Pull me apart, rip me limb from limb

I'm riding this whim to leave you in sin

--From the song Psychopathic

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

That night in Dallas was one of the best shows I ever had. Everything was damn near perfect. The crowd was energized and electric. I was feeding off their energy, really giving it my all. My voice was amazing, even though I had been worried it was going to be trashed from screaming earlier. My band nailed every note, every instrument stayed in tune. I ended up doing a second encore since I was so jazzed.

There was only one way to celebrate such a great performance. I invited the usual people (the band and Gloria) back for celebratory drinks on my bus. Then I went to the hotel where I continued drinking by myself.

After that, everything gets admittedly a bit fuzzy. I remember standing outside Bob's (or Rob's) bus, pounding on the door. I remember hugging him and apologizing. I remember telling him how great he is, and how I shouldn't have treated him like shit, and I promised it wouldn't happen again.

Normally I'd be embarrassed by being so sloppy drunk, but it has become the norm. This was always what happened whenever I screamed at one of the crew. Sometimes it was the same day, sometimes it took me a few days. But an apology always happened with liquid courage, and it always ended with me damn near crying on their shoulder.

The next thing I remember is someone pounding on the door to my hotel room. I remember someone bringing me outside (where I promptly puked). Then I'm trying to get to the bar on my bus as someone is holding me back. Then nothing.

"Good morning!"

I groan and fall off the beige couch. Moaning loudly, I stay face down on the carpet for a while. Finally I lift my painful head, squinting.

"Gloria?"

"I'm happy you apologized to Chad."

"Chad?"

"The guy you screamed at yesterday?"

I put my face against the carpet, mumbling against it. "Fuck, his name is Chad? I thought it was Bob, or Rob."

Gloria tisks. "¡Ay, dios mio! When are you ever going to get the names of our crew straight?"

"Hey," I snap against the carpet. "I remember the new guy's name--Tristan."

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I mumble. When I get no reply, I lift my head. Gloria has left the area. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

When she never responds I put my face back against the carpet. I stay like that until the carpet goes from prickly to itchy, and then unbearable against my skin. Moaning loudly I lift myself up. Moving vertically while in a vehicle that's moving horizontally doesn't mix well with my hangover. That's why I frantically propel myself to the nearest bathroom and noisily throw up.

When that's done, I brush my teeth, not even bothering to change my clothes. I'll do it later. Much later, when my head stops pounding. My thoughts about maybe taking a shower abruptly end when I go to the regular seats at the front of the bus, ready to ask Gloria what she meant.

Gloria sits with her tablet as expected. However, unexpectedly I see Tristan sitting not that far from her. He appears to be deeply asleep. I frown, storming over to Gloria. 

Pointing at the sleeping man, I growl quietly at her. "What is he doing here?"

"Sal de mi cara. Your breath stinks."

I frown. "I brushed my teeth..."

She looks up from her pad. "And I don't know what he's doing here. When I boarded this morning I found him sleeping where he is with you passed out on the sofa."

Once again I jab my pointer finger at Tristan's sleeping form. "Get him off my damn bus."

Gloria simply raises her eyebrow at me.

"Why isn't he on the crew bus?" I finally whine at her like a child, letting my arm drop to the side. "He's supposed to be there."

My manager rolls her eyes before looking back at her work. "Go get a beer or something, you're being insufferable."

"Sorry."

We both jump, Gloria twisting in her seat, my head snapping up. Tristan is standing there. He's absentmindedly playing with the hem of his yellow shirt.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep here. I'll get on the other bus."

Gloria rolls her eyes a second time with a huff. "Don't worry about it kid." Turning back in her seat, she shoots me a stern glare. "I'm not going to make the crew pull over just so you can switch buses. We'll do it at the next rest stop."

For a moment I glare across the space at Tristan. Turning on my heel, I stomp off towards the bar. A beer doesn't sound inviting, but a bloody Mary sure does.

As I stand behind the bar, angrily pulling out the ingredients, someone clears their throat. I pause a moment, not even bothering to look who it is. I already know.

"What do you want, Tristan?"

"I just wanted to say that was an awesome show last night."

Before I can stop myself, I snap at him. "Who asked you?"

"Fine, fuck you." He goes to leave.

Heaving a loud sigh-groan, I extend my hand. "Wait, please. Don't go."

To my surprise, he stops.

"I'm sorry," I say, raking my hands down my face. "I'm a bastard when I'm hung over."

Tristan turns around, smirking at me. "I noticed."

My mouth nearly hangs open. "Why are you so bold? You could've said, 'No you're not'."

"And what would that have accomplished?" he asks, coming over and sitting at the bar. "Get me a beer, yeah?"

I raise an eyebrow to him. Even so, I pull one out, open it, and then go back to making my drink. He takes a swig and continues speaking. "Stroking your already huge ego? I feel like everyone around here does that enough. Probably why you throw temper tantrums."

