Real

Oh, the troubled goodness!

Chapter 1: Bryan's Lament

What the hell did I do to deserve this?

He blamed himself for the whole thing, really.

Maybe if he hadn’t let her take those drinks in the first place, none of it would’ve happened. He wouldn’t have had to spend the precious free time that he rarely got to go on a wild goose chase around the ridiculously large Hilton trying to find her, instead of relaxing, and taking in the beautiful scenes of France in the summertime. Maybe he wouldn’t have found her in the one place he’d never expected to. And then he wouldn’t have been forced to some things that he knew he’d regret, and that he certainly did now. And maybe then, he wouldn’t be sitting here, moping and pissed off at everyone for reasons even he didn’t know.

It all started with the Award show. They had been nominated for Most Addictive Track with their song “Glass”, but lost that one to the English band Muse. But they had won the MTV Europe Music Award for the category of Rock Out, and were thrilled with it.
Afterwards, the band decided to celebrate by going down to the bar on the first floor of the Hilton, where they’d be staying for the night.

That was where the problems began.

Cori had never had a drink before in her life. Yet, she insisted on being a big girl, and at least having her first taste of it. That wasn’t the problem. In fact, it was quite understandable. Back in the states, they would have to wait until they were 21, since they were only 18. But here in France, the drinking age was 16. So it only made sense for her to finally try it out while she could. No problems there.

She decided on a Pink Lemonade. That was the problem.

Now that Bryan thought about it, he could see why she’d ordered it. It sounded innocent enough. It consisted of liquer and vodka, but the name was perfectly innocent, nice, and safe. It was ironic in the most painful way, he had to admit. She’d selected the drink with the least dangerous name, and had ended up getting something that could easily get a virgin drinker drunk with one serving. It was very ironic indeed. He could see the irony in the situation, but he didn’t really appreciate it. After all, it was irony that had gotten him into this whole mess. And the fact that this irony was on the long list of mishaps that he was responsible for only irritated him further. For a moment, he tried to argue that this particular part wasn’t his fault, and if it was, then the blame should just as easily be spread to the other band members. But he gave up. There was no point in arguing with himself. After tonight, he had a long list of problems, and he didn’t need insanity to be added to it.

The point was that it had happened. They knew what she was getting herself into, but instead of informing her that her selection was for more advanced drinkers and kindly pointing her in the direction of the beers, they decided to let her learn the hard way. They didn’t do it as a joke, because that would be quite a sick joke. And they hadn’t done it to be cruel, as she was part of their band, family. They’d just let her get it because, hey, it was what she’d wanted, and she was old enough to make her own choices. But nonetheless, learn the hard way she had indeed., and she’d even gone above and beyond any of their expectations when after just 5 sips, she began to get a little wobbly, and her demeanor began to get so light that it was borderline fluffy. But still, Tally and Joey shrugged it off as no big deal, and consequently, so had he. He had no reason why, as he usually wasn’t a leader, but he certainly wasn’t a follower either. But to shrug it off made sense. Yeah, of course she was drunk! But it was expected of anyone who dared select a Pink Lemonade as their first ever alcoholic beverage.

But ten minutes later, when she went missing, he personally blamed himself.
A sense of panic rising within his gut, he scrambled around the entire club, threading between drunken flirts, and dancing couples on the crowded dance floor, all in hopes of finding the young guitarist, but to no avail. Surely she hadn’t left! There would’ve been the sound of screaming fans if she’d left without properly disguising herself first. And in her state, he was 100 percent sure that she wasn’t capable of doing it. But, without a second thought, he snapped the hood of his sweat jacket onto his head, and left the club, entering the large, ritzy lobby. If she was out here, it wouldn’t be hard to find her. A drunken 18 year old rock star stumbling through a fancy lobby was about as unnoticeable as an elephant in a china shop.

He turned in a slow circle, scanning the room for signs of his friend, but he didn’t see her. His big dark brown eyes shut, and his hands flew to his face, fingers massaging his temples.

