Aisles of action

Just scream for attention

Break my heart

For only a fraction

Is it over yet?

--From the song Peach Tree

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

"Oh. Hey."

Tristan sits up and looks at me over the back of the couch. I can't help but smirk.

His hair is a mess, wisps sticking up every which way. He gapes at me a bit bewildered, wiping at his mouth. Then he scrambles to his feet, running a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," he says, "I am so sorry if I just over stepped some sort of boundary--"

I go over to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and give him a kiss. He pulls away, looking relieved. Even so, he chuckles.

"You taste like mint. I probably have morning breath."

"Don't care," I say, grinning and poking his nose. He looks surprised. Yawning and stretching over my head, I walk towards the kitchen. "C'mon, I'll make us breakfast."

As he follows me, I turn around. "I knew you were a creepy stalker though. I knew it since day one."

He laughs. "Ya caught me, what can I say?"

"Lets see," I say, opening and closing various cabinets scrounging for anything edible. "Food, food, food..."

"You look good."

I'm at the empty fridge. I look down at myself. I'm barefoot, wearing baggy black sweatpants and no shirt. Part of my rehab was taking better care of myself over all, so I've actually been working out. I have the slightest signs of a six pack.

I shut the fridge and grin. "Thanks."

I'm suddenly self-conscious about how my arms must look. I had been hiding that part of me from everyone for a very long time; I have lots of scars. Embarrassed, I cross my arms.

"Hey," Tristan says, coming to me immediately. He smiles, rubbing my arms up and down. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Orio."

I glare to the side.

"I saw you retreat into yourself. I said you look good--believe it."

I offer up a faint smile. Tristan smiles back. My smile turns into a grin and I go back to rifling through everything for food.

"Ah-ha!" I found an unopened box of pancake mix that just requires water. "You like pancakes?"

He grins. "Love them."

~

"What have I gotten myself into?"

"Awesomeness."

Ben responded to Tristan, patting him on the shoulder and grinning.

"He's not wrong," I say, taking the ping-pong paddles from off the wall.

We're in my garage. My six car garage. I only have five cars though--the last garage is dedicated to ping-pong and darts. I open up all the doors for the fresh air, as always. There's a radio. I can't count the number of nights Ben, Jake, and I spent out here, playing ping-pong with the radio on, getting drunk--

"Guys," I moan as I hand Jake a paddle.

"S'up?" Jake asks me.

I cover my eyes and point to the mini-fridge.

"On it!"

The three guys quickly clear it out and disappear as they throw it away in the dumpster.

"I'm sorry," I groan as they come back.

"For what?" Jake says, wrapping his arm around my neck for a second and ruffling my hair.

"I feel so lame..."

"You're sick," Ben says, taking up his paddle and spinning it in his palm. "You have a problem."

"A problem we're helping you with," Jake interjects.

"That's not pathetic at all," Ben finishes. "Yo! Dickwad!," he then says to Jake, pointing his paddle at him. "Come over here, you're on my team."

"Do I have to be?" Jake says jokingly with a dramatic sigh. "If I must."

"Alright," I say to Tristan, "we're gonna win, got it?"

Tristan laughs. Little does he know how serious I am. It doesn't take him long to understand it though. He also understands how insane we are when we play. The rules are...Well, truthfully there aren't very many rules. Really the only one is, don't hit one of my fucking cars. Besides  that, anything goes.

"You bounced that off the ceiling," Tristan protests an hour later. "Come on!"

Ben outstretches his arms as I double-over, laughing. "Fair play, baby!"

"Really? The ceiling?"

"Aw c'mon Tristan. Don't be a sore loser."

"I'll show you 'sore loser'," Tristan says. He takes the ball and hits it at the ceiling with all his might. It ricochetes, nailing Ben in the head. We all crack up.

"Excuse me gentlemen," an unfamiliar voice says.

We all turn to see a police officer standing there. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead I plaster on a grin.

"Good day, officer. What can I help you with?"

"Well," he says with a sigh, "I had to come here for a noise complaint--"

"Noise complaint?" I snap. "Oh come on, you have got to be freaking kidding me! We don't even have the music on!"

"Orion," Jake whispers at me through pursed lips.

"I know, I know," the officer replies, holding up his hands. "But if someone files a noise complaint--"

I sigh heavily, adjusting my glasses. "You have to come check it out."

"Just lower the excitement a bit, okay?"

"Yes sir."

"Have a good day Mr. Bauwens."

"You too officer."

I wait until he leaves before I turn around and scowl.

"What was that about?" Tristan asks as I walk around, angrily taking everyone's paddles.

"Oh you know," I spit, "just one of the perks of being famous."

"We get the cops called on us," Ben says.

"A lot," Jake adds.

"Ori," Ben says to me then, "don't let it get to you. It's just some stuck up pretentious neighbors that're bored and have nothing better to do."

"For fuck's sake!" I shout, slamming the paddles into their holders on the wall, "I've been way louder and not have the cops called! This is such fucking bullshit! I'm not even home twenty-four hours and--"

Jake takes me by both shoulders, gently guiding me out of the garage. "Let's go for a walk, Ori." He looks over his shoulder at Ben and Tristan. "C'mon, guys."

After a lap around the block I'm calm again. It helps how beautiful it is here. Huge trees line the perfectly manicured lawns, a perfect addition to the gargantuan houses that are all around. Sunlight twinkles down, illuminating the gorgeous neighborhood that's steeped in history. With surroundings like that, it's hard to stay mad.

"So..." Tristan said, "If the neighbors are such a pain in the ass, why'd you guys pick here to move?"

"It's Vermont," Jake tells him with a shrug.

"What do you know about Vermont?" Ben asks Tristan.

"Oh, uh..." Tristan scratches his head. "Nothing?"

