"Lane, where the fuck have you been?!" He grabbed me in a tight hug that felt good, his warm smell was of clove cigarettes, and his hair smelled washed and soapy. His voice was mad, but from his smile I could tell he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. He rarely stayed mad at me for very long, even when we'd argued over something for an hour.
"Out." I smiled and stayed in his arms for a moment longer. I looked in his mint green eyes, "I want you to meet someone." I gestured to Taylor, who was leaning against the hotel wall and looked a bit amused. "Miles, this is Taylor."
"Hey, how's it going'?" Miles was friendly and smiled.
"Pretty good, yourself?"
"Pretty crappy, I've been looking all over for you missy." Miles looked at me with a stern look.
"Well, why?" I opened the door to my suite, which already had clothes strewn all over the place. The place was one of the nicest I'd ever stayed at, my publisher, Rachel, had really done me up here. The wallpaper was a deep navy blue, almost satiny to touch, the carpet was a creamy white, thick as whipped cream, I kicked off my shoes and sank my toes into the softness. There were a couple loveseats, forest green in color, and in the center of the room a grand piano. The piano was what had pulled me in, I couldn't play that well, but I loved to plink whatever I could. It was the only piece of furniture that didn't have an article of clothing on it. Adjoining the main room was a bedroom, I had a huge carved wood bed, a green comforter was strewn on it in a million angles. A couple prints of Monet graced the walls, complimenting the dark colors of the room. Miles had held his tongue to check the place out, and after expressing a couple surprised remarks, he turned back to me. Taylor followed in tow and sat down to the piano, checking it out.
"Well I need to get to the book signing thing early, the magazine wants a quick interview with Neil, so I gotta get there an hour or so early." Miles' other love besides rock was journalism. He worked for a local magazine, which, although he complained about a lot, loved. He mostly wrote music reviews or band bios, but he had the best background with knowing this event's history, so that was why he was assigned to do it.
"Well, when did you want to go?" I looked longingly at my bed, then at Taylor. Miles noted the reaction.
"In two hours, hey you look pretty tired. What's up?" He looked concerned, and I flopped down on a loveseat, next to Taylor.
"I had a concussion yesterday, I can't go to sleep till seven tonight. I'm wiped, I'm cranky, and I want to write."
"Well, you can come late, I'll bring in any of the stuff you want to get signed. I'll leave you alone if you don't feel like doing anything. That's totally okay, I'll be working anyways." I began to protest, I had come off too strong on him. He shook his head, and looked me in the eye, his mint seemed strict and definite, "You stay here and relax, I'll met you around noon? The only reason you're getting out of this is because we have a gig tomorrow night, you're coming."My eyes must've widened a bit, because he shhed me. "You can't run away from Mac forever, I'm not going to have two friends not seeing each other in a civilized manner. I don't care how many postcards you send him, they're so damn fake. Yeah, I know, don't look at me that way. He doesn't know it, but you know what? I do, and there is NO reason why you can't at least talk, I'm not asking anything more than that, and in fact, I'm not asking." I glared at him. Taylor was just tapping his fingers on the loveseat, and looking away, feeling embarrassed probably.
"Miles, that's none of your damn business what I send to Mac, and whether I talk to him."
"It is." His tone softened. "I like you both too much to see one of you keep on hurting." He looked out of a large window into downtown London. "Mac's moved on, and I think I'm right in saying that you have to, so can you guys just be normal and make up?" His large eyes looked at me with an almost childish plea, like some kid who wants his divorced parents to talk instead of scream for once. I remembered that look from one night in our senior year when we had planned to go out and get wasted, but Mac had been grounded, and since he had the liqueur, Miles and I spent the night talking. It had been the only time he had spoken to me about his parent's divorce. I held him through most of that night, now the same look of pain was there in his eyes.
"I'll stop by." I murmured. "See you at the signing." Miles nodded to Taylor, then slipped out the door.
I stared out of the same window that Miles had. I just wanted to leave, right then and there. But instead I got up and walked to the bathroom and got out some prozac, I hadn't used since yesterday, and if I didn't get some in my system soon, I would have a serious comedown. I looked at it skeptically, for once in my life, I didn't know what to with it. Taylor had followed me in, and I looked up at the bathroom mirror and saw him. I turned around and he grabbed me in a tight embrace, I let myself sag in his arms, crying. The sobs came out so hard, my whole body shook with pain. Taylor didn't say anything, he just held me, smoothing back my hair. He quietly took the small orange container of pills from my limp fingers and put them on the counter. After feeling my sobs slow down, then stop he held me for a bit longer, then, without letting me go grabbed a rag from the shiny brass rack of towels and wet it with cold water. He wiped my red cheeks, then produced a couple white tissues for my runny nose. I started to say something, not sure of what though, but Taylor shhed me.
"Rough day, huh?" He whispered. I simply nodded, there was a lot I hadn't told him, I knew it had to come out sometime, but as much as I knew I should tell him, I didn't want to. He didn't care, he'd have to be totally unaware not to guess that something else had gone on. "You're staying put with me tonight, that's it." I didn't have any energy to protest, and I didn't want to anyway, I needed my medication.