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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold >> A Far Cry from Innocence

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

 

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VII: Bet you wish you had me back
By Warped

 


Once again, merci beaucoup for reviews you guys :3

I woke groggily the next day to find the van in motion, rocking gently from side to side in a way that hinted it might possibly need a couple of repairs, and with good, faithful old Matt sat stoically at the wheel looking absolutely shattered. Jimmy's face was still hidden in my boobs (his breathing was giving me a faint tickling sensation) and his arm was slung around my hips haphazardly, keeping me locked in place. I was still in Johnny's lap, his arms also around me, and his head bowed against the back of my neck. I was uncomfortably warm, and uncomfortably aware that these two boys had definitely not showered after the show last night.

Ewww.

Frowning, I lifted Jimmy's arm lightly and pushed Johnny's away from around my waist, letting his head slump back against the wall of the van before I squirmed out of his grasp. Then I put Jimmy (and his arm) down exactly where he had been before - except this time, his arm was wrapped around Johnny's waist and his head rested against Johnny's chest and complete lack of cleavage. Johnny, unconcerned by this movement in his sleep, wrapped his arm around Jimmy and they slept on, peacefully ignorant of what I'd just done. I sniggered to myself and stepped back to admire my work, stumbling slightly when the van rocked and sitting back down against the opposite wall with a thud. I glanced around to make sure I hadn't woken anyone, huffing in relief when I noted Brian and Zack were still asleep. Then I settled back to wait to watch the boys wake, cos it was gonna be priceless.

Until then, I watched Zack sleep, which was possibly the creepiest thing I'd ever done.

He looked so…peaceful in his sleep, like he was dreaming of something that made him unimaginably happy, his lips curling very slightly at the corners in contentment. I studied him, feeling a pang of sadness as my gaze drifted over his features - heavily lidded (and still partially made-up) eyes, straight-down, wide nose and slightly pouted lips that were parted as he breathed slowly, quietly. His stance looked almost defensive, with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders hunched as he curled up in a sleeping bag. I stopped and wondered why this hurt so much; after all we had been together only three weeks when he'd cheated, yet when I'd discovered him in the act I'd felt so shattered, so entirely heartbroken. I couldn't be in love with someone after so short an amount of time, could I?

Did I really fall so easily?

I knew that wasn't true - it wasn't just since we'd started dating that I'd had this strange, inexplicable love for Zack. It was practically from the day we'd met, that three am meeting where we'd stayed up all night talking; that entire night I'd stayed in his arms, studying his features and slowly but surely falling for a guy who was nothing if not sweet, kind and down to earth. No wonder he got girls so easily, he was just so likeable in that honest, intelligent kind of way, and coupled with that charm and those looks well, it was just a killer combo. There was nothing plain about him. He was unbelievably sexy, talented and funny in a laugh-out-loud kind of way.

And that was why I'd fallen so hard for him. That was why it hurt now. I did love him, and knowing that he didn't feel the same love was a knowledge that was capable of breaking me. After all, he surely could not feel the same love for me if he'd slept with some other girl that easily. And that was why it stung so much. That was why I didn't want to forgive him; because he'd done it in a way that confirmed I wasn't as important to him as he was to me, that he valued sex over our relationship and valued getting laid, most of all, over me and how comfortable I was with becoming his sexual partner. So sue me if I wasn't comfortable with being a slut, or spreading my legs to any guy I found attractive that happened to feel the same way - so sue me if I'd thought that being that way would only get me hurt, or that people would have more respect for me if I waited. The only thing I'd learned from this particular event was that not being that way would get me hurt. And it wasn't even that knowledge that drove me to tears.

He couldn't have loved me if he'd just wanted sex. That was what it was.

Yet I still couldn't hate him - not even if I tried.

Because I was still in love with him.

My shoulders hunching, I bit my lip and wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to hold myself together and squeezing so hard my ribs couldn't possibly shake enough to let the sobs out. I couldn't cry about it in front of people, not again, not even if they were asleep, because I was sick of being this weak. Worse things had happened, right? People died of terrible illnesses all the time, people lost family and friends and brothers and sisters in wars that were going on right now, and I was this upset that my boyfriend had slept with some other girl? Jesus, Scar, get over it, right? And yet I couldn't. Because it hurt, and I was weepy and hormonal and a mess, and I couldn't leave the tour or find anywhere private to sit and cry until I ran out of tears. I couldn't even call my best friend back home, Ramona, and arrange a girly night in with dumb chick flick movies and a couple of pints of Ben and Jerry's to get it out of my system. I was such a baby.

