“We have to stop doing this.”
I stared up at my ceiling and didn’t move or say anything. The duvet cover was pulled back and the cool air of the room hit my skin. I pulled the covers back up and then went back to staying still. I tried to keep the good emotions, the euphoria I was feeling for as long as possible, but everything came crashing down when my shirt was thrown at my face. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as George pulled his trousers on over his boxers.
“Why?” I asked. “I love you, you love me-”
“Let’s get together and killed 1D?” he joked.
I rolled my eyes and forced myself to get out of bed.
“Fuck you, George.”
“I believe you just did.”
I stamped my foot and he decided it was time to stop chatting back. I walked over to the corner of the room, picked up my boxers and put them on. I pulled on my skinny jeans as well but then ran out of effort. I rested my forehead against the wall and stood there, breathing deeply.
“Hey, hey…” George said quietly, and I felt him gently start to trace a soothing pattern on my left shoulder blade with one finger.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
“I just wish it could go back to the way it was before.” I whispered. I turned my face to look at him and he pouted.
“I know. Me too.” he replied.
“So why can’t it?” I asked. I held one of his hands, leant in and kissed him, using my free hand to lightly brush against his neck. He shivered with pleasure but pulled back quickly, eyes closed, lips pressed together.
“We should get to the studio.”
I released him and pulled on my shirt. He didn’t move but said my name. I ignored him. I was done. This was the last time. Didn’t you say that last time? Shut up, stupid brain… He said my name again but I just continued to get dressed. Socks on, shoes on, grab my jacket, leave the room. Leave him standing there just like he always left me.
I walked down the stairs and checked Scamp was alright before grabbing my guitar case and opening the front door. I stepped outside, slammed it shut, walked down the little front garden and sat near the gate. Rich, who had recently passed his driving test, was picking me up. I suppose he was picking George up too. I heard the door open and shut again and a book was thrown at the back of my head.
“Open that. Look at the last page.” George’s cold voice instructed. Without looking at him I did as he commanded, and on the last page of the sketchbook was an incredible pencil drawing of the two of us, our arms around each other, laughing. “Does that look like I don’t care about us to you?”
I scrambled to my feet and whirled around to face him.
“Well stop treating me like your little whore, then! I loved you! I love you. And you ended our fucking relationship with no reasoning other than you were scared. You’re scared of what people who don’t even know us will think. And yeah, maybe I was scared too- but I’m not anymore. I’d broadcast it around the whole fucking world that I love you.” I babbled.
“Don’t act like this is all my fault-” he started.
“You think I wanted this? Even if I was scared of people knowing, we could’ve kept it a secret. You’re the one who gave up, wanted to finish it, wanted it all to end. And who knows why? I fucking don’t! No-one understands. Even Matt who is suicidal is wasting his time trying to figure out our situation.” I snapped. He flinched at his brother’s name.
“It’s complicated, James.” he sighed.
“You can’t just say that. It isn’t fair. You can’t say that and expect me to let it be. I’m part of this. I have the right to know. I’m the other half of the relationship, and-”
“There is no relationship! Don’t you see?” he laughed blandly. “I don’t want to live my life in the shadows. I don’t want to hide away my romance, I shouldn’t have to.”
“Then don’t. You want a picture of us kissing on the album cover? Then that’s what it’ll fucking be.” I said quickly.
“I don’t want that. James… please.”
He pouted and I shot him a look of pure exasperation.
“Will you fucking stop mind-fucking me?” I hissed.
He leapt at me and kissed me. I was so surprised that I almost forgot to catch him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and he wrapped his legs around my waist and I kissed him back passionately. He was kissing me with a kind of hunger, a kind of need, but the kiss actually developed into something slower, more romantic. And then he pulled away, but not before he had placed a single, lingering kiss on my lips…
“I fucking love you.” he whispered.
“And I fucking love you too.” I replied and he chuckled.
“You do realise that if we ever came out with our relationship, some people would get all homophobic and not listen to us? George sighed.
“Who cares? Fuck ‘em, nobody cares. They’re homophobes- they’re not real people.” I said. He smiled.
Before we could continue the conversation, George squealed and leapt off me. I turned to see Rich’s car coming down the road. George ran his hands through his hair so it stuck up at odd angles and smiled at me.
When we got to the studio, everyone was already there, even Matt; it was unusual for him to be on time to anything nowadays. He ghosted along, still stressing and upset even though I hadn’t heard any more about Liam in a while.
So we were back in the studio for our last day of recording. After that we just had to finish mixing the tracks but we weren’t keen on altering our sound too much. Not this time. The studio was indeed smaller, but it didn’t matter. In fact, it felt better. Matt was smiling somewhat so I knew it would be a good day. Everyone played excellently and by the end I was ridiculously happy with the recording. We all had a group hug which was, of course, followed by lots of coughing and deep, manly voices.
David Stone wanted to see us all in his office so our next stop was Skull. Luckily Jake had also driven to the studio in his car so we had two car boots to put all of our stuff into and we actually had a seat each for a change. George sat next to me in the back of Ray’s car and held my hand for the journey. I smiled to myself.
