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okayohay · 2 years

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THE ONLY LIVING BOY IN NEW YORK

A word of caution: This will hurt. I've been toying with the idea of writing a story about a band breaking up for years. I wanted to write the rawness of it as it's happening, with no backstory of how the band behaved prior to the fallout. I could never figure out how to do that, until last year, when the drummer of a band I admired, announced that the last three shows he played were his last with the band.

This story is meant to pay homage to a time and a band I knew when things were different. Anyone out there who is still part of the Catfish and the Bottlemen fandom, is feeling a mix of hurt and malice right now, and there's nothing any of us can do other than suffer through it. I decided to make this a fanfiction and I'm writing it in Van's perspective. This is not fact. This is not real. This is just my take on the state of things and my attempt to put life into something that doesn't really exist any more. I don't expect anyone to like it. But I needed to write it. I hope it gives those of us who are still here a little bit of peace, even though it's fictitious.

I love you all.

THE ONLY LIVING BOY IN NEW YORK

CHAPTER ONE

Word Count - 2058

“I’m leaving the band.”

Four small words that were about to change the course of my life.

I was standing on the platform behind the stage for the first time in eighteen months. Nervous excitement brewed just below my skin as we attempted to ready ourselves for our first show post-pandemic. But the words that I heard from my bandmate, were not the ones I was expecting when I’d asked if everyone was ready.

I turned my head at the same time I reached for my guitar, craning my neck toward the person who just spoke the words I never thought I’d hear any of them say. I looked right at Bob, the backbone to the band who rolled his drumsticks habitually through his fingers when my eyes met his. His facial expression was a mix of nerves and relief and the realization of his relief made me nervous.

I felt the lopsided smile on my face as I spoke. I could taste the anxious fear salivating in my mouth. “What was that mate?” A nervous laugh rolled out of my mouth after and to my right, I noticed Johnny tune his guitar as if nothing was happening around him. To the left of me, Benji sat his bass down and folded his arms over his chest, stepping forward toward Bob.

Benji’s words were quieter than mine, more cautious and realistic perhaps. “This isn’t a joke? This is real?” It sounded like Benji’s words were more of a statement rather than a question, and that did little to pacify my nerves.

Bob nodded once at Benji as he neared him. Benji shielded his eyes with his hand and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose and grunting. I looked away from Benji and met Bob’s gaze again. His eyes were glassed over, frosted in feelings and he sighed. “These next three shows, they’re my last.”

I felt my knees shake as I reached for the cart next to me that was holding an array of speakers and cords. I steadied myself against them and looked at the floor, trying not to throw up the half gallon of water I’d chugged before getting ready to start the show.

“Wh-what…Bob, what the hell do you mean?” My words had become gasps mixed with loud whispers. I didn’t sound like myself.

A small, almost unmeasurable cry escaped from Benji, whose back was turned away from the rest of us now. His long, curly hair kept his face entirely hidden from view. I wanted to reach for him, to attempt to gain some sort of composure, but I knew if I let go of the speakers, I’d collapse.

Bob cleared his throat, speaking quietly but in a firm tone. “I’m done, Van. I’m done with all of it. I want to be home with Allie. She’s pregnant. We want to start our life and we can’t do that on the road. I need to be there for her.”

“She’s pregnant?” From behind me, Johnny Bond spoke up as he lit a cigarette casually, draping his guitar from his side. “Congratulations.”

Bob smiled softly at Bondy’s good-tidings and Bondy blew his smoke at me as if someone just told us a boring story.

“Did you know about this?” I nodded to Johnny.

He glanced back at Bob and stared at him for a few moments before deciding to answer. “Na. I didn’t know nothin.” He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag.

I looked at Bob. “I don’t believe him. And I don’t believe this. Why are you telling us this now? Before the biggest night of our lives? This is the show we’ve dreamed of playing since we were fifteen, standing in the back of the coffee shop talking about where we’d be someday. Why are you telling me now? You had so many moments, Bob. You waited until right now?"

Benji sniffed before coughing and turning toward the rest of us. He stayed off to the side, not closing the space between us and keeping a distance.

“Because I didn’t want you to think that tonight was the start of a new era. I mean…it could be the start of a new era, for you and whatever plan you have next, but it’s not a start for me. It’s the end of the line.”

I placed my hands on the tops of my knees and bent over on a gasp of air. The space around me began to spin and I shut my eyes hoping to stop it.

“Don’t do this to me, Bob.”

“I’m sorry, V. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want it bad enough.”

“What if I want it bad enough for both of us? What if we figure something out with management? Talk to them about what we could do differently so that we wouldn’t always be on the road? Make it so you can be with your family but still be with the band. We can still be Catfish and the Bottlemen like that, yeah?” The hope in my words was evident, the belief was even present. But in glancing around the room, that belief turned quickly to despair. The looks on the faces of the roadies and the sound and lighting directors who managed to come back to work in the industry post-pandemic, said enough. Disbelief. Shock. Loss. They were all wearing it, and I knew my own expressions was a reflection of theirs.

I turned to my tour manager, Steve, but he couldn’t look at me. He looked at the ground and refused to face any of us. I knew in that moment; Steve already knew we were disbanding. He knew this was coming and he didn’t say anything. Rage elbowed it’s way toward my disbelief and I felt myself wanting to erupt.

“I’m done with it. I’m done with the noise, Van. I’m ready to be quiet. I liked the last eighteen months. I like where I’m going now. You can want it enough for yourself, but you can't want it for someone else. I'm sorry. I am."

I couldn’t speak. I shook my head and bit my lower lip, telling myself this wasn’t happening. Not Bob. Not Bob. Please not Bob. I felt myself drawn to pray in my mind as the roadies and sound techs around us from the festival crew hovered and buzzed, not understanding what was happening within our circle. I didn't know how to pray though, and it felt like I was clinging to religion as a last ditch effort to keep Bob with me. With us.

"Please...please stay."

"Van...it's already done." Steve spoke softly from the side, clearing his throat afterwards before repeating itself. "His decision has been made."

I wanted to reply. I wanted to beg, to plead and to fight for him back, but I was interruped by a production member for the festival.

“T-minus five, boys. Get set up.”

The lights dimmed and a sea of hundreds of thousands of people cheered from the other side of the curtain. I steadied myself on my legs and swallowed the pain in my throat. We all looked at each other then. The four of us who had started aiming for this feat months after the release of our first album six years earlier. That was the beginning, and this was the beginning of the end.