He felt a sudden warmth spread in the back of his neck, and the tingling sensation of sweating let him know that he was almost in full panic mode. What if something had happened to her? Lloyd would kill him if he knew that the whole thing was his fault. Hell, he’d kill himself. He was already beginning to slam himself against the mental wall that he’d built up for self-flagellating times like this. Suddenly, he heard a high pitched, and slightly loud giggle echo through the lobby. He opened his eyes just in time to see the elevator doors closing, Cori right behind them. He also saw an arm wrap around her shoulder. He looked at the small monitor above the elevator doors. At 12, the number stopped.

Without hesitation, he tore through the doors next to the elevator, and took the steps two at a time until he finally made it to the 12th floor. He peeked through the door leading to the hotel’s hallway. Losing Cori in France was bad, but he wasn’t in the mood to be forced to explain why he was following her. Though the answer was simple enough, in her state, he knew she wouldn’t be anywhere close to the logical, clear headed girl that he knew.

After a moment, he saw what he was looking for. Cori was walking with a guy. No, actually, to call it walking would’ve been lying. The better term would be to say that she was leaning against a guy, stumbling so badly that she was all but knocking him over with every clumsy step she tried to take. When they were a safe distance down the long hallway, Bryan slid quietly out of the staircase and followed them at a distance.
If there was one thing that he’d learned during the 80 days he’d spent on a bus with Cori, Tally, and Joey, it was that when they became like family, Cori and Tally became like sisters. Which meant that they, as big brothers, had to look out for them. At least a little bit.

He turned the corner, which led to a long…and very empty corridor. His muscles tensed. She was already inside the guys room.

…Shit!

He made his way down the quiet hallway, slowly enough to hear anything, should she make any noise, but quick enough that he’d reach the other end of the hallway within the next half hour. He had no clue what was happening, but he already knew that he wouldn’t like this guy. Whoever he was, he seemed too sober -- compared to Cori, who was, in his opinion, too drunk -- to have any good intentions. From this point on, her having a sip of anything other than water would be too drunk, he decided. He wondered if he could get away with throwing all the Fanta off their tour bus…

He heard a quiet giggle. He stopped in his tracks and listened again, but nothing came. He hadn’t been paying that much attention, but it seemed to come from his left. He was tempted to put his ear to the door to listen for any sign of Cori, but with his luck, he’d try the wrong door, and end up in a French prison somewhere. He moved closer to where he thought he’d heard the sound. Cautiously, and with his heart pounding loudly, he reached out and tapped the doorknob, which made a bit more noise than he would’ve liked. He heard a tiny squeak.

His blood ran cold. Cori was in there. But that wasn’t the thing that disturbed him. The thing was that the door had actually opened the slightest bit. The dumb bastard was too horny to even shut the door, and innocent little Cori was too drunk to remind him, if she’d even noticed.

And another thing, he fumed, letting his mental rant take over, what kind of guy had so little patience that he couldn’t even shut a door? Not one who only wanted an autograph, that was for sure. It only made his bad feelings grow. If this ass had done anything to her, he’d kill him. Without a second thought, he shoved the door open harshly. It made a loud cracking noise as the doorknob dented a purple stripe in the wallpaper behind it. A second later, a pair of feet hit the ground, revealing a blonde man with disheveled hair.

When Bryan had actually entered the room, he didn’t know. But the blonde was looking at him with a combination of awe, shock, irritation, and a certain smugness that made his blood boil. But he couldn’t be concerned with that . He looked towards the bed, where Cori was, before glaring at the blonde.

After a second, something registered as not being right, and he quickly looked back at Cori. She lay on the bed, her eyes unfocused as she blinked slowly at Bryan, and her confused expression quickly melted into a frightened one when she saw the look on his face. Her shirt was halfway up, revealing the belly ring that held the band’s logo. Her black trip pants were halfway down to her knees, and her hand was gently nursing her inner thigh--in the man’s haste to get up, he’d accidentally scratched her. What had his hands been doing down there?!

