Damn, He Can't Compare

13. liar

June 20th, 1986. Plane. 2:16 P.M.

I really wished we were seated near a window, instead of the middle of the plane, I could've done with the distraction. Roland was listening to music with his cassette player a little too loud, that was my only entertainment on this two-hour flight to our first stop.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the plane lands in Paris, France. "Thank you for flying with us, enjoy your stop at Paris." the pilot announces as people begin to exit the plane.

Roland stands up, and leaves without even looking at me. He walks straight up to Kate, and slips his tongue into her mouth, they make out heavily for a solid minute while he side glares me from across the plane before they walk out, locked in each other's arms.

I wrinkle my face up at him, before grabbing my bag from the overhead storage and jogging up to Curt, who was walking at a fast speed. I finally catch him at the entry to the airport, "You didn't hear me screaming your name from all the way back there?" I said, slightly out of breath.

He gives me a toothy smile, taking my bag from me and carrying it, "I always hear you screaming my name, maybe I'm just used to it." I playfully hit his arm, "You've been hanging out a little too much with these boys. And it's only been a couple of hours out of six months."

We go over to the luggage collection and wait for our bags. I point them out as they come our way and snatch mine up. As we walked into the lobby, Ian started laughing like crazy and points over to Tony Hadley who was standing next to Martin our manager, dressed like a dark hoodie and sunglasses.

He does a little jig dance while holding a poster which read, 'Bonjour! Tears for Fears!' we race over to him, the boys shake his hand and exclaim how excited they're to be here. We follow him outside to a large car with black tinted windows that I've seen famous people drive in all the time.

We climb into it, I lean my head against the cold window, and watch as we pass by people, restaurants, cafes and small stores. The scenery was enough to make anyone go to France. People dressed so fashionable here. About an hour and a half later, the car pulls out the front of the hotel.

June 20th, 1986. Hotel in Paris. 3:04 P.M.

We are ushered inside, the employees insisted on taking our luggage up to the rooms. As we walked into the lobby, I felt Roland's eyes on me. I gulped down, turning my head to him, I was met with his stare. I go over to the waiting area, and plopped myself down on one of the armchairs, while Roland helped Martin check in. He was the only one who knew any French.

It took a while as the front desk was busily, filled with people. I sat impatiently bouncing my legs up and down, Manny placed a newspaper in his lap, he whistled to me, "You know you're going to drill a hole to China doing that."

"That's the plan, Mandela." I say, sticking my tongue out at him. He hated that nickname. I looked up to see Roland making his way over to us, he hands Curt the keys, "Sleeping arrangements are up to us."

Manny and Ian slung an arm over each other, "Couples take a room each, and we'll take the other." We all agreed and turned towards the elevator.

We all squeezed inside the elevator. Somehow, I found myself pressed into Roland. His hand crept to my waist and give it a tight squeeze. I bit my lip roughly to keep myself from turning around and slapping him hard across the face.

When the doors opened again, he releases the grip and exits to follow everyone down the hall. I stand still, as other people enter, and the doors close again. I waited until the lift goes back down to the lobby, before getting out again.

All alone, I walk to the front of the building and just stand outside, soaking in all of the outside air of Paris. They were all probably wondering where I ran off too, but I needed a break from it all, even if it was just a second.

I lean my head back, closing my eyes tightly and letting the wind brush through my hair. Tony was strolling around, having a cigarette when he walks over to me. I opened my eyes my face is shaded over by his height, "Didn't like your room?" he wonders.

I shake my head, "I haven't seen it. I needed a break and... uh, here I am."

He pulls out another cigarette from the packet. For a moment, I stood there next to him and looked out over the road to a cafe. He turns to me, "Do you smoke?" he asked, holding the smoke before me. I shake my head, "No. I don't smoke." I gestured politely.

A sly look comes over his face, "You're a terrible liar, you know that right?" he chuckles, placing the second smoke between his lips. "You have no idea." I reply, "No idea at all." I don't know how long I can keep this from everyone.