“I’m not leaving yet.” Bob said soflty and nodded to the stage. “I’m here now. I will play these three shows with you, and I will do it like I have always done it. I won’t let you down, Van. Any of you.” He sighed and reached for my guitar, handing it to me nervously. “We gotta do this. But you’ve gotta know what’s coming. I’m not going to lead you on.”

I fixated my eyes on my black guitar that seemed to glitter under the haze of the backstage lighting. I couldn't remember the last time it had looked this clean. A breeze blew around us, causing me to feel a slight chill even under my long-sleeved t-shirt. The crowd began chanting as a swarm of techs prodded at the mics in our pockets and flicked the buttons to the earphones we all wore. I didn’t flinch. I was use to this by now, and I was stunned into a statue like state. Someone started pushing us toward the stage, and I was vaguely aware of our pre-entry song playing over the speakers. Someone told me it would be okay, and to just get through the show. We’d talk about it later. I watched Bondy extinguish his cigarette into an empty Pepsi can as he brushed by me without a word.

Someone continued ushering us to our places, pointing where we each needed to walk and shouting about watching for the cords on stage left. We didn’t even get a chance to do our huddle before the show. There was no pumping-up, and we didn’t throw our arms around each other and combust into a pre-show chant. That was tradition, but no one said anything about it, they just kept walking.

I watched the three of my bandmates walk to their places on the stage and heard the crowd roar with excitement. I could feel the stage floor shake beneath me as I continued looking around at the scene. I wanted to move. I wanted to revel in this, I wanted to go out there swinging, leaning my back into Bondy’s like old times and climbing on top of amps while throwing myself toward the crowd. But I was frozen in place. There was nothing pushing my forward, but everything else was holding me back.

Benji stepped off the stage, jogging toward me between flashes of light, and remaining hidden enough so that no one off stage would notice. I could barely hear him through the screams beyond us, but I made out the gist of what he was telling me.

“Van. Get through this. I’m right here, let’s do this. Now. You’re on.” He gripped my shoulder and nodded, and I pulled myself out of the moment as the sound around us grew. I knew what I needed to do, what was expected of me. What I owed everyone.

Benji headed back to his place on the stage and when he made it to his mic stand, I began taking long strides toward my own, and despite the poisonous feelings swirling round my chest, I managed to throw my hands in the air and embrace the homecoming that was happening for us. It was loud, and it was emotional. My entrance was met with screams and cries, and pleas to stay together from fans in the crowd. It was like they knew what was coming, too. It was like they didn’t expect the four of us to be on this stage together after all this time, and I didn’t want them to know that it was going to be a short-lived reunion. Fear gripped me for a second, as I wondered if I’d ever feel like this again. Would I ever have another moment on a stage like this again? Would I ever be at this level again? And worse, who would I be next to if it wasn’t Bob? I glanced over my shoulder at him as he adjusted his cymbals. The realization that this was ending crossed my mind in a fury and I winced.

I shook my head and stomped the ground angrily when I made it to the mic stand, jumping violently as I tried to stamp out my feelings in the moment. My anger was only met with more cheers. It probably looked like I was pumping myself up. It probably looked like I was revving myself up, when really, I was doing everything I could to keep from breaking down. I threw another arm in the air and adjusted my guitar strap.

Bondy’s guitar chords started humming the rift of our opening song and I sighed as I palmed the mic like a memory. I opened my mouth, pressed my lips against the cool metal and closed my eyes. The show had to go on, so I started it with a line.

“Go, ahead and tell me….”

#catfishandthebottlemenblog #catb #catbblogs #vanmccann #benjiblakeway #bobhall #johnnybond #van mcann #johnny bond #bob hall #benji blakeway #fan fic author #fan fiction #fan fic #catfish and the bottlemen

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okayohay · 1 year

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Today’s fan-fiction Friday fact. ⬇️

There’s a flashback scene coming up involving the aftermath of the band’s final show - and what led Van to completely disappear. It was nearly as heartbreaking to write as the scenes that come later involving Bondy.

#fan fiction friday #fan fic #fan fiction #catbblogs #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #catb #am writing #writer

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okayohay · 2 years

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You don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I was just wondering how your new Van story came about. Did you already have the idea or did everything that happened with the band spark it? When did you start writing it and how far ahead do you plan the story? xx

Bob’s departure sparked it - Bondy’s livestream added to it, and then I rewatched Reading and Leeds footage and just wondered how Van probably felt that entire time. And how hard it would be to still be “Van McCann” on stage at that moment and what he went through. I pulled elements from the story I started back in 2015 into it - but the true events sparked it. I started writing the version that now exists in the summer I think…and I’m not a typical writer that storyboards things. I know where and how I want it to end - ideas pop in my mind for a scene along the way and I just fill in the rest. Sometimes I think it’s going one direction and it changes. I like that - it keeps me on my toes and makes creating content more enjoyable. After all, writing is art and I want art to be fun.

#catfish and the bottlemen #catb #johnny bond #benji blakeway #bob hall #van mccann #catbblogs #fan fiction

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okayohay · 3 years

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I’m writing again.

Updated IJWTBET today. Felt good. Might do it again.

Here’s the link if you want to give it ago. Thanks to all the people who have stuck with me as I’ve been writing it over the years. Still ongoing, can’t quit that shit yet ❤️

#catb #catfish and the bottlemen #johnny bond #benji blakeway #van mccann #bob hall #barns courtney #vanfic #fanfiction #catbblogs

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okayohay · 3 years

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BURNT VACANT RED

I’m sorry for the hold up, but it’s been a while since I’ve shared any type of fanfiction content that I’m struggling with getting back into it, mainly because I know how much I expect from myself with my writing and I don’t want to let this community down specifically. I’d like to explain this story for a second if I can. It is going to be broken down into around ten parts. The chapters will be long and the first one is world building, so please bear with me if you can. I kind of need to set the scene and dig into some history to set the rest of the story up and not have to deal with explanations later. I hope to have the second part up quickly for you all, and I promise you Van becomes more present in chapter two. I hope you enjoy this for what it is. Thanks for reading this crappy introduction. Word count is 7273, and you can also find this on my Wattpad along with my other fanfictions. Peace and love.

ONE

This story doesn’t start happy.

You can’t believe you said “no”.