"Exactly," the three of us say in unison.

"The most exciting claim to fame here," Jake continues, "is a natural abundance of maple syrup."

Tristan laughs.

"Seriously," I tell Tristan, slipping my hands into my pockets and walking backwards to face him. "We wanted someplace no one would know us."

"It worked for awhile," Ben says.

"Yeah," I grumble, shooting a glare at Ben, "but then neighbors caught wind of who we are..."

"That was not my fault," Ben says defensively.

"How can it not be your fault?! You set the Bloom's house on fire!"

Ben rakes his hand down his face. "How many times do I have to tell you that was an accident--"

"Because setting off fireworks in your backyard is totally reasonable," Jake cuts him off with a glare.

"Hey," Ben snaps, pointing at him, "it was only a matter of time, with you and your not-so-discreet sex parties--"

"Swinging," Jake mutters under his breath.

"Whatever. Point is I think Australia could hear you guys--"

Ben then breaks into a series of high pitched, loud, inappropriate moans and squeals. Jake shoves him.

"Shut up!"

Grinning, Ben only becomes louder.

We all stop walking as Tristan balks out loud laughter.

"What?" we all say together.

"You're serious?" he manages to choke out. "You guys set someone's house on fire--"

"Accident!" Ben defends.

"And you hold swingers parties?"

Jake crosses his arms and looks to the side, turning slightly pink.

"What about you Orio?" Tristan asks me with a grin.

Jake and Ben look at me. Biting my lip, I look down, but not before I see Tristan's face fall, realizing he had made a mistake.

"I supply the drugs," I say quietly. "Well, did."

~

It's late. Or early, depending on how you want to look at it. It's three AM. Ben and Jake left, so it's just been me and Tristan for a few hours now.

We're currently in my basement. I've shut down everything, and it's eerily quiet without the constant chimes and whistles of the pinball machines. I even turned off the lights in the bowling alley.

My acoustic guitar is at hand in the near blackout, our little part of the room illuminated by candles. I didn't do it to be romantic or anything. I don't have a romantic bone in my body. I like to do this when I'm at home, writing.

Tristan and I have been sitting in silence for a while, me plucking away at the strings, completely lost in the music. Getting in the zone like this is one of the reasons I do what I do. As cheesy as it sounds, I become the music. It's like it just flows through me, comes out my fingers, talking with the guitar. I become an extension of the music--I'm the vessel, and my job is to just release it.

"You're really good," Tristan says finally.

I lift my head and blink, genuinely confused. It takes me a second for my surroundings to come back to me. I really, truly, honestly get lost in the music. "Huh?"

"I said you're really good."

"Oh," I say, feeling myself blush. I run my hands over all the strings once. "T-thanks."

"You play so gently, so exquisitely."

I lift my head to him again.

"It sounds like classical music."

Now I'm really blushing. "Y-yeah. Well, I studied the classical style growing up. I used to play viola."

"I never knew that."

I look off to the side. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Tristan leans his chin in his hands and smiles at me. "Why do you play rock music? What you were just playing--"

"Sounds nothing like what I release professionally? I know."

"How'd you get into rock then?"

I shrug, carefully putting my guitar next to me. "Jake and Ben wanted to start a band, but they needed a singer. I could sing. They had a rock band. So I sang rock."

He looks at me intently.

"Then they realized I could write lyrics better than them--which is bullshit, by the way, Ben's the best lyricist I've ever met but he's too shy to actually let me perform anything he's written--so I started writing our songs, too."

"How'd you get famous?"

I laugh. "Completely by accident, I swear to you."

"Tell me."

I look at him and then look at my shirt. "We never wanted to be famous. We were playing a gig at some hole in the wall. We were the opener for a band--The Grunge--heard of them?"

His eyes widen. "Heard of them? They're huge! I mean, not the type of music I listen to, I like country--" I chuckle, "--but yeah I've heard of them."

"Well, this was before they were famous. We were both just starting out. A major record label heard they were good, so they sent a scout to check them out. They really liked us too."

I scratch my head, embarrassed. Truthfully I don't like talking about it. I'm usually shameless, but talking about our start makes me...uncomfortable. "So the guy approached us as The Grunge were setting up. We refused at first, but the guy gave us his card. Then he showed up at our next gig, and the gig after that."

I shake my head. "Then he asked for a demo. Not really thinking anything of it, we obliged. Next thing we know our demo is on the radio, and Ben and Jake are deciding to tour instead of attending college. I had zero plans for college anyway, so I tagged along. The rest is history."

"Wow. You're really lucky."

I scoff, glaring to the side.

"I mean, what are the chances? You were in the right place at the right time. It's like it was fate or something."

"Yeah, fate."

"What's wrong?"

I look at him. "I just got outta rehab, dude. Sometimes I--" I can't finish and look at my lap.

"Hey."

He lifts up my head by my chin. He's staring at me with nothing but compassion, and I hate it.

"You can tell me anything."

"I think it ruined my life, Tristan."

"It's just a rough patch. And you're better now, right?"

I don't answer.

"Right?"

"That's not--that's not really how this works."

He tilts his head to the side.

I let out a long, deep sigh, running my hand through my hair. "They tell me I might be better. They tell me I might not have to be on pills for my fucked-up brain for the rest of my life. But they also tell me I could relapse. They tell me it's actually highly probable I'll relapse at least once. They warned me I might have to be on antidepressants forever."

I look away and mumble under my breath. "I'm such a fuck-up."

"Hey. No you're not."

And he kisses me gently. Honestly it shocks me. When we're done I can't help but laugh.

"I just told you what you're getting yourself into, and you kiss me?"

"You're worth it," he replies with a soft smile, stroking the side of my face with his thumb.

Am I?