We all got out of the cars at Skull and went straight into the office where David was sat behind his desk. He smiled at us all.
“Hello boys. How was recording?” he asked.
“Great, thanks.” Rich said. Everything’s nearly done.”
“Good. I just wanted to run over your itinerary one more time…” he told us. He walked round the desk and sat on it.
“So, tomorrow is your last day to pack, get anything you need and bid farewell to your families. Now that you’ve dropped out of school we don’t have to worry about that anymore… So, I need you all here at about eleven in the morning for your interview with Scriveners. They’ll probably want some photos, so make sure you look good. I don’t know quite how long that will take. The album cases have been made up- we just need to settle on the artwork. If we can do that now that’d be great so we can send off the plans… You’ve already written your ‘thanks’ for the album sleeves… Jordon has assured me that the mixing on the last two tracks will be done by Thursday, so fingers crossed, then I can get that all wrapped up…
“I’ve got the van sorted now, that’s all good… You’re leaving her on Thursday at six in the evening so that you can get to your hotel so that you can have a good night’s sleep before the show on Friday… I will personally be travelling with the CD’s when they’re done, that should all be ok… We just need to settle the album artwork and those t-shirt designs… Everything’s a little last minute, but that’s alright, I suppose. I mean, think about it, last week we didn’t even know you would be doing this tour.” David said.
The Chain tour was a small, two week tour that we had been booked into at the last minute. It wasn’t very long but it pulled a good crowd and was all over the UK. There had been quite a buzz for the band over the last month and people had actually heard of us now. Scriveners- the magazine who were doing an Introducing feature on us- would also be covering the tour.
David went back behind his desk and pulled out the file of artwork. He opened the file and pulled out the selection of two that we had narrowed it down to. Both were George’s works, both amazing- obviously- but I personally didn’t feel that they belonged on the album. They didn’t necessarily go with what we were trying to say.
Our debut album was rather dark and angry. We were still all really mad and in a bad way and we weren’t coping with anything very well.
“I have an idea.” I said.
“That’s nice, James. Does it relate to either of these pieces of artwork?” David asked.
“No. But it’s related to artwork.” I said. “Let me show you something?”
David nodded and to everyone’s surprise I grabbed Jake by the shirt and pulled him up. I yanked him out of the office and as we sprinted to the car I instructed him to drive us home. When we got there Jake stayed in the car and I ran to the cupboard where all of my stuff was and started to rifle through my school things. I grabbed my art folder and sprinted back to the car.
Back in the office I felt myself blush as I nervously pulled out the work I had done for the first part of my Art A-Level. I showed them the painting of the boy sitting in the moonlight by a river of blood. No-one said anything.
“It’s dumb, I’m sorry, I-” I gabbled, trying to cover it up, but Bryan slapped my hands away from the painting.
“I think we’ve found our artwork.” Rich said. I stared at him. For that to come from Rich was fucking impressive and a bloody big compliment. Everyone in the room nodded and I stared at them all.
“Yes, James! It’ll work well on a shirt, plus the boy can be the motif on a band patch… It works. I love it.” David said, smiling.
So we had the album artwork, another t-shirt and band patch design and we’d already done our simple logo. David had pulled some strings with the clothing design company and they had said that as soon as he gave them the order they’d put our request to the top of the list.
We shook hands at the end of the meeting. I was a little dazed. My artwork would be on our debut album, on our first ever printed t-shirts and band patches. My artwork. And that was our music, too, our music that we had crafted and created.
We all headed back to mine and Jake’s and everyone was a little speechless. It was all happening. It was all really happening. I was wonderfully terrified.
I went out to the back garden by myself for a cigarette. I was tense but at the same time relaxed, grounded but dazed, confused but enlightened. In truth, I half knew what was happening, half didn’t understand or believe it. I inhaled and then exhaled the smoke, watching it traipse out of my mouth and to the sky. I heard the door open and close and turned to see Matt. He smiled at me, just a tiny curl of the lips, but still- a smile.
“How’re you doing, dude?” I asked him. He shrugged. I pulled him into a hug- and then pushed him away quickly. “Dude… what the… what?”
“Don’t tell George. Please.” he begged. His eyes were wide with fear now.
“Why the fuck do you stink of alcohol? I thought you’d stopped this!” I hissed.
“I c-can’t help it, James. It helps me.” he slurred.
“Does it? Does it really?” I snapped. He became rather interested in his shoes. I paused. “Tell me it’s just the alcohol. Matt, please- tell me it’s just alcohol.”
Oh look. A shoelace. I can see how captivating that must be to Matt.
“You can’t tell anyone, James.” he muttered.
I stared at him. I wanted to be sick. I felt faint. I wanted to run a fucking marathon. I wanted to punch something. No, I wanted to punch someone, kill someone. Liam. I lunged forward and grabbed Matt by the shoulders, shaking him.
“Stop it. Stop it now. I’ll tell George, I swear to god-”
“It’s too late. It’s all too late.” he whispered.
He rolled up his shirt sleeve and this time I couldn’t help but throw up.