You toss your handbag toward the couch and underestimate how far away it is, so it clatters to the floor instead where you leave it. As if the worst moment of your life needed theatrics, the rain streams down your ninth-floor condo windows violently and bits of lightning flash off Lake Michigan under the watermark of an evening sky. The Gold Coast of Chicago stretches beyond your window, dumping itself along the shoreline until you lose sight of everything other than lights of nearby suburbs.

You cover your face with your hands and that’s when you realize you’re shaking. You sink slowly to the floor and take a few deep breaths as the evening’s memories bite into your skin. You wince and the embarrassment of the situation sets in. You can’t get over the way Nick’s face looked, and the people around the two of you standing with mouth’s agape as they watch you back away from your boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The word makes you want to be sick.

He’s not your boyfriend anymore.

At least, you doubt he is. Not after this.

Three hours ago, he wanted to be your fiancé.

But you…said…no.

In hindsight, you knew this was coming, but not like this. Not this quick.

Nick wanted to take you out for dinner and the two of you hadn’t been making very much time for each other lately. You’d finished off your internship in the winter and the company offered you a full-time position as the marketing coordinator. They were a small yet prominent, independent music company that hosted everything from small concerts to large scale festivals. When you took the job, you took away a huge chunk of your free time and it rubbed Nick the wrong way at first. But he eventually accepted a promotion of his own and spent three days a week traveling and you were lucky to get a phone call some nights. It sent the sane and patient part of your relationship into a quick demise. You nit-picked each other for things that wouldn’t have mattered before, and the glittery shine of what once was started to dull.

You’d been bickering more frequently than you should have been, especially for not seeing each other often. But you always came around because Nick knew everything about you. Nick was the boy you were never supposed to date, the rebound after the love of your life walked away from you. Nick had taken on the role of sewing you back up and keeping you together, and you stayed with him ever since. It seemed like the right thing to do. You loved him, but not in the same red way you loved the boy before him, but you did love him. That candle was lit, but the flame never seemed to burn quite right.

You’d been together for three years. It was time to get serious about the future and you knew that. The two of you were woven deeply into the facets of each other’s lives and it was only time before he popped the question. You just didn’t think it’d be this soon. You figured you’d at least be living together first. You figured you’d be somewhere exotic and you’d have time to pose for a photo afterwards. But your expectations prove how little you really know about life and the deep meanings of it.

You didn’t expect that you’d decline the offer when it was proposed to you either. But you did.

You always pictured the moment in your mind and it went exactly the opposite of what you expected. Playing out like a terrible movie you didn’t have the guts to walk out of early, so you suffer through it.

He took you to one of the upscale restaurants downtown, the kind where the waiter pulls out your chair for you and adjusts your cloth napkin every time you move it. You never liked the elegant parts of life that others longed for. You craved simple things, but Nick was the opposite. Nick grew up with money and a family who dined in eloquence. Nick pined for these types of places and things. Even though his music taste matched your alternative ones, he still needed the finer things in life. He didn’t pick this place for you, he picked it for himself, for his status. He seemed antsy so you did most of the talking which wasn’t out of the ordinary. You started telling him about your job and how there was potential for an opening in the Charleston office and the owner had personally recommended you to HR there. The excitement in your voice was evident and you rambled on about the endeavor. You’d been keeping it to yourself and tonight seemed like the appropriate night to share it. You loved the southern states, particularly South Carolina, and Nick knew this about you. But his reaction was less than positive.

“You can’t be serious. You would really move to South Carolina for work?”

You nod once, reaching for the Sauvignon Blanc with greedy, nervous fingers.

“You’d move, away from your family, from Tessa…from me?”

The mention of your family strikes a nerve and your stomach twists into a knot at the thought of not getting to see your teenage brother as often as you do now, and even that wasn’t often enough. The thought of leaving Tessa, your best friend, and the condo you share with her rips you in a million pieces. Every favorite memory of your short adult life was wrapped up in that place and with her.

“I haven’t given any of it much of a thought yet.”

Nick smirks. “Of course not. You just jumped…like you always do. Like you did when they offered you the position here.”

“Nick…it’s been my dream to be working in this field. You’ve known this since you met me. I was lucky to have been offered the position straight out of an internship.”

He shakes his head. “And you’re in love with what you do.”

“Yes.” You state flatly. This was nothing new. Everyone knew how much music meant to you. You could talk to a stranger from anything regarding 1970’s rock clear through modern day, indie-alternative. You gushed about music to anyone who wanted to listen regardless if it was a stranger or a friend. But Nick didn’t like the fact that you felt so strongly about your career. In the world he came from, girlfriend’s and wives held their career second to their relationships.

“More in love than it with me?” He leaned forward as he asked the question, splaying his hands against the table frantically.

You don’t say anything and you let the thought simmer in the back of your mind, dissecting his sentence and reading between the lines of his words. “Are you asking me to choose?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not asking you anything…yet. I’m trying to figure out what you want, because lately…I’m not sure.”

You lean forward to mimic his reaction, and do your best to maintain what little ground you currently have. It’s a small island, but it’s yours and you’re not the type to back down into the corner. “I guess that question can go both ways. I’m not the only one who buries myself in work. When was the last time you were home five days in a row? Between the conventions and the meetings, you’re in town a total of eight days a month. I know I’ve been wrapped up in work, but it’s because I landed the job I worked so hard for, a job that was my dream. You can’t blame me for that. Especially when you’re guilty of the same thing.”

“To be very clear, what I do at work is not my dream.” Nick confesses.

“Well then you should figure out what you want and do that.” You bite back with a knee-jerk response.

“I want to be with you. And you want to move?”

You turn your face to the side on a shrug and release a deep breath. “Yes. I want to move. I told Jacob I was interested in it. That’s why he made the call.”

Nick drums his fingers against the tabletop nervously. “I can’t go with you.”

You sip the wine and set it down softly on a shrug. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Nick narrows his eyes at you. “What, so we’re supposed to just make long distance work?”

You hadn’t thought about any of this, you were just excited to have a potential opportunity in a place you always wanted to be. “I guess.”

The two of you don’t speak much after that and Nick spends the time scrolling through his phone and glancing around every now and again nervously. You pick at your food, losing more of your appetite the longer you sit there. You don’t accept the to-go box when the waiter offers it and Nick pays the bill quickly and escorts you out of the building.

