"I've been under an extreme amount of stress lately," she sighed. Her pale brown eyes stared up and across the void between them, searching his facial expression for any signs of understanding, caring, or sympathy. His eyes were laced with concern and so many more emotions, and she realized that bearing her soul to him would be safe.
He was safe.
He sighed loudly and reached a large hand across the table, capturing her much smaller one. "I love you."
Sarah nodded.
His deep voice sighed, his eyes searching her as she had done him. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed back his pain and confusion. His eyes lit and he steadied himself as he softly spoke, "I do, Sarah. So please, tell me what's eating at you."
Sarah shook her head and ran an unsteady hand through her long locks. "I'm sorry, I can't.
* * *
"Something's wrong with Paul," the normally jubilant guitarist frowned. "He's not been right ever since we left for the airport."
Billy nodded.
Benji's eyes lit with hope. "So it's not just me?"
"Nope," Billy sighed. "But he won't talk about it. I tried, last night at the hotel. I tried to get it out of him, but he's just withdrawn. It's like something happened with Sarah, maybe?"
Benji shrugged.
"She hasn't called him yet," their friend interrupted, staring up at the pair from his book. "That might be it?"
"But they're not dating!" Benji exclaimed, frustrated.
Billy nodded slowly. "That's part of the problem, though."
"He desperately wants to be with that girl," Joel interrupted again. "She just can't take a hint."
"I dunno. He hasn't asked her," Benji sighed.
"Maybe that's the problem?" Billy theorized. "Maybe they're too shy to tell each other how they truly feel, so they're pulling away from each other to avoid being hurt. You know, a defense mechanism?"
Benji stared at his bandmate in awe and envy.
"Maybe?" Joel shrugged.
* * *
Lying curled around her biology textbook, Sarah heard the gentle notes of Evanescence's "Bring Me To Life" fill the air. She paused in her reading- not sorry to have to shift her mind away from talk of chromosomal abnormalities in zygotes- and searched for the offending cell phone. Her eyes focused in on it's location- on her desk- and she snatched the item into her hand and viewed the screen, blank, save for an unfamiliar phone number.
"Hello?" she groaned angrily. She hated answering the phone, especially when her Caller ID failed to assure her of the caller's identity.
"Sarah?" came a soft, timid male voice.
"Who is this?" she groaned, exasperated.
"It's Billy. Billy Martin. From Good Charlotte?"
Sarah, relieved, laughed into the receiver. "I know, Billy. What's up?"
Billy let out a long sigh and began to fumble his words. "I...We....The guys and I...I...Sarah, are you okay?"
Afraid to respond to his question but feeling her heart warm with his concern, Sarah bit her bottom lip and twirled her hair nervously.
"Sarah?" he whispered.
"I'm here," she sighed. "I'm not okay, no. But I really don't want to talk about it."
"Oh," Billy sighed. "Well, I had to call because....Well, Sarah?"
Sarah suppressed the urge to giggle at his obvious shyness. "Yeah?"
"Paul's been very out of it lately. I'm worried and he won't talk to me or any of the guys."
"Not even Chris?" Sarah offered, knowing that Paul told the band's drummer everything or any importance.
There was a fumbling noise across the line, and she heard Billy cough. His gentle breaths returned and he sighed, "Not even Chris."
"Oh," Sarah frowned.
"I'm really worried. I don't know if, maybe, I know this isn't my business but-"
Sarah interrupted his thought. "We didn't have a fight."
"Oh," Billy stated simply.
"I'm sorry, Billy. I don't know what's wrong with him," she offered, hoping it would bring about a swift end to their terribly uncomfortable conversation.
"Well," Billy cleared his throat. "I'd like to ask you a favor then. If you can't do it or it makes you uncomfortable, then by all means-"
"What is it?" she interrupted.
"One sec," he sighed and she could tell he was taking the moment to mentally rehearse his next lines.
"Billy?" she groaned.
His voice was soft and unsure. "Yeah?"
"I'm not calling him!" she stated, matter-of-factly.
* * *
Curled against the headboard, absorbing his favorite anthology of Shakespearian works, Paul grimaced at the metallic ring. "FUCK OFF!" he yelled at the offensive little object.
The ringing continued to fill the small, dimly lit room.
"Who the fuck is calling me at," he paused and stared at the alarm clock, "noon!"
As he reached his head toward the cell phone, the ringing ended. He felt his body untense, and he smiled with victory. "Thank god!"
Then came the hollow sound of a knock on his hotelroom door.
"What the fuck is with people?" he growled throatily as he climbed off the bed, losing his page in the anthology as the book tumbled, forgotten, to the ground.
"Fuck," he grumbled.
He trudged toward the door, tripping over the pile of blankets that Billy had so carelessly flung from his mattress in the night. They'd gathered, how appropriately, in front of the door.
"FUCK," he growled and kicked at the white sheets feverishly. "I'm coming, just a fuckin minute."
His bare feet kicked at the mountain of covers as he silently cursed his bandmate, best friend, and roommate. "Fuckin slob."
As he reached to unlatch the intricate locks of the faux oak door, he heard the unmistakable sounds of female laughter. Just outside the door, in fact. Great, some groupie had discovered their whereabouts, and was no doubt about to flash some skin in a pathetic attempt to get his attention. A million possible outcomes ran through his mind as he fumbled with the final lock, realizing that, perhaps, a little female attention might not do him so bad. He needed it. Right about now, he felt unloved, unwanted, and decidedly unattractive.
