Life on the Murder Scene

Soft light filters in through the broken blinds of Frank’s bedroom, cloaking the whole room in a golden hue as I rub sleep from my eyes. Rolling over, I expect to feel my boyfriend taking up the other half of the bed. My fingers meet with semi-warm sheets. Suddenly, my eyes fly open, searching the room for any signs of the guitarist. His clothes, left discarded on the floor last night before he’d crawled into bed with me, are no longer there. Even since I’d started living with him permanently, Frank promised to wake up next to me every morning. It feels foreign to not have him here to cuddle up against, insisting he spend another minute or two in bed with me just enjoying the other’s presence.

I feel my heartbeat pick up, ramming against my ribs like an animal trying to escape it’s cage. Is he done with me? Have I served my purpose and now he’s off doing his own thing? Could I have said something in my sleep to upset him? My throat begins to constrict, making it hard to get air in or out. Tremors begin to flow through my body as negative though after negative though swirls around inside my mind.

Suddenly, the tattooed man walks through the bedroom door, carrying a tray of various breakfast foods. I stare at him, trying to get my thoughts and breathing under control. He hadn’t left me. He wasn’t tired of having to wake up next to me everyday. Frank just wanted to do something sweet, to make me feel special. I curse my anxiety, trying to put on a smile before my boyfriend realized his absence had upset me.

“Mak?” Frank questions, placing the tray down on the bed next to me. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

I have failed miserably at hiding my fear. Then again, I’m not surprised. I suck at keeping secrets from Frank. He has a way of sensing my emotions, usually acting accordingly. I wonder if he ever gets tired of taking care of me, of putting his concerns on the back burner and dealing with all of my anxiety induced panics.

“You weren’t here,” I answer back, voice barely above a whisper.

Frank smiles down at me, his lips capturing mine for a second, “I didn’t think you would wake up. I just wanted to make you breakfast. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I was just being silly,” I answer back, trying to play the whole thing off, though it had affected me quite a lot. I’m still not sure I’m good enough for Frank. “What’d you make us?”

“Pancakes and fruit salad,” Frank answers, his eyes shifting from me to the slightly burnt breakfast items on the tray.

I beam at him, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. My lips meet his, drinking in the way he tastes. “Thank you.”

The guitarist beams back at me, “Our plane leaves at two. We’ve gotta be at your house by like eleven so we can travel to the airport.”

I nod my understanding. Feeling my stomach do a little flip.

I had met Michael Rooney maybe two weeks ago. Although the moves he gave me were difficult and I’d felt like quitting a few times, he was always kind and encouraging. At one point we’d stopped and he’d asked me if I felt like the dance he’d created emanated my grandmother. When I’d admitted to him that I didn’t think so, we’d worked to change it. In the end, I’m glad that I agreed to dance the part. Yet, as the time to leave for Los Angeles grows closer I feel myself getting more and more nervous.

“Everyone is super excited to see your dance,” Frank muses, wiping up some of the syrup on his plate with another pancake.

“Is everyone excited or are you excited?” I laugh back, popping a piece of pineapple in my mouth and chewing it slowly.

“I’ve seen parts of it,” Frank answers back through a mouthful of syrup and pancake. “I just can’t wait to see it all together.”

I laugh back at him before getting up off the bed. It’s already nine and I need to shower and finish packing not only my bag but also Frank’s. He’d haphazardly thrown a few pairs of pants and his entire drawer of boxers into a duffel bag and announced he’d deal with it later. Later never came and now I know if I don’t do it the guitarist will be wearing the same t-shirt for the next two weeks.

“Where are you going?” Frank whines, reaching out to catch my fingers in his.

“I need a shower. No one is going to want to sit next to me on the plane if I smell like cigarettes and stale beer,” I laugh back, pulling against the guitarist, who is trying to get me back in the bed.

“I’m sitting next to you and I don’t care.”

“I want to make a good first impression when I meet Bob,” I answer.