The walk to the condo you share with you best friend is tense and uncomfortable. Nick pauses at an intersection before deciding he wants to take the long way through the park adjacent to your building. You entertain his desire to take the long way to your door, figuring he needs to blow off steam and there’s only so many places you can find solace in a city. You’re two steps behind him until he gets to a small corner with concrete retaining walls that people use as benches. He sits and rubs the back of his neck. You watch him battle with words he doesn’t know how to say and you figure the least you can do is get on his level. You sit next to him and reach for his face instinctively. He snatches your fingers and eyeballs them before interlacing them with his own.

“I didn’t expect to be in a fight right now. It’s not how I wanted this to go.”

“It’s not a fight- “you say softly but he interrupts you and shakes his head.

“It feels like a war.” He whispers and your frown.

“Nick…I need to do this. I need to go. I haven’t wanted anything more than this in my life. It’s important to me.”

He laughs and rolls his shoulders, removing his hand from yours and you look over your shoulder, silently praying for a crowd of people to walk over and interrupt the hostility the two of you are facing. But only a few strangers dare to walk over to this section of the park, and they seem less than interested in whatever dilemma you two are hanging onto and more interested in their own stories. Nick reaches into his pocket and you turn back to him on a sigh, but your eyes land on the small box in the palm of his hand before fluttering to his face. He bites his lip and shakes his head.

“I planned to have a fantastic evening with you. I was going to ask you to move in with me, and after you said yes, I was going to order a bottle of champagne and then I was going to walk you home just like this, and stop here at this place and ask you why the good news should stop here. And then I was going to get down on my knee and tell you how much I loved you.”

Nick proceeds to do just that, and he takes your hand with him in the process. Everything below your neck goes numb and you can’t feel your fingers in his hand.

“And then I was going to tell you that I needed to be with you forever, and that in order to do that I needed you to be my wife.” He pauses and opens the box, revealing a large, square diamond matching the same one his brother gave his wife. It wasn’t your style at all, and maybe at one point in your life it would have meant the world to you, but in this moment, it feels wrong.

“I’m still going to ask that of you, because even in our worst moments, our most uncomfortable moments, you’re still worth it and I want to be with you forever. Please marry me. Because there isn’t a life for me without you, good or bad moments, I’ll take them.”

You freeze and hear a whisper from across the patio. A couple has spotted the proposal in action and is waiting for your reaction and they look prepared to applaud. You look back at Nick, at the ring, and then you exhale and pull your hand out of his slowly.

“Nick…”

He furrows his eyebrows at you as you lean away from him and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Can we talk about this?”

Nick doesn’t move out of his position and glances around nervously, raking his free hand through his wavy blond hair. “Is that your answer?”

You shake your head. “Nick…I can’t, we can’t.”

He snaps the box shut and the couple across from you turns away quickly after their jaw’s both drop habitually. You pretend not to notice and Nick stands up slowly.

“Oh God.” He whispers and presses his fingers into the side of his head.

“I’m sorry…” you confess, but it breaks out and you choke on a cry.

Nick shakes his fingers at you and closes his eyes harshly as if he’s wishing himself out of the situation. When he opens them, he looks nervous, and you don’t remember seeing this look on him before. It stones you and you sit up straighter before rising to your feet and walking toward him. You rest your hand on his arm and he shrugs you off of him quickly.

“I told my parents I was asking you. I figured you’d say yes…” His words trail off as he paces the area for something to do. “They figured you’d say it, too. And now I have to tell them…”

“Can we talk about this? Please?”

“It’s not really a question you need to talk about. It’s either yes or no.” His voice becomes a fortress and you realize you’re not getting in.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I’m not ready for this.” You admit breathlessly.

“Not ready for this, or not ready for me?”

You can hear the crestfallen tone his voice has taken on and deep down, you know that he knew this was coming, too. Maybe he thought he could heed it off, and curb whatever light from you flame back into his court. But it was over. It’d been over for a long time, and maybe this was the only way for things to burn out.

“It’s not you.” You admit loosely.

“Oh, it’s not me, it’s you, right? We’re going to have to that moment now?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean for me…it’s not you. You’re not the one for me and I’m not the one for you, Nick. We both know this.”

Nick shakes his head and looks like he’s going to cry. “Are you kidding me? When was I supposed to know this? Because for three years we’ve done everything together. Why would I think anything else?”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, but Nick stopped listening. He stopped listening when he stormed away from you with his hands in the air, and left you in the park with your thoughts without saying goodbye.

And now, now you were alone in your apartment with no memory of how you made it back, dissecting the memories of a few hours before, and trying to figure out if the night had gone like he wanted, would you have said yes to him? You chew on the thought before realizing that you would have said no either way. You weren’t sure what was supposed to happen in your life, but you knew one thing; you were not supposed to marry Nick.

------

You spend the next several weeks cramming your life into boxes and selling what you don’t want or need. You pack everything up and label what’s in each box with a bold sharpie. You ordered furniture for your new place in Charleston, leaving Tessa with pretty much everything. She helps you pack after work each night and the goodbye with her is harder than anything you could have imagined. Your goodbye to your family was difficult, but you were used to being away from them for weeks at a time by now, it’s saying goodbye to the person you’ve shared fifteen years doing everything with that forces you to breakdown. You spend the first few hours of the drive crying, and wondering if you’re doing the right thing. But by the time you make it into the Carolinas, the decision you made seems like the best one. You roll down your windows and let the air in, turning your music up in the process because some songs need air. You instantly feel relief when the humidity of the south laps at your skin and sticks to you.

Your new place is sandwiched along the Battery and the views of the water make you feel at home even though the Atlantic is much more appealing to you than Lake Michigan. It’s a small, two story home and the exterior is painted in pastel blue. The flowers from the previous tenant spill out of the boxes along the windowsill and you water them with a leftover bottle of water that grew warm from being inside of your car. It takes you seven trips to unload your car and you leave the boxes in the living room while you unpack your suitcase with all your clothes first. Your furniture is set to arrive tomorrow, so you plan to sleep on a pile of pillows and blankets that you throw on the floor. By the time you’re ready to move to the living room, the sun is almost down and the golden light spewing across the water stains your walls in hues of brass. You order food from a nearby sushi restaurant that delivers and quietly go about pulling things out of boxes and deciding where to put them.

You get to a box that Tessa packed for you and there’s a letter on the top. You pull it out and skim it, trying not to cry for the tenth time of the day. She tells you she is proud of you and how much she loves you, and the box is filled with some of your best memories with her, including photos and mementos from the last decade. You pull out a photo album you didn’t know existed along with a stack of photos underneath it, a handful of ticket stubs from the days before everything became digital, and lanyards from festivals you forgot you attended.

