him, and it wasn't going to. I refused to fawn over him like every other person on the bus.
My book was the only thing getting my attention.
And so, for a while, I flipped through the pages of The Devil's Teardrop. I was pulled into the world Jeffery Deaver wrote so well and drowned out my surroundings with the ear buds playing music on my iPod.
Every now and then, I glanced out the window to see where we were at. All I saw was freeway and cars, nothing that gave away we were close to our next drop-off destination. Each time, I sighed and turned back to my book to see how the FBI were going to catch The Digger.
My buttocks still continued to ache, so I switched positions often while wondering if I was bothering anyone behind me or close to me; it had to be annoying to hear the squeaking of the seat as I changed positions. So I bit down on my lip and refrained from switching positions as long as possible.
Finally, I pulled out the earbuds and closed the book shut when the bus driver announced we were forty-five minutes outside of New York City to drop off some passengers. Although I wasn't getting off, it gave me some time to stand up and stretch (the best that I could with what little space I had), and I was aching to relieve the muscles in my butt.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we just arrived at our first destination," the bus driver began to speak, instructing there was a five minute break for those who wanted to go out, have a quick smoke and stretch.
The bus pulled up to the terminal and everyone started getting up, grabbing their bags from the top compartment. I stayed put until everyone was situated. Only then did I stand up and begin twisting my body and stretching my muscles. A groan tumbled off my lips as I felt my muscles stretch. It felt wonderful to move again.
Just as I was about to sit when I was done stretching, an English accent caught me off guard.
"Do you mind if I take this seat?"
I knew before I turned my head that it was Louis Tomlinson who was speaking. I felt my heartbeat pick up speed while I forced a polite smile on my face. He was there, standing in the aisle with a bag draped over his shoulder and a kind smile on his face. I nodded my head as the only answer I could give him--my tongue was twisted, tied and stuck, completely unable to form a proper sentence without sounding like a complete moron.
Quickly, I removed my purse from his seat and set in on my lap as I sat down in my seat. I shuffled to where I was flush against the window and there was enough room between us where our thighs wouldn't touch and there'd be no awkwardness between us.
An expression of relief appeared, Louis sighing heavily. "Thank you so much." In a much quieter tone, when he was seated, he added, "The lady behind me had a kid who kept kicking my seat and I didn't want to bother her with it."
I cracked a genuine smile, chuckling softly. "It's not a problem."
At my side, my fingers were curling and uncurling in a nervous habit. My mind was haywire, wondering why he didn't just pick another seat--why sit next to me? But my mouth was like sand and it was hard to even get those four words out. So asking any questions was no bueno.
My hands were steady enough to reach into my purse to grab those ear buds and iPod. Softly, I set one in my left ear and flipped on the iPod, setting it on shuffle. Music poured into my ears and I laid my head on the window, watching as passengers climbed other buses.
"Where are you headed?" Louis spoke, pulling me away from my music.
"Los Angeles," I answered. "My aunt wants me to come home."
A huge grin grew on Louis' face. "That's where I'm headed. Looks like we'll be spending the next two days together, eh?"
My cheeks heated up in response and I could only manage a polite nod before turning back to the window with bright red, flaming cheeks.
The next two days... with Louis Tomlinson.
___
A month or so ago I took a bus from Roanoke, VA to Minneapolis, MN (a day and a half trip) and oh my god, my booty hurt so much. I am not even exaggerating when I write how much the booty hurts when you're on a bus. aND ITS REALLY AWKWARD SITTING NEXT TO SOMEONE AND YOU WANNA MOVE COS YOUR BOOTY IS ACHIN' BUT YOU DON'T WANNA BE WEIRD. holy hell. not to mention it gets sooo cold at night. and this guy was being really weird (you know me being me, i forgot to bring a blanket). he knew i was cold and he was all like, "you can come cuddle with me", "mmm, yeah, i want some of cheyanne". yeah, no. you ain't getting any of me. move on, buddy.