I breathed in and out slowly - in through the nose and out through the mouth, calming myself and the jumble of words that cluttered my brain. I cleared the mess of emotions away, arranged them into calm, composed statements. Number one, Zack had cheated on me. Number two, I was pretty broken up by this. Number three, despite this, I was still in love with him. Number four, I was not going to take him back this easily. It was that simple. And so I pushed it all to the back of my mind, and settled back against the wall (hugging my knees tightly to my chest) and concentrated on waiting for the entertainment to start. Anything to distract me from my thoughts. It didn't take long - Matt taking a slightly sharper turn than necessary to avoid a motorbike, a few bumps in a less-than-top-quality road and voila, Johnny snuffled, rubbed his eyes, blinked awake and glanced down.

“What the shit!? Dude…get off me!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of Jimmy cuddled up to his midriff as he instantly began pawing at Jimmy's arms to push him away. Jimmy's tired little expression changed instantly, the corners of his mouth curling downwards in confusion as Johnny tried to shove him off. There wasn't much of a weight difference there cos Jimmy was skinny as a rake, but the height difference was what worked in Jimmy's favour - his long limbs were sprawled all over, like a giant (four-limbed?) spider and Johnny, despite struggling, couldn't quite tip Jimmy from his lap until he decided to get up himself. He cocked his head, giving Johnny an odd look as I stifled laughter,

“Well…I wondered where the boobies went…”

Johnny snorted, now in mock outrage, and crossed his arms sulkily like a five year old being told he couldn't have the shiny new toy in the shop window. “Dude, you were all over me! Are you sure there's not something you're not telling us?”

Jimmy tilted his head as though giving this option great consideration, and then in one fell swoop caught me off guard, lunging over and tackling me into a hug as he spun me around, “I'm in loooove with Scaaaar!” he proclaimed, squeezing me tightly as I squealed and latched onto his shoulders to stop him dropping me

“Jimmy stop!!” I yelled, but he only cackled, picking me up as though I wasn't even heavy as a feather, never mind the fact I was a 120 pound girl.

“You did it didn't you?! You made me cuddle sweaty Johnny!” he smirked, and I giggled, still squirming desperately to be put down as the van swung round a corner and he staggered to the side, almost falling out.

“I did! Okay! But it was funny you should have seen his face!” I paused, “And yours!”

He grinned, squeezing me so hard I had to gasp for breath, and put me down. “Well one day, when you least expect it, me and Johnny'll get you back. And don't you forget it. You'll wake up with a shaved head or a fuckin' hipster tattoo!”

“You wouldn't dare!” my eyes widened in genuine fear of the latter threat. Not a hipster tattoo - anything but a hipster tattoo!

Jimmy just smirked evilly, pushed me into a sitting position between himself and Johnny, and cracked his knuckles. “Oh, we would.”

Johnny slung an arm around my shoulders and grinned down at me with a similar expression to Jimmy's, “So you better watch out.”

***

We took a swift right and the van creaked in protest as Matt pulled up in a gas station, hopping out to fill up as the rest of us got to our feet. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed as I went to the sliding door, being the first one to leave the van. We'd been on the go for almost eight hours, only stopping occasionally to eat, and my stomach churned with hunger. I” also had the distinct feeling that I looked like shit, and so I told the guys I was headed to the gas station's bathroom and grabbed my phone and bag full of toiletries as I wandered in. I hadn't been wrong in my assumption - my face looked sallow and pale, my skin slightly greasy and my hair tousled and a mess. I sighed, grabbing a flannel from my bag and doing my level best to clean my face up before running a brush through my hair and pulling it back into a bun. I didn't even know why I was still doing it any more, really; I was slowly but surely losing my motivation to be on the tour the more I thought about the Zack thing, and suddenly it struck me that the fact I was even still here right now was downright masochistic.

I paused, taking another glance in the mirror and staring at my reflection.

Really, how long had I been able to go without being miserable about Zack? Two hours a time, at most? Why was I putting myself through this? After all, we'd done a really weirdly planned spiral of a tour and were currently heading back towards Inglewood, not too far away from Huntington - we'd be there in a couple of days after we'd played the venue tonight. This was probably my only chance. I fumbled for my phone and leaned against the counter, swallowing thickly.

“Hey, Ramona…”

“Scar, baby! How you doing? How's your loverboy? How's the tour going? Oh my God, I miss you so much!” she babbled excitedly, I could imagine her bouncing around the room with that same excitement.