You fold your legs and sit Indian-style on the floor while you flip through the photographs. There are standard photos of you and Tessa at music festivals, blended within crowds of people, laughing wildly while bands that no longer exist play behind you on stage. You’d almost forgotten this part of your life. You were nineteen back then and a version of yourself you didn’t remember. Now, you were on the wrong end of twenty-six and you hadn’t been to a concert in this context in years. You smile at the photos of Tessa passed out along the festival grounds, surrounded by friends you hadn’t seen in too long. You’re interrupted by your food arriving and you accept it graciously as your stomach growls, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten all day. You pile a few bites into your mouth and sit back down, returning to your stack of photos. You flip through party photos, pictures from college that you’re shocked Tessa went to the trouble of printing, and laugh at the pictures of the two of you at high-school graduation.

You nearly drop the stack at what comes next, and you stop chewing your food for a moment as you narrow your eyes on the picture on top of the pile. You set the stack down as you bring the photo in your hands closer to your face, holding it with shaking fingers. It’s a photograph of you in your former life, with people who have since become strangers. But it’s you and the person whose face is pressed against yours that makes you physically ache. It’s a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, the one who you loved violently and effortlessly at the same time. A picture that you didn’t realize existed because you’d never even seen it until now. You barely recognize yourself. Your hair was long and spilled around your shoulders in waves. You look happy and young, a cigarette dangling from your fingers as your ex-boyfriend clings to you for life. Your throat bobs with a nervousness that feels so foreign to you, you can’t even give it a name. You eventually start to chew on your food again before you swallow it, feeling your appetite wane.

You glance to the stack and see more photos from the same night. You flit through them anxiously, splaying them across the floor of your living room and bringing them close to your face to analyze them on a deeper level. These were moments of your life you hadn’t probed in years, moments of your life you’d done your best to forget. But here they were, printed in permanent reminders for you to tap into. Your ex is in all of them, wrapped around you, smoking a cigarette or strumming on a guitar while you laid on the couch next to him. Your chest tightens at the memory of that particular night, remembering how he confessed to you that he actually did love you, and then he played a song he wrote for you. You let yourself think about him for a moment, something you hadn’t done in years, and you’re shocked to find his ghost still eager to be summoned in the back of your mind.

Van. His name was Van and he had been the greatest love of your life.

You wince at the sound of his name in your mind. The last time you spoke of him was to Nick, early on in your relationship when you were explaining why you hadn’t dated in so long. You told him the truth; you loved Van deeply and it was the hardest blow to your heart you’d received. Nick listened with genuine interest, and at that point, you were in the very early stages of your relationship with him. Nick never experienced a serious relationship before the one he shared with you, but he shared stories of girls he’d dated and moments of his own life where he felt a connection to someone, but none of it held a candle to the relationship you had with Van.

His name sends another ripple through your chest and you feel like you could be sick. Every emotion you’d worked so hard at ignoring for the last three years came back like a hurricane and settled into your skin quickly. How could you have forgotten about this part of your life so easily? You blame Nick. He’d been a good hinderance to the feelings you had for Van. He picked up the pieces that were left of you and arranged them into some sort of version of yourself that made it so you could at least carry on. You’d let him become a distraction to your feelings, and parts of him reminded you of Van. His love for music being one of them. You’d become so wrapped up in Nick, that you could easily forget about Van, until now at least, when your distraction was no longer a part of your life. Nick was a replacement, or maybe a bandage and Van was the wound that didn’t heal properly regardless of how much pressure you applied to it.

The stack of photos begs you to go on, and you find more evidence of the life you’d left in the past. Van was the lead singer of a band from the UK, and you met him when you were working the office of a small venue in Chicago six years ago. He’d found you before his set when he locked himself out of his band’s dressing room. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes looking for someone to help him and you were the only person he had any luck tracking down. He introduced himself and told you a short version of a long-winded story regarding how this happened. Even though you should have fact checked him or went to find a manager, you felt sorry for him so, you obliged and unlocked the door for him. Maybe you were intrigued by his accent and the strange name of his band. Or maybe it was the iciness of his blue eyes and the way his hair spilled into them that made it easy for you to oblige. After your help, he made sure to invite you to the show and made you promise you’d catch part of it. He told you that you were witnessing history in the making and that Catfish and the Bottlemen were going to be the biggest band in the world. You laughed at his genuine confidence and even though you feigned interest with him, you watched from the balcony where no one was seated. They were good, and his energy on stage made it hard for you to look away from him. You were fairly certain he’d noticed you up there, but you blushed and turned away anytime you caught him glancing your way.

Afterwards, you locked the front doors and pulled your bag from the ticket booth, flicking off lights as you went. You shuffled out the side door, surprised to find Van, and two other people standing there sharing cigarettes and beers. He looked less nervous, more playful even, and gave you a hug when he recognized you. He offered you a beer and normally, you would have said no. You had plans the following day and you knew better than to mingle with acts when they came through. Your boss would have you by the throat if he knew that you were considering spending time with them. But something about Van was persistent, and you felt a pull in your gut to share a drink with him. He introduced you to some of his bandmates and his road crew, and you forgot their names quickly, wishing you’d paid more attention when he spoke. But Van made you nervous and you fumbled over your words and stuttered your way through group conversations.

You spent a few hours chewing on with him about their tour, their music, and similar bands you both liked. Van loved music. There was no denying that. When he spoke about writing or performing, he spoke quickly and moved his hands with animated motions. Music was his life, and he made sure everyone knew it. You couldn’t keep up with his energy. It was fierce and fiery, yet humble and authentic all in one. You continued drinking with him even after everyone else called it a night, and walked around the outside of the venue, sharing cigarettes at the picnic table out back and trying to keep up with the dialect of his thick accent that seemed to become harder to understand the more he drank. He did his best to dumb down the words and phrases you didn’t know, and you tried hard not to Americanize him. Eventually, the two of you wound back in his hotel room, ripping the clothes off of each other. Up until that point, you’d never done anything remotely similar to that and you wondered what Tessa would think. This was very out of character for you and you knew it. You stayed there until morning when you attempted to duck out before he woke, but little did you know, he was wide awake, writing in a black notebook, smiling lazily at you. You exchanged numbers habitually upon your goodbyes but never expected to hear from him.

He texted you five minutes after you left.

