Jordon felt like he was going to vomit. Not the kind that was caused by alcohol, but the kind where you'd try to ask your crush out and you'd get butterflies in your stomach from all the irrational ways he or she or they would reject you, causing you to feel nauseous and throw up. Except this time, instead of asking your crush out, it was Jordon remembering the events between George and Aron, and instead of irrational thoughts of rejection, it was thoughts of overwhelmedness, and instead of throwing up, Jordon swallowed his puke, and quite frankly, also a bit of his pride.
"Why...?" Jordon said. Words couldn't describe the emotional turmoil that he was experiencing right in the middle of the stage. But it was something like a mix of disgust and confusion.
Arina noticed Jordon standing dead in the middle of the stage. "Jords!" She yelled, her hands acting as a megaphone.
Jordon shook his head. "Huh?" He blinked fast.
"Shitbag!" Arina yelled once more. "Yer part's comin' up!"
After a split second, Jordon's eyes widened behind his sunglasses. He looked directly at the audience, all of them cheering and reaching out their arms to the band.
Despite all the bad memories being brought up, he did everything in his power to get his shit together. "All of it's in the past; all of it is done. There's nothing you could do anymore."
A strange voice whispered in the back of Jordon's mind. "In your past, but not here."
Jordon inhaled sharply and made a quick mental "fuck you" to himself for thinking that. "All about self-care, Jordon." He thought to himself.
Instincts told Jordon that his part was coming up, another rush of anxiety and excitement. And with that, he took a deep breath, ready to perform with all his heart and soul in this encore.
A particular memory popped up in the back of Jordon's mind, one that will always and forever be ingrained in his brain because of that stupid fucking song.
So to pass the time for now, a flashback for you lovely people.
"Y'know, like, I'm jus' sayin', I feel like- y'know, I should get a bit more off the royalty since I made mos' of da songs... Y'know?" Aron cocked his head forward, grinning like an idiot.
"What?!" Matthew gritted his teeth. "Are you out of your mind?!"
George laughed it off, but the tense feeling of anger radiated off of him. "What're you talkin' about, brother?" Poison was spilling out of his smile.
Aron inhaled slowly, leaning backwards, his demeanor changed almost completely. "I make like, y'know, almost all'a da stuff we've put out, and I jus' think it's a lil' unfair if I only get this much." He put a small gap between his index finger and his thumb, squinting his eyes.
"We all had a part in everythin', dude." Jorel pointed out.
"Yea, but, I did everythin' for tha most part, y'know?" Aron shrugged.
Dylan slouched forward, a doink in hand. "So, if that's the case, you're sayin' I should get less money than y'all?" He furrowed his eyes.
"Well, I might as well give them money!" Matthew yelled.
"Hey, hey, guys." Jorel stood up from his plastic chair, slightly extending his arms. "I'm sure we can settle this out like adults." He glared at Aron.
"The fuck you lookin' at me for?" Aron thought to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.
George bit his lips. "Hey, no need to raise your voices, guys." He extended his arm out in an attempt to calm the others down even though he himself is completely pissed off by the words of the skinny motherfucker.
While George was giving words of comfort, Dylan was giving Aron one of those piercing gazes that everyone else is really good at for some reason. To that, Aron fluttered his eyes. He felt a haunting chill down his spine, but he chose not to show it.
"This motherfucker won't see the end of it, I'll make sure of that." Dylan's sober thoughts mumbled through his half-drunken mouth.
The door busted open, a young and more-than-tipsy Jordon Terrell ambled his way inside. "Hey, guys!" He slurred.
"Not a good time, bro." Dylan spoke in a hush tone.
Jordon took a few steps closer to the guys. "What's going on?" He tilted his head, pouting like a child.
"We're havin' a good ol' fashioned financial crisis." Matthew sneered. "Deucey here wants a bigger share off the royalty check." he stuck his thumb out and pointed it towards Aron.
"Oh," Jordon raised his eyebrows. "That's not good."
"'That's not good'?!" George echoed. "It's fucking awful!"
"Y'all realize I'm in the same room as y'all, right?" Aron spoke in hushed tone.
George jerked his head towards his nasally band member. "Yeah, I'm not done with you, fa-"
"Georgie, just stop." Jordon huffed. "Just sit down."
"Don't 'Georgie' me, Terrell." George hizzed.
Jordon widened his eyes ever so slightly. "Well, don't 'Terrell' me, Ragan" To that, Dylan placed his hand on Jordon's shoulder, shaking his head with his eyes closed. "Oh." Jordon whispered.
Aron widened his eyes. "Oh, okay. We last namin' now."
Matt rolled his eyes. "Aron, please shut up." He asked nicely. "We're all fighting because of you anyway."
"I'm right though, y'know?" Aron mouthed out.
"I heard that." Matthew furrowed his eyebrows. "And hey, I know the only reason you want more money is because you want to buy weed and fuck a buncha hookers with all that cash." He winked, smirking.
Aron slouched forward, an insulted look plastered onto his face. "What the fuck did ya say?"
"I'm right though, y'know?" The older man mocked.
"Ya don't have da right tah say what I do with the money I make." Aron barked.
The other man could only laugh in a mocking tone. "Oh, c'mon, you're lyin' to me and you're lyin' to yourself."
"You shut the fuck up right now." Aron finally stood up, puffing his chest to buff up his skinny, hopeless frame.
Matthew laughed some more, nodding his head up and down. "Oh, are you trying to be threatening?" He asked. "That was a rhetorical question. Nice try, cupcake."