I shifted nervously, clearing my throat slightly at the downer I was soon gonna be throwing at her, “I…I'm doing good `Mona, actually, I was just calling to ask you a favour…”

Shoot.”

“Would you mind uh, coming and getting me?”

“What? I…why?”

“I can explain, when you get here…I just, please, can I meet you somewhere?”

Sure thing.” The concern in her voice was immediately apparent. “Where?”

“Well we'll be in Inglewood in a couple of days; they're playing a show in a little venue there, but could I meet you at The Forum?”

“I…I think I can do that, sure. Is everything okay?”

“Like I said I, I'll tell you on the ride back…thank you so much for this.”

No problem at all. I'll see you around midday in The Forum car park in two days, right? I'm leaving right now. Take care, I'll see you soon.”

I slid my phone shut, feeling awful for dragging her out of her comfortable home right on Huntington Beach just to come and pick me up, but I genuinely didn't think I could handle any other way of getting home. I started packing my stuff back up, suddenly feeling just as un-refreshed as I had before I'd even come in here. I brushed my teeth quickly, combed my hair again, staring at the mirror fixedly. I barely noticed the door creak open until I caught sight of a flash of messy dark hair and dark clothing in the mirror that spanned the length of the wall. His hands rested on my hips lightly and deliberately turned me to face him as I looked up, unimpressed.

“This is the women's bathroom, Zachary.” I told him, arms folded. His fingers rubbed little circles on my hips soothingly and he flashed a cheeky little grin that made my heart melt slightly,

“I know.” He replied simply, pushing me up against the counter and pressing his lips to mine. I stiffened, but he didn't stop, and he grabbed my arms to wind them around his neck before he gripped my hips again and kissed me deeply, with ever more passion. My heart fluttered and my chest tightened, and without thinking I melted into his touch, the fierce craving for the taste of his lips reignited. He cupped my cheek in his hand, the other sliding up and down my body, pushing under the hem of my shirt as his calloused fingers and palms traced the washboard line of my stomach and he pushed me up onto the counter, standing between my legs. I pulled him closer, needing to kiss him again, needing to feel his lips against mine - where they belonged, from which they should never have strayed. Our tongues tangled and I let him dominate, suffocated by the closeness I so needed as he moaned quietly against my lips. His hands explored my body but never went to remove clothing, sliding down my thighs from under my skirt and skimming up to drift across my ribs, and I clung to him, my hands exploring the way his broad shoulders tapered down to that waist in a perfect triangle shape, the warmth of his skin under my touch. I was content in the kiss, glad to be held by him again. I could have kissed him forever.

Zack surfaced for air and we stood, gasping for breath with his hands settled on my hips again and mine wound innocently around his neck. It was only then that I noticed my cheeks were wet, that there were tears rolling ever so slowly down them. He took my hands in his and pressed sweet kisses to the backs of them, glancing up at me slowly as his mouth turned down and sadness lingered subtly behind his eyes. I shook my head, unable to be mad at him any longer, I wasn't even going to tell him that what he'd just done assured me he didn't respect me at all - I didn't care, I'd kissed him back,

“This doesn't fix anything…”

To my surprise, he nodded, “I know. But I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I found myself saying, and I found myself kicking myself inwardly for letting him know the truth.

“Good,” he said, reaching up to brush a few more tears away from my cheeks.

More tears fell, and I sniffled as he bowed his forehead to rest against mine, lingering in silence for a few minutes before I spoke, “I can't handle it any more, Zack. I'm, I'm going home...”

He stiffened, green eyes widening in shock, “You're what?!”

I pulled back, nodding miserably, “I can't do it, I can't stay on this tour for the rest of the two years…I'm gonna go back home, I'm gonna get a job and…when you get back, we can talk.”

There was a pregnant pause, I swear you could have cut the tension in the room with a knife, “Scar, I'm trying my fucking best to make this better! Please! You can't just fucking up and leave!” he wailed, “We could fix this right now! Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it, goddamnit!”

I pushed myself back off the counter, straightening my shirt and brushing down my skirt. I was sure that this could genuinely have been considered a turning point in Zack's lifetime with what he'd just said - `tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it, goddamnit!' - I was sure he'd never laid himself down to another girl in that way in his whole entire life. But I had to go. I wasn't emotionally ready for this tour, and it had already damaged me. When he got back, that was when we could talk. And so I turned to leave the room.

“I'm sorry, Z.” I mumbled, without glancing back, “But I'm meeting Ramona at The Forum in two days' time. I'm going home.”

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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