You and Van continued the messages for weeks, sharing photos and videos, and eventually making drunk calls to each other while his band finished the leg of their tour. You told your friends about him, and you talked about him with Tessa regularly. When he returned to the UK, he asked you to wait for him to come back and promised that he would meet up with you when he did. Like the believer in young love you were, you waited anxiously for Van to return, but it took a while. And during the months he was away, the phone calls and messages became less and less until they stopped entirely. He stopped initiating messages and eventually stopped returning your own, and that’s when you decided you hated him…sort of. You loved to hate him, crying on Tessa’s shoulder after a night out on the town and confessing your attraction to him in the moments where you were most under the influence, and promising her you’d never speak to him again after this. But eventually he came back, and he made it a point to hunt you down, and you fell right back under whatever spell Van McCann put you under the first time. You spent an entire summer following his band around on tour, and making long weekend trips with Tessa to cities he was playing in. You picked up right where you left off, and drowned the fear of him leaving again with drinks after his shows and shitty weed from one of his roadies. Van was different this time around, older and less animated when he spoke, and more concerned with what was happening around him. He still seemed happy, and he still loved music, but the stress of playing shows every night, mixed with the release of a sophomore album that sky-rocketed his band into a frenzy of fame, stoned him a little. He was reposed in a way you hadn’t seen him be before and it made you wonder what was going on with him beneath the surface. But you never did get the chance to ask, because Van couldn’t talk about his feelings as easily as he could spin them into songs, and layer them in innuendos. You’d pry when he’d have his moments of silence and pure aggression, but you never managed to get anywhere with him.

Your relationship was unhealthy, both of you using the other to bury your fears and worries into, and never really communicating properly about anything. After his tour wrapped up, he disappeared again, leaving you breathless and in pieces and losing all communication with you again, except this time it was worse because prior to leaving, he’d told you he loved you. You didn’t understand any of it and his absence hurtled you into an angry phase of life where you lost weight and picked yourself apart, but you’d get better every time he called or when he would eventually show up. You’d stalk him online, reading comments he’d leave to fans or girls from back home and torturing yourself to the point of madness. This went on for years. He’d come back to the US, and you’d fall right back into place with him. Then he would go away, and each time he left, a part of you left, too.

Eventually it all stopped though, some three plus years after it all began, but you weren’t ready to relive the ending yet. The ending was too painful to discuss, too awful to consider. You toss the pictures into the box haphazardly, and they coat the bottom with memories you wish Tessa never sent you with. Why would she do that? Why would she knowingly open a wound when you were already vulnerable about moving away and ending things with Nick? And why of all people, would she choose to spotlight, Van? She knew more than anyone how awful your official breakup with Van had been. She suffered through your darkest moments with you and here she was sending you off and into the world with boxes of memories that happened to be some of the sharpest objects you could touch. You consider calling her or at the very least sending her a message about it, but the thought of typing out Van’s name in a sentence fills you with dread.

You choose to open a bottle of celebratory wine your parents sent with you instead. You wonder if you have an emergency pack of Marlboros to chain-smoke and keep your nerves at ease, but you know better than that by now. The last thing you need is to pick up an old habit because you can’t manage your new life or the memories or your former one. You push the thought of smoking to the side and fumble with the cork of the wine bottle until a pop fills your kitchen and the scent of Cab Sav fills the air. You haven’t unpacked any dishes yet, so you insist on drinking from the bottle and it suits you fine.

You sip the wine as you try to talk yourself out of reliving your old memories, but the more you try not to think about your ex-boyfriend, well, both of them really, the more you realize that if it hadn’t been for Van’s dismissal from your life, you never would have met Nick or had to break his heart in the middle of the proposal. This makes you dislike Van more than you did fifteen minutes ago and you toss back the wine and guzzle it quickly. The burning sensation in your throat causes you to squint, but you keep going, wanting to forget everything until tomorrow. You’d rather deal with a headache than a head full of ghosts.

----

You wake up hungover, an empty bottle of wine acting as evidence in your peripheral vision. You groan at the scent of it as you toss it into a trash bag before stepping to the small patio outback. The wine did little to make you forget, and instead, you cried alone in your apartment for most of the night while streaming songs from Van’s band that you’d purposely ignored for the past three years. You knew they’d released a new album in 2019 and you never once gave it a chance. Not that you expected to find anything about your almost relationship there, but you didn’t want to know about anyone else’s love affair with him either. You didn’t want to know that he was happy and writing about someone else. You didn’t need that type of negativity in your life.

But you only found memories you shared with him, woven intricately into the verses of his songs, tidbits of your conversations bleeding into the spaces between the chorus and bridge. You bite back tears as you sift through the feelings you unpacked last night and wrap your head around some of his lyrics. Between mourning the loss of whatever was left from your and Nick’s devastating coda, to digging up the bones of Van McCann and his whole damn band, you had an intense breakdown.

You skim through your messages with Tessa, rereading the moments where you called her out for the photos and tell her you can’t stop crying. She tells you to call her when you’re sober, and you only repeat yourself over and over until she stops responding. You hover over her name and take a few deep breaths before calling her.

“Are you amongst the living?” Tessa’s tone is drenched in sarcasm and something else you can’t quite make out.

“I’ll be alright.” You’re a terrible liar and she knows it, but she doesn’t call you out on your bluff.

“What happened last night?” Her tone becomes concerned, and regret fills your mouth.

“I opened up your letter and saw all the pictures.”

“Well, I figured that much, but how did you get so drunk?”

You shrug as if she was with you in your living room. “I drank that bottle of wine from my parents.”

“You need a healthy hobby.”

You shake your head lightly, rubbing your temple with your free hand and sighing. “What prompted to you to send me off with those photos?”

“I thought you should have them. I’ve had them for years and they obviously weren’t doing me any favors. I figured I’d give them to you since they were of you mainly.”

“I didn’t even know you had them…”

“Why do you sound so sad?”

You cough. “Uhm, do I have to spell it out for you? You sent me with pictures of my ex-boyfriend who I haven’t thought of for years.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like you just broke up. If you don’t want them, toss them out.”

“It’s not a big deal…it just…it caught me off guard I guess.”

“Toss them out then, I don’t care.”

“Yeah, I could.” You admit.

You hear Tessa shuffling on the other end of the phone, and you imagine she’s in the kitchen, working on getting food out for breakfast. You miss your lazy weekend mornings with her already and you try not to think about the fact that you’ll never have them routinely again.

“How long has it been since Van anyway, like two years?”

