“Look, you and I both know you aren’t telling me the truth. You’ve got bigger things going on and I respect that. Just… if things get too big, I’d just like someone to know.”
Lena loved her then. It was if she had found something precious lost long ago. The love of a sister, perhaps, or a long-lost childhood friend.
“Of course, I will. I promise. I would love a friend to confide in.”
“Oh cut the bullshit.” Vivika still scanning the crowd blankly, “I love you like a sister, Lena, but I know we aren’t really friends. You think you’re better than us. Maybe you’re right, maybe you are better, or maybe you aren’t. But you obviously have more going on than me and our stupid little band.”
“It’s not stupid, Vivika!”
“Yes, Lena, to you it is. This—all of this—it’s only a stepping stone to you. You’re using this as your way out. You’re using us to escape. And you know what? I’m ok with it. But just like you are using me to get to where you are going, I’m using you too. This band is nothing to you… but it’s everything to me. I don’t have some ace-in-the-hole hidden away somewhere, so it’s the best chance I have of escaping. And if the band can’t be my way out, than you have to be instead.”
Lena sat outside leaning against a wall and smoking a cigarette. She was attempting to relax and process the events of the night. Everything seemed to have worked out perfect, until the end with Vivika. Well, despite the initial issues with Jakob, that is. It surprised her how little she had thought about him, or about how they were going to find him. She wondered if that proved what Vivika had been saying inside, about them not meaning anything to her.
She had resolved to keep Vivika abreast of what she could… I mean, why not? She owed her that much at least. Vivika had been a friend, and everyone deserved an escape. She didn’t know how to engineer one for Vivika, but if she could find a way, dammit, she would at least try.
“Anyone sitting here?” a familiar male voice spoke from beside her.
Lena turned to address the voice, and immediately beamed ear to ear. It was Matt. Matt York the rock-star, and everyone’s newfound idol. What a brilliant, handsome man he was. This was perhaps the closest she had ever come to being truly star-struck with someone. Yet, she didn’t have the slightest problem admitting it. He really was something.
“No, no one’s sitting here, Matt.” Lena smirked, “But you can’t.”
“Well then,” he pouted, “I suppose I should find somewhere else to sit?”
“I think you should.”
“Fine!” with that, Matt switched over from her right side to the left, and plunked himself down on the ground right next to her.
“So…” he began, faking awkwardness as he tapped his fingers on his knees, “…how’r you?”
“I’m fine.” she responded, trying to act cooler than the awkwardness she felt.
The two sat in a weird silence for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, just… awkward. These were moments that Lena had become quite used to as a performer. They were the moments when she allowed herself to be at peace, sitting outside by herself, ignoring everyone. Her performance was always the permission slip and the explanation. She was an artist. That should be reason enough. Yet these were the moments when someone would inevitably walk by and steal her ability to recombobulate herself, not getting the picture. She was used to it; it was everyone else who wasn’t used to it.
“Why aren’t you cheerful anymore?!” they would always ask, “You were so crazy onstage!!!” They didn’t understand. They never did. That’s half the reason she wanted to be alone. It was easier than trying to explain herself to them.
Yet she felt comfortable with Matt. He wasn’t an introvert like her, but he was a fellow warrior. They had both gone to battle together. They had drawn their swords against common enemies, and felled giants with the ancient tactics of their mutual and complimentary traditions. They had both been bloodied—perhaps in different places under different circumstances—but bloodied still. The commonalities rendered the differences—no matter how numerous—irrelevant.
She was awkward. He knew this. She knew he knew. Somehow, that was more than enough. He obviously knew her kind, and knew precisely how to commiserate. So, he sat… and sat, breathing comfortably beside her. He basked in the warmth of her energy, and she basked in his. After a while of sitting however, it was time for the extrovert to do his due diligence by enacting an essential interaction between the two personalities.
“Is anyone smoking that?” he asked, while pointing at the lit cigarette in her mouth.
“I…”
“Cool, thank you.” he said politely, before stealing it away from her and taking a long drag.
“Hey, what the…” she tried stealing it back, but she was interrupted by him pushing her away. There he was… back in persona. Yet it was a different persona than the one she had seen onstage. Hell, it was different than even the first time she had met him in person. Yes, he had been an obnoxious jerk then. But that was a different sort of jerk: more like a famous person toying with a fan for his own amusement. This didn’t feel like that, though; this felt inexplicably different. It was more warm and more purposeful.
“My god, this tastes so good with you on it!” he said.
“You’re an asshole!” she swatted him.
“No really… I think I can really taste the jerk.”
“The jerk?”
“Yes. The whole ‘you’ part. You really know how to add your jerk-ness to a cigarette.”
“Why the hell am I the jerk?!”
“Because you didn’t invite me out to smoke!”
“I don’t smoke with the likes of you!” she grouched, swatting him some more.
“Oh, and what are the likes of me, exactly?”
“Uhhh…” she stumbled, as she realized she hadn’t really thought that far ahead, “Dumbasses.”
“You want to try that again?” he laughed, “I’ll give you thirty entire seconds to think something clever up.”
“Screw you!”
“Anytime! My bus is right over there!” he said, pointing to the corner of the parking lot where groupies still clambered at the lit tour bus, “But before that, tic-toc, tic-toc.”
“Do you enjoy being an insufferable turd?” she said as fiercely as she could manage.
“Fifteen seconds.”
“Screw you!”
“Once again, the bus is right over there. Ten seconds.”
“I’m not playing your stupid game!” she tried not to giggle.
“But you are playing my stupid game,” he laughed, “and you’ve got five seconds left.”
“Nope.” she shook her head, smiling, “Not playing.”
“Aaa-a-aand zero! Pay up.”
“Excuse me? I wasn’t playing your game. I don’t have to pay you anything.”
“Sure you do. House rules.”
“What house?!” she laughed incredulously. “This isn’t your house. This isn’t anyone’s house! You can’t just impose rules on someone!”
“Sure I can!” he said, pointing back at his bus, “I’m the lead-singer of the head-lining band, and that is my house over there!”
“But we’re not in your house, Matt. Out here, you don’t make the rules.”
“Well…” he said matter-of-factly, “why don’t we go back to my house, so that my rules apply?”
“Oh my god!” she giggled, “Are you seriously asking me to ‘go back to your place’?”
“I believe I am, yes. Strictly so that we can play my little game, of course.”