I woke feeling redactful

In the misty light of morning

I said my prayers cordially

These words are just acidic

These second guesses are getting heavy

One day I'll catch up

One day this'll be hysterical

One day this will evade us all

--From the song One Day [This Will Evade Us]

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens/Benjamin Hill

"My name is Orion Bauwens."

"I know."

I feel stupid--of course he knows who I am. It may be hard to believe, but some days I forget I'm famous. He doesn't seem to mind.

The man standing before me has a huge grin on his face as we shake hands. It's not mocking because of my slip-up, it's genuine. I can see the excitement in his light brown eyes. He flips his shaggy, dishwater blonde hair out of them.

"I'm Tristan."

"Tristan, eh?" I pat his upper arm before disengaging from the handshake. "Well, welcome aboard Tristan."

"Thank you sir."

I had begun to walk away. Smirking, I turn around and shake my head. "Yo, Tristan."

He looks up at me, surprised, mid-picking up the amp that has to go on the bus.

"Don't call me sir. It's just Orion, okay?"

He grins again. The expression seems to come easy for him. Shaking my head once more, I jam my hands into my pockets and board the tour bus. My tour bus.

I love this thing. It's huge. One-way, black windows sit against the champagne colored exterior. The paint is custom, pearlescent mixed with metallic flakes. The unique combination makes it explode into a cascade of rainbows if the sunlight hits it right. It's loud, it's obnoxious--I love it.

"Oh thank God," I exclaim, flopping down into one of the comfortable grey seats. "How do people live like this?"

Walking up to me is my manager, Gloria. She's the best. Sometimes we fight, but I don't know what I'd do without her. She's literally the only one in my life who can get me to pull my head out of my ass. She doesn't put up with my bullshit.

Honestly she's the one who keeps me sane most days.

"What?" Gloria asks, sitting in the aisles opposite me. "At least it's a dry heat."

I roll my unremarkable brown eyes. "That doesn't matter, hot is hot. And it's fucking hot."

Unexpectedly she tosses her unopened water bottle at me. I barely catch it in time, millimetres away from it smashing me in the nose. I glare as she laughs.

"Sassy woman," I say, trailing off.

Tristan walks up the stairs. When he sees me he stops.

"Oh, sorry...am I supposed to sit somewhere else?"

I can't help snicker. "No. In fact, I'm actually happy you showed up." I wave my arm. "C'mere."

Tristan doesn't move, appearing to not comprehend what I just said. I wave again.

"Come on. Come sit over here."

Bewildered, Tristan whips his head around, looking for someone else. He then looks back at me with a hand to his chest. "Me?"

I laugh at him. I know it's mean, but I'm not exactly the nicest person on the planet. "No, the other new lackey who's standing there."

That makes his face explode red. Maybe that was too harsh, so I wave a final time. "Yes, you! Come here, Tristan."

"He doesn't bite," Gloria offers as the bus rumbles to a start and takes off.

As Tristan makes his way to Gloria and I, he stumbles. I laugh as he catches himself on the seats.

"It's okay. You'll get used to walking around while the bus is moving."

I scoot over and pat the spot next to me. As Tristan grips the back of the seats, he looks at me like I suggested he try to swallow a sword. It makes me roll my eyes impatiently. That spurs him to quickly sit next to me.

"So," I say, barely giving him enough time to sit, "where are you from?"

"Here."

I raise my eyebrows. "Amarillo?"

"Yes s--I mean yes."

I can't help but grin. "I like the thick Texas accent."

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. "I get that a lot... It's funny because it's just how I talk."

"What do I sound like?" I tease.

He pauses a moment and grins again. "Like a commercial."

I screw up my face. "Huh?"

"A lotta commercials, even down here, use Midwestern accents because it's easy to understand."

I tilt my head to the side. I legit didn't know that. "Huh. So, Tristan from Amarillo, Texas. What makes you want to be my roadie?"

"Well," he says, entwining his hands and looking down at them, "I like you a lot."

"Oh great, you're not one of those stalker fan types, are you?"

Immediately his head shoots up. "What? N-no! I just, I needed a job, and I saw the ad, and they really grilled me during the interview to make sure I wasn't a stalker, and--"

I crack up. "Dude, I was joking."

He looks a bit perturbed.

"You'll get used to it," Gloria says. Tristan looks at her. "His weird sense of humor, I mean."

He blinks. "I will?"

Before she can respond, I tap him on the knee and stand up. "C'mon, I'll show you around."

Tristan gets to his feet, walking across the aisle so I can walk first. I lead him to the door that's at the back and open it. It reveals what's basically a living room. There's couches, an armchair, a table (that's bolted down, of course), a large TV screen hooked up to a video game system. Sitting next to it is a red trunk (also bolted down) where I keep all the games.

Tristan stops walking. "Holy shit."

"What--never been on a tour bus before?"