“Three.” You say quickly. “Three and a few months. I met Nick the winter after we called it.” You wince at the memory and promise yourself not to think about it.

“Damn, where does time go? I wonder how his band is doing. Do you think he’s still in England?”

You close your eyes and your stomach rolls angrily either from the wine or the memories, or possibly a little of both.

“I don’t know Tess, and I really don’t care either.” There’s a bite in your tone.

“You know, I saw him last summer at a festival downtown. It was the weekend you and Nick were in Barbados. He asked about you, and I laid it on thick. I was gushing over Nick actually, and how you were away at some exotic island living your best life. I was really trying to make him feel bad. I think it worked.” She laughs.

You feel your mouth open slightly and you stutter as your words escape. “You never told me about that…”

“I know. I think I meant to, but I forgot. Plus, I didn’t want to ruin your trip by texting you and telling you that I ran into him. He looked good. Kind of awkward after I filled him in on your life, though.”

“Jesus, Tess.” You close your eyes tightly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You’re the one who messaged me about it last night and called now. It’s your past, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should reach out to him. Maybe you need a rebound, and a familiar one at that. It’s better than dealing with a stranger”

“You’re awful. Do you know how bad that would hurt?”

“Hurt? Why would it hurt? You loved someone else since him. Maybe you should get back at him for all the hurt he did to you. Call him up, arrange to meet him sometime when he’s in the states again, and play with him the way he played with you for years.”

“That’s not how things work with Van McCann, Tess. You know this. Nothing affects him except music. And all that sounds like is a terrible idea. I don’t need to stir up emotions from years ago.”

“I always liked him. Even when I did hate him, I liked the two of you together.”

“Oh God, Tessa would you shut up? Please. I’m too hungover to be making a trip down memory lane with you especially if it involves Van. God dammit.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. If I’d known you were going to react like this to the pictures, I would have thrown everything out myself. I figured you’d be over everything by now, it’s been a long time. And if anything, I guess I assumed that you’d hurt more about Nick than Van. I mean, Nick asked you to marry him for crying out loud. It’s why I didn’t send any photos of him. I guess I thought, if you could get past Van, you could get past Nick, too. It’s part of the reason I sent the photos. As a reminder what you’d been through.”

“I do hurt about Nick, but it’s a different type of hurt. Honestly, I think I hurt more for him than I do for me. I broke his heart, and that makes me feel terrible. But…but Van…” you trail off.

Tessa sighs. “Van broke yours. The ball wasn’t in your court.”

“Exactly.” You breathe out loosely, feeling like you’ve just confessed sins in church.

“I’m sorry I put these memories in your head…I really thought by now- “

“I know what you thought. I thought I was over it, too. But maybe it just hurt too bad and I never really dealt with it.”

“The plot thickens.” Tessa smirks. “So…what do you think you need to do about it?”

You look around your empty living room and bite into your lip. “Learn how to be alone, I guess. And figure out why Van still has this effect on me. Maybe it’s just unpacked emotions that I didn’t deal with because I had Nick to deal with instead.”

“Maybe you should reach out to Van?”

You choke and turn it into a cough mixed with some sort of laugh. “I’d rather stand in traffic. Besides I deleted his number a long time ago.” Thank God for that, or you would have been tempted to reach out to him too many times after too many drinks, at least until Nick took your attention away from him.

“Well, I guess you’ll figure it out. For what it’s worth though, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make your first night down there so emotional.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t do anything on purpose.”

You chat for a few more minutes about things before ending the call and staring out the window as the morning light softens the edges of the day. You decide to make yourself busy with unpacking and arranging things so that when your furniture comes, you can put it right where it needs to go. Your phone dings once, signaling a text message and you see Tessa’s name light up your screen. You unlock it and open the message, reading it on a frown.

Enclosed is contact information with the name “Van” attached in bold lettering. Another message pops up below it and you read it quickly. I have it. In case you want to reach out.

You don’t respond. Instead, you turn your phone upside down and begin putting dishes away. When you finish you pick up the box of photos and random memories from Tessa and shove it in the hall closet. You try to forget about everything involving Van, but as the day goes on, you find yourself humming the melody of one of the songs you listened to the night before, and you hate yourself for it.

#van mccann #Bob Hall #johnny bond #benji blakeway #Catfish and the Bottlemen #catb #catbblogs #fanfiction #vanfic

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okayohay · 3 years

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I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too (Chapter Three)

Here is Chapter 3 of my fic. Hope you enjoy and it gives you something to do while you scroll through tumblr. Cheers

I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too

Chapter Three

Van

I kept my sunglasses on as we drove through the rainiest parts of America and stared out the window of the bus. The tea in my hands grew cold an hour ago, but I was too tired to get up and heat it back up. Tea in the microwave never tasted the same to me anyways.

I tapped my finger on the side of the mug as Larry sat down in the bench seat across from me. I offered him a lazy half smile and brought the cup to my lips, pretending not to notice its lack of warmth.

"No sleep again?" Larry kept his voice low, but I could still hear him over the hum of the television a few feet away. Benji was sucked into a show on Netflix and Bob seemed just as interested.

I nodded and looked back out the window. Sleep and I were in a war with each other, and for the last six months I'd been losing. Some nights were easy, and I'd drink myself into a fog and have no problem surrendering to it, but I'd wake up rotten, full of aches and regrets. Most of the time, I'd nod off for a few hours here or there and wake up restless. No amount of writing or attempting to write new material could stifle the urge I had for sleep.

Larry knocked his knuckles against the glass and traced the droplets off rain with his index finger. We shared an ability to speak in silence, Larry and me. He'd been my best mate since we were kids, and even though he couldn't play a song to save his life, I couldn't imagine my band without him. He was a great tech, and someone who loved whatever job I'd appoint him to do. I could read his mind as he stared out the window, looking much older than the boy I used to laugh with in my parent's basement until dawn.

"I miss home, too." I said softly as I took another sip of cold tea.

Larry nodded on a shrug. "Steve said he messaged everyone about the itinerary for the holidays. Looks like we won't be going home until February."

I nodded. I used to feel personally attacked when someone wanted to go home and couldn't because of our schedule. I used to let it eat at me until I'd explode, but I'd learned to channel it into words and not take things so personal. I drove the band into this, it was my responsibility, but not one of us could have expected the success we were given. I warned them years ago that it would come with a cost. No one cared then, but that was before we all lost things that were important to us.