Frank pouts at me, his bottom lip sticking out just a little, “I don’t want him to see how pretty you can be when you try.”

I can’t help but laugh at this comment. Frank is ridiculous. Bob could be the most attractive person in the entire world and I wouldn’t care. I’ve got what I want. I’d be an idiot to give that up. Yet, Frank will make offhanded comments about me leaving all the time. He’s ridiculous.

“Just join me. You don’t necessarily smell like roses either.”

Frank perks up at this. Although he’s seen me in various stages of undress I don’t think the guitarist has ever seen me fully naked, though he has tried. Overly sexual situations make me nervous, despite my constant joking about them. The guitarist respects my boundaries with no complaints, letting me take the lead. My offer to join me in the shower is something completely new.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Twenty minutes later, Frank and I are freshly showered, dressed and lugging our overly stuffed bags down the street towards my brother’s house. We stay silent, not needing words to feel comfortable around each other. Then again, I’m not sure either of us could talk even if we wanted to, breath coming out in huffs and bead of sweat form on our faces. I might have packed a little too much.

“Need any help?” A large blonde man appears in front of us. He’s got his hair cut short, a black ring threaded through his lip. Soft blue eyes shift back and forth from my face to the bag I’ve been dragging along beside me.

“Uh…” I’m at a loss for words, not know who the hell this guy is. Brian had been pretty transparent with me about who was going to be traveling to Los Angeles with us, seems as I am the acting manager for this trip. He didn’t mention any new bodyguards joining the team.

“Sure thing Bob, thanks,” Frank says with a cheery smile, handing over his duffle bag.

I just stand there, completely transfixed with Bob. I’d heard the guys talk about him, but have never met him before. He looks nothing like I imagined him in my head. He’s a good head taller than everyone else. He’s not skinny or lanky or tattooed. In fact, Bob is probably the most muscled guy in the group. I mean sure, that’s to be expected, he’s a drummer, but not even the band’s previous drummer was this bulky.

“Hi, I’m Bob. You must be Makayla. I’m heard a lot about you,” the blonde shoves his hand forward giving me a big smile.

Trying my best to return it, I stretch my hand out to take his. Bob’s fingers curl around my palm, making my own milky white flesh almost completely disappear. Everything about this guy is large and I can’t help but be slightly intimidated. Thankfully, before I’m forced to converse further, Mikey wraps his arms around me. Grinning, I turn around, pulling my older brother into a tight hug.

“I feel like I’ve not seen you in forever. You’re always holed up at your boyfriends house,” Mikey jokes with a wink.

I elbow him in the ribs, sticking my tongue out. Although Frank and I haven’t told anyone in the band that we’re a couple, Mikey has been dropping the ‘B’ word more and more. I’d like to pretend that he still hasn’t figured it out but Mikey is observant and fairly good at putting two and two together, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew my secret.

“Welp, here I am. You’ve got me for the next two weeks,” I answer back, trying to keep the smile on my face light and natural looking.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, resting his chin on my shoulder, “when she isn’t attending to her assistant manager duties and video taping us.”

I roll my eyes. I hadn’t wanted to take up the position of Brian’s right hand man. It felt too official and like it would put some kind of weird boundary between the rest of the band and me. Thankfully, hardly anything has changed except now I get paid for traveling with the band and making sure nothing goes too wrong. Gerard had been sure to rub my new duties in my face whenever he got the chance though, getting some kind of sick pleasure out of grimaces and eye rolls.

“Video taping?” Bob questions, one foot resting on the step meant to aid passengers with getting into the big white van we’re using to transport all of us to the airport.

I nod in response, “I’m hoping to make a film documenting the bands time on tour."

The drummer nods slowly, before finishing getting into the van.

“What’s his problem?” I ask aloud to the group of guys standing around me.

“Bob doesn’t like cameras,” Ray answers, passing by us on his way to get in the vehicle parked behind me. “We needed to be on the road five minutes ago.”

Nodding, I grab hold of my older brother’s hands, all of us piling into the car. California here we come.

Notes