Rewrite the Stars (bxb)

Chapter 25 Concerts are Addicting

Happy birthday to Karl Jacobs!!! 

 

The sun sits on the horizon when I push the window in our room open. It squeaks in protest, and I glance behind me, hoping no one heard that. Without waiting, I climb out the window the same way Peter taught me last time. I plop to the ground and start walking down the sidewalk towards the grocery store I told the Uber to get me at.

I'm kinda glad now that Orion forced the phone on me. Without it, I never would've been able to get an Uber.

Or remember the concert tickets my mom bought me as a Christmas gift.

I guess she figured we would do some mother son bonding. Who knew so much would change in over half a year?

Miraculously, I checked my email a couple days ago—when I was bored out of my freaking mind—and saw the email about the tickers. Ever since then, I've planned out what I need to do. How much money to get. How to get there and back. Everything. I need this night to go without any mistakes. After everything with Sam happened, tension has followed me everywhere. Whatever we had all made together is gone. There's no more hope now to fix it. They want me in their relationship. I still don't understand why. I'm not going to be dependent on anyone ever. I made a promise to myself all those years ago, and I intend to keep it. I can do things by myself. Whether they like it or not, I don't care anymore.

And I don't know how to tell them, so I've been avoiding them.

I think Peter's mad at me too cause he hasn't been in our room to sleep since then. The worst thing is that I can't stop thinking about Peter kissing me the other night. It's the same thing that happened after Jax kissed me. My mind plays it over and over and over and over and over and—I'm getting overwhelmed with it. I don't want to think about it anymore.

I don't want to be here anymore.

I need this. I need a moment all by myself to just not think. Even when no one is around me, the house itself brings thoughts to my head that I don't want to think about. All I want to do is just forget all this has happened.

That's why I threw caution to the wind and snuck out of the house. I didn't tell anyone what I am doing or where I am going.

Is that dangerous?

Yes.

Do I care right now?

Not really.

The Uber pulls to a stop at the intersection before the Coronado Ballroom, where the concert is being held. There are too many cars and people around to move much further.

I tie my Ninety Lowest to P merch bandana around my wrist and tell the Uber driver, "I can get out here."

He nods and puts the car in park. "Enjoy the concert."

"Thanks." I get out, close the door, and join the swarms of Ninety Lowest to P fans heading into the ballroom.

Already, I can feel that buzz in the air that's reserved for concerts. I forgot what it felt like.

I don't fight the smile on my face as I merge into a line waiting to get waved through a metal detector and scan tickets before going in.

The band's logo hangs from posters along the walls, and I can't help but feel giddy. Everywhere I look, I see the band's signature colours—black, blue, and yellow. There's people, posters, merch, lights, and decorations in their colours.

When I first saw the band's colours, I couldn't think of any words to describe how unordinary they looked. But now, I wouldn't change it for the world. At least everyone knows what the colours mean.