"Maybe we'll have some time off when we get there. Time to ourselves, it can be like old times."

Larry half smiled. "Will it ever be like old times again?"

I turned to look at him leaving my glasses on so I could keep my eyes hidden. I didn't want him to see the truth in them. I didn't want him to see the exhaustion, the worry, the fear. "It'll always be like old times."

Lie. I already told you, never trust a writer. By all means, I was a writer. But if I could pacify my best friend with a bit of a white lie to ease the tension at the table, then I would.

Larry nodded and smiled again, hope furrowing his brows. I wished it could be like it old times. I wished that more than ever. All of it happened so quick, and when we did catch fire, we kind of scorched everything. I burnt a lot of bridges I didn't mean to, and we all started to feel differently than we did years ago. It was heavier on our shoulders now though. A bigger chip. It didn't help that I hadn't been able to write new material in months.

"What was the deal with you and Barns at soundcheck last night?"

I was thankful he changed the subject, I'd had just enough of the heavy. I laughed a bit and leaned into the back of the bench seat. "He's awful inn't he?" I let out a long sigh and shook my head. "He reminded me not to let onto his girlfriend that he's been shagging other girls."

Larry shifted nervously in his seat. He knew I didn't like to talk about cheating, he knew I didn't like to bring up faithfulness in relationships. I had made mistakes too many times in the past for things I'd never forgive myself for. It was my crutch. "What brought that conversation on?"

I shrugged. "She was at soundcheck writing in a notebook and she had a camera. I assumed she was an interviewer and I was on one, so I kinda let her have it for a minute."

Larry leaned forward, a smug look on his face. "You ever seen an interviewer carry a notebook and hand write anything?"

I thought over his question and reached across the table and ruffled his hair. "I said I was proper on one, don't give me that."

"Alright, alright, mate. So, is that what worked up good ol' Barnsy then?"

"I couldn't say. Maybe. I'm not sure how much of it he heard. He was more worried about me slipping up to her I think. I'll be glad when this tours done. If I had any say innit I'd have him gone now. Call up someone else to finish the next leg."

Larry nodded his silent agreement to me. "You're not going to tell her...are you?"

I turned back to the window, glancing out at the endless highway and dull green landscape that rolled alongside of the bus. "I don't even know her, Larry."

"That's not the answer to the question I asked."

I waved my hand through the air. "I don't even know her so I why would I go out of my way to meddle?"

Larry stuck his lower lip out and nodded a few times before responding. "Because you hate Barns."

I laughed.

"I'm not being funny."

"I know. But I'm not getting in their business. That's on them."

"It's just not like you to not say somethin', especially somethin' about things like that."

"Well, I'm not. I don't care."

And that wasn't a lie. I didn't.

Bondy woke me up around nine thirty, when the bus came to a stop outside of a hotel in Nashville.

"You don't want to crash here for the night, mate. They got us rooms. C'mon, up you go."

"How long was I out?" I scrambled for my notebook, hoping I was able to get something down before I dozed off, but the pages were nearly just as blank as they had been when I started. The only words I had written down were "edgy" and "I don't know what to say". I didn't have any idea where I had been going with either of them. I tossed the book into my bunk and rubbed my eyes.

"Maybe forty minutes."

"Feels like I slept for days."

"You need to sleep for days, it'd probably fix you up."

I grabbed my bag and followed him off the bus and into the lobby where Steve stood with keys for us. The hotel was all marble tile and glossy counter tops. A chandelier hung from the center of the room and reflected onto the floor. The place looked a little too fancy for any of us. We all stood in dark jeans and leather jackets that were unnecessary for the warmth outside. We didn't fit in here, clearly. The manager of the hotel stood at the desk, a thin line of sweat coating his forehead. Luckily for him, it wasn't us he had to worry about. We weren't the rowdy ones...typically.

"Be down here by noon tomorrow, Van." Steve spoke sternly as he handed me my room key. He was still pissed about us playing Overlap and not telling him. I could hear it in his voice.

"I'll be here."

"You've got two interviews before soundcheck."

I raised up my hands and nodded. "Then let me get to my room so I can sleep."

I brushed past him and ducked into the elevator with Benji. Bob and Bondy were still talking to Steve and nodded their farewells to us as the elevator doors closed showing our reflections in their bronze walls. We both let out long sighs.

"Calling it an early night, Blakes?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be. And I can't stop thinking about that show we were watching. I'm going to soak in a few more episodes."

The doors opened on a ping and he stepped out, but paused for a moment and held his hand against the open door.

"Unless you want to do something." His statement sounded more like a question, and judging by the look on his face, it was a question he feared the answer to.

I shook my head. "I'm alright, probably gonna try to get some more sleep. Maybe I'll have some more luck like on the bus."

"Alright V. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Noon." I said in my best Steve voice. He laughed as the doors closed.

I rode the next three floors in silence staring at the ceiling the whole time. When the doors opened to my floor, I stepped out into the foyer and turned the corner to find my room. Just a few doors down from me stood Barns, fumbling with a key, Ellie at his side. I looked away quickly, down at my own key and pulled my bag over my shoulder tighter.

"Hey Hey!" Barns yelled out. I glanced up and half smiled, more so at Ellie than him. I owed her an apology, but now wasn't the time. I needed to do it when he wasn't around, because it needed to be sincere and I didn't want to slip up and say something about Barns.

"Hope we don't keep you up, McCann." Barns laughed loudly, flashing me his perfect teeth and tilting his head back. I glanced at Ellie, who blushed and pushed her way past him into the room. They disappeared behind their door just as mine opened. A fire burned in me that I didn't understand. Maybe it was just low tolerance for Barns and how vile he was. Maybe I was just jonesing for a drink.

I tossed my bag on the bed and glanced around the empty room for a few minutes before deciding I couldn't be in it. It was too hollow, too empty and quiet, and my mind was being loud and needy. I didn't want to sit in here alone and try to find sleep when I knew it wouldn't come. I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed in Benji's number.

I'm going down to the hotel bar. Turns out I need to do something else. You can meet me if you're up for it.

I shrugged my coat off and rolled the sleeves of my shirt up before sticking my key into my pocket and opening the door. I paused for a moment before making sense of who was looking back at me.

Ellie.

#Catfish and the Bottlemen #vanfic #van mccann #benji blakeway #Bob Hall #johnny bond #barns courtney #fan fiction #writer #I write fanfics not tragedies #catb #catbblogs

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