Tristan merely shakes his head. I can't help but grin. I'm deriving a sick pleasure at seeing him so shocked. I mean, not that I'm flaunting my status or lifestyle...

Okay, I'm totally flaunting.

"You thirsty?"

"Uh," Tristan says, still rooted by the door. His eyes keep sweeping around the room. When he replies he doesn't look at me. "Yeah, actually..."

"Okay, come here."

He's confused as I lead him past the mini-fridge on the ground and to another door. This one is wide open.

"Holy shit."

Grinning, I walk behind the full bar. Leaning against the counter I bat my eyelashes. "So, poison of choice? Alcohol? Non-alcoholic? I have pop and stuff back here, too."

"Pop?"

"Yeah... you know. Pop."

When he still looks confused I take out a Coca-Cola and put it on the counter, gesturing at the can up and down.

"Oh! You mean soda!"

I give him the side eye. "Right..."

"Coke's fine."

"You sure? I have Pepsi too..." Briefly I lean back, looking down at the see-thru cooler. "Honestly I have just about every kind of pop there is..."

"Soda," he says with a mischievous grin.

"Whatever," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "You good?"

"Y'sir."

"Okay." I come back around the counter as he pops open his drink. "One last thing I wanna show you."

I lead him to the final door. It's black. It's shut. It's locked. Pulling out the key from my pocket I unlock it and hold open the door. Tristan's eyes go wide. He pokes his head in and then looks at me.

"Uh..."

"Go head. It's just a room."

He steps in. Everything in it is black--the walls, the bed, the furniture. Sitting in the corner sits my baby, my black electric guitar. It's the one I had since I first started playing. I play a replica of it on stage--this one is the one I do all my writing with.

"Yeah," Tristan says slowly, "but it's your room..."

Unceremoniously I shove him inside. I sit down on my bed, pointing around. "I have books over here--I read, betcha didn't know that--and that guitar over there is my baby." I narrow my eyes. "Touch it and you die."

Tristan holds up his hands. He then notices the various band posters I have on my walls. Looking obviously intrigued, he steps further inside the room to look at them.

It's funny. For a while I can't help but just watch his profile as he stares up at the posters. Finally I smirk. "What?"

He looks at me, startled, like he had forgotten I was there. "I just--you never talk about your musical influences in interviews."

I shrug and pick at my blanket.

"It's kinda weird that you don't."

My eyes snap up. My pride takes hold and the look turns into a glare. But then, surprisingly, it fades. However, the damage was already done.

"S-sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Sighing, I shrug. "It's just that I've given so much of myself out to people already. The interviews, my music. I just want parts that still belong to me, and only me, yaknow?"

Tristan looks surprised by my genuine reply. When the look doesn't slip off his face, I clear my throat and look away. When I can still feel him looking at me I turn red.

"What?"

"You just... surprise me. You're not anything like I imagined."

"What do you mean?" I ask defensively.

"Well, I mean, the media makes you out to be a fucking train wreck. They say you have a temper problem. That you've trashed hotel rooms."

I scoff. "What rock star hasn't trashed a hotel room?"

"So it's true?"

I look at him and he's surprised again. I look away and rub the back of my neck, not answering. He continues.

"I just expected you to be a prick."

I narrow my eyes on him then. Tristan's face is relaxed, completely unphased by my look. And just like that my temper trickles away again. I look down at my lap.

"I'm actually happy you're a fan of mine. Everyone else is just here because it's a job. Sometimes I think the fame I hold is all fake and no one actually likes my crap."

"It's not crap."

His reply makes me realize what I just told him. My head snaps up. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Did I just say that? Since when do I admit my fears to anyone? Especially that specific one that's so tender and raw inside? I can't help but gawk, mouth slightly open.

"It's not crap," Tristan reiterates, "and I didn't mean anything by what I said. I just meant that you're a lot more personable than everyone makes you out to be. You're so nice, so open. I mean, fuck, I'm in your room."

My eyes widen. Fuck, he's in my room. He's in my room?! Why the fuck did I bring him here?! I lurch to my feet and grab him by the bicep. I usher him out and lock the door behind us. Coughing, I hurry away. I don't say anything as I all but run back to the front of the bus.

Thankfully Gloria is still there, pouring over her tablet. I plop down next to her, panting, though I'm not even sure why.

"Where were you guys?" she asks, not looking up from her work. "You were gone awhile."

Tristan thankfully sits across the aisle from us. I rub the back of my neck again.

"I was just showing Tristan around. You know--the bar, my room, the game space..."

Gloria looks at me a moment and I catch a glimpse of surprise. Or maybe I didn't, because then the look is gone. She looks to Tristan and smiles.

"Yes, Orion is very nice. He likes his crew to feel welcome. He's not like other rock stars."

Tristan grins at me. "I see that."

I lean my cheek against my palm and look out the window, blushing.