I pause. Once again, I'm shocked. Either this guy doesn't have a filter or he's got a death wish. I smirk, stirring my drink with a large piece of celery. Once that's done I take a bite, shaking my head. 

He watches me like a hawk as I come around the bar. Stopping in front of him, my dark eyes look into his brown ones. I take another bite of the vegetable.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

Tristan grins. Sighing, I jerk my head toward the entertainment room. Living room. Drawing room? Whatever the fuck it is, I still don't know what to call it properly. Tristan follows me with his beer.

I sit on the sofa I slept on last night. Tristan sits in a large arm chair across from me. For a while we don't say anything, me nursing my hangover, Tristan occasionally drinking his beer, but mostly picking at the label. After what feels like eternity, Tristan breaks the awkward silence.

"You don't remember last night, do you?"

I look at him and chuckle. "I remember bits and pieces. Like...Apologizing to Chad."

Tristan snorts in amusement. "Hey, you finally remembered his name."

I raise an eyebrow.

"I was on the crew bus originally," he explains. "But then you caused a racket and woke us all up. And you kept insisting on apologizing to Bob, or Rob. We were all pretty annoyed, I'm not gonna lie. Then we finally figured out you meant Chad, so we dragged him out so you could make your drunken peace."

I wince at that. "Then what?"

Tristan laughs. "Then you stumbled off to the hotel room. Where you promptly nearly got you and Gloria evicted."

My eyes widen. "Uh...why?"

"Don't worry, just for being loud. Gloria called us and said there was a situation in the hotel."

I moan and wrap my arms around my head, still holding the cocktail. I can't look at him. I'm too embarrassed.

"So apparently it's a regular occurrence that we have to drag you out of whatever hotel we've booked?"

I shoot him a nasty glare. "Not regular."

He laughs again. "Really? The crew makes it sound like every damn time."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yeah. They explained to me that's why they all sleep in the bunks instead of a hotel--because at least then they'll actually get some rest."

I scowl and look away. I'm close to telling him to shut up, but a part of me doesn't. It's the part that wants to hear him keep talking that wins out, so I remain silent. I love his accent, I could listen to it all day.

"So anyway, Gloria calls us and says we have to go collect you. By the time we make it out there she had already brought you outside. Where you threw up in a plant."

Will this torture never end? I rub my pounding forehead. "Yeah, ha ha, laugh it up at the drunk guy..."

"I'm not here to laugh at you," Tristan says seriously. So seriously, in fact, I look at him in the face. "I'm here to try and get some answers."

A cold knot forms in my stomach. "A-answers? To what?"

"So after you almost puked on me," Tristan continues, "you apologized profusely, just like you had to Chad."

"I'm sorry--"

Tristan holds up his hand. "No, no no, we're not starting up with the endless apologies again."

I slam my mouth shut.

"And then you insisted I be the one to take you back to the bus."

I blink at him. For a long, long while, there's silence. Partially because I don't remember that. And partially because I don't know how to even respond to that. My mouth opens and closes a few times, but I honestly don't know what to say.

"So my question," Tristan says, leaning forward, his brown eyes boring holes into me, "why did you deck a guy because you wanted me, and only me, to be the one who helped you onto the bus?"

I moan loudly and lean back, shutting my eyes. "Fuck, I punched someone?"

"Yes. Because they tried to catch you when you stumbled."

"Who'd I punch?"

"Well, luckily it was me, because you didn't realize it was me."

My eyes snap open and I look at him. I can only imagine the horrified look on my face. "Wait--I punched you? Dude, I am so, so sorry--"

"Why were you so hellbent on me bringing you here?"

My mind goes blank. "I--I don't know? I was drunk. Tristan, I honestly have no fucking idea, but I am so sorry."

Tristan chuckles and downs the rest of his beer. Getting to his feet, he tosses it in the trash.

"L-look," I say, jumping to my feet, "It's only your third day here. If you want to break the contract, I totally, one-hundred percent understand--"

Tristan shakes his head at me. "I'm not going anywhere."

I'm shocked. "You're not?"

He grins. "Nope. I mean, you were drunk. People do really stupid things when they're that drunk."

I wince again at the emphasis of me being so drunk.

"I just wanted to let you know why I was on this bus this morning since it upset you, and I wanted to know why you're acting like I'm your best friend. Like you said yourself, I've only been here three days."

I want to provide an explanation. I want to give a reason. And I would have, if I had one to give. My shoulders slump.

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

Tristan laughs again. "You're weird. You don't apologize when you're supposed to and then you over apologize when it's not needed."

I press the cold glass against the back of my neck. "Well, I mean, yeah I should apologize. It's weird that I'm acting like that, and I'm just sorry if it's making you uncomfortable."

"Nah. Confused, sure, but uncomfortable? Nah."

He turns to leave.

"Wait!"

Tristan turns back to me. Honestly, I don't even know why the fuck I said that. Why the fuck was my mouth saying things without my brain's permission? But now that I have his attention, I have to say something.

"Er, wanna play some video games since you're stuck here until the next rest stop?"

He grins. "Sure."