"The fuck did you call me, homie?" Aron yelled, taking a step forward.
"Why do you always put up this fake 'gangsta' act?" Matthew grinned, placing his head on his fist. "That's not even how you actually sound before you decided to put up this fake ass ghetto act." He gestured his hands to Aron's entire body.
Aron's abnormally large nose wrinkled up, a definite indication that he has been pissed off, which seems a bit unnatural since most of the time he's too high to notice his surroundings.
"So you're callin' me fake?" Aron's voice became louder with every syllable.
"I didn't say you're fake, I just said that what you're doing is fake. There's a difference." Matthew tried to reason out.
"Fuck you, you fuckin fa-"
"So," Jordon whispered to Dylan, sitting down next to him. "is this the part where we argue too? 'Cause it seems like everyone's talkin' about something."
"Umm," Dylan pouted. "you still owe me five bucks." He murmured.
Jordon jerked his head back. "You still remember that? That was like, three months ago man."
"Yeah," Dylan nodded. "exactly."
"Goddammit." Jordon cursed.
"None of y'all would be here if it weren't for me!" Aron yelled, completely unhinged. "I started this fuckin' band!"
Jorel stomped his foot to the ground, leaning towards the twink menacingly. "What do you mean you started the band?! You, me, and Jeff started the band!"
Aron grabbed the collar of Jorel's flannel, causing the younger man to trip over a bit. "You don't mention that fake ass motherfucka around me, aight?"
Matthew stepped in, pulling Jorel to the side. "The reason why you think you're doing everything is because you keep bossin' us around!" He grabbed the neckline of Aron's muscle shirt with only one hand, quite similar to the way Aron took Jorel's collar, only more professionally. "And then you'll whine like a lil' bitch if you don't have it your way, right?!"
"Eat shit, dickbag!" Aron tried to throw a punch, but Matt easily stopped his fist with one hand.
Matthew slowly turned his head to the measly fist that nearly hit his face. "Did you just try to punch me?" His eyes grew to the size of the moon.
If this were a movie, the scene would slow down, focusing of Matt's fist with his angered face slightly blurred behind. Optionally, classical music, maybe a lady singing Italian opera, would be playing in the background. Some clips of everyone's reactions slowed-down, mainly a mix between anger and shock. And where the final part would be Aron's final look of regret before a punch sound effect and the screen going black.
Sadly, this is not a movie. But the scene written above is somewhat accurate. Well, only the part where everything wasn't slow-mo and dramatic. But other than that, completely spot on. Another thing that was also different was that Matthew didn't even land a single cell of skin on Aron.
A squeal of utter horror came out of the twink's mouth, his arms sheepishly raised up to defend himself in anyway from the knuckles of Matthew, only to realize that Matty stopped centimeters (or an inch if you're American) away from Aron's face.
"If I hit you for real, what sound would you have made instead?" Matthew joked, the other members snickered along with the older man. Aron let out a single tear of both shame and fear.
"That wasn't fuckin' funny!" Aron pulled Matthew's arm away from his shirt, tumbling just enough to land ass-first on the floor.
"Well," Matthew squated, placing his hands on his knees. "If you weren't so fuckin' hammered at the moment, you would've actually hit me." He smiled maniacally. "And we can't have that now, can we?"
"Motherfucker..." Aron flipped off the man who almost punched him.
Meanwhile, Jordon looked to the side at his best friend, Dylan. The Mexican looked a bit more irritated than usual. "Are you okay, dude?"
Smoke came out of Dylan's nose both in a literal and metaphorical way. "What do you think?" He enunciated every word in a very bold manner. Jordon was taken aback, his heart skipped a beat. Out of everyone, nobody is more fearsome than Funny Man. Quite ironic, actually.
Jorel looked down on his friend's teary-eyed face, it was pretty similar to that one time a girl beat him up while they were in Moscow because Deuce was catcalling or something. The only difference is that not a single finger was laid on Aron. Jorel could swear that he heard Aron's blood boiling because of what happened.
"So much for bein' a gangsta, I guess."
"Thank you, Oregon! Goodnight!" Aron yelled into the mic and throwing his hands up in the air.
George cupped his mic to his face. "We'll see you next time!"
The band all rested backstage, they still heard the chants of fans from the other side. Dylan took a water bottle and let all the liquid flow out to his face.
"What a waste of good water." Arina shook her head. "Look, mos' of it's on da floor!" She pointed out. Dylan just shrugged it off.
At the distance, Jordon was staring into the nothingness. He was hunched over, his shoulders resting on his knees. While everyone was groaning and moving around to fix everything up, he sat completely still, letting time pass by slower than it should. Jordon wasn't sure why that particular memory popped up out of nowhere
George clasped his hands together, echoing around the room. "Alright, everybody! Back to the buses!"
"Wow." Arina raised her eyebrows in sarcastic amazement. "Such a leader, commandin' with a loud voice and an iron fist."
The man flushed a tiny bit. "Oh, please." He rolled his eyes, trying to contain a smile. He noticed Terrell sitting down on a metal folding chair, looking into the distance. "The fuck he lookin' at?" George squinted his eyes at the younger man.
Suddenly, a revelation came to George. The reason why Jordon was having an off day today was because he and Jay were fighting this morning! Of course! But wait, that doesn't explain why he passed out a few times afterwards, of why his mannerisms changed completely. But one thing is clear for sure...
Ragan knows the perfect way to cheer Jordon up.