He whipped his head from Cori, to the man, then back again, and noticed something else; her navy blue boy shorts were dangerously low on her hips.

The next thing he knew, he was rubbing his knuckles in satisfaction as the blonde man writhed on the floor in pain, holding his nose, blood seeping through between his fingers.
Bryan wasted no time. He yanked Cori out of the bed, and without any hesitation, pulled her pants up and dragged her out the door, slamming the damaged door behind him. He didn’t let go of Cori’s wrist, and she didn‘t protest. She was eyeing him wearily, as if she‘d be the next one with a broken nose. He marched onward, back towards the elevators. Cori was fighting not to fall over with every step, and nearly crashed into the wall when he stopped in front of the golden doors to push the button, but he hardly noticed. His heart was pounding, and his mind was racing.

Shit. What the hell had he just done?

Cori leaned on him heavily, and he put an arm around her waist do half drag, half walk the tipsy girl into the elevator. He half expected a squad of police to come and taser him to his death before the doors shut.

Bryan, you’ve got to relax, he thought, You didn’t commit murder. You only punched him in the nose. That didn’t help much. As a celebrity, only punching someone without at least 8 witnesses to confirm your side of the story, was enough to make the media men break out their finest bottles of champagne. The public would drink it up. He didn’t care. He loved his fans, and truly appreciated them, but they could think whatever they wanted. That wasn’t what bothered him. It was knowing that Lloyd, their manager, would be on the phone, making calls, scheduling interviews, impromptu speeches, world press conferences, and United Nations meetings, anything that could help soften the harsh blow that he’d just dealt the whole band. Not to mention Lloyd would be furious with him. He could hear it now: The what- were-you-thinkings, and the how-could-you-do-such-a-thing-don’t-you-realize-you’re-putting-the-whole-band’s-career-into-jeopardy-when-you-do-things-like-this-for-God’s-sake-Bryans, and the You‘d-better-fully-explain-your-side-of-the-story-every-chance-you-get-so-this-will-blow-over-quickly. And of course, there would be lectures. As much as Lloyd protected the band’s image, he was the closest thing to a mother that they had when they were traveling. And when it came time for long, drawn out “I hope I’m making your 18 year old self think about things clearly” moments, he rose to his full motherly potential.

The doors to the elevator shut, and the tension he had seemed to ease. When they finally began moving up towards the top floor, Cori forgot her own fears, and began babbling about how the problem of world overpopulation was fully to blame on the invention of grass hula skirts. He would’ve been laughing had he not been so pissed off. He was pissed because of what had happened, and because he was scared. He was scared because of what he had done. And beside that, he had no clue why he’d been so angry like that. Hell, Cori was a big girl. She could handle herself in that sort of situation. He’d been in that sort of situation once or twice, and hadn’t been complaining. What made him think that she would be? Still, it’d scared him, and he’d cared so much that he’d actually gotten angry, something that rarely happened to him. And it scared him. And because he was scared, he was confused. He’d never liked being confused. He found it to be one of the more frustrating emotions. Therefore, he was even more pissed off. It was a cycle, really.

Really, he was just shaken from the shock of it all. He knew she was drunk, but still, seeing her like that...it was so unlike her! She was more like him. Very logical, and always thinking things through. To have seen her where she was had been scary. It was nothing like the sweet innocent guitarist that everyone was used to. The girl hadn't even had her first kiss for crying out loud, and suddenly he's seeing her being undressed by a damn stranger?! He ruffled his short curly brown hair, something he only did when he was nervous. He sighed, and reminded himself again that she was drunk. As if she'd heard this, she stumbled backwards, bumping into the back of the elevator. She let out a giggle, and continued with her rambling. He quickly made a mental note that he should probably make her sleep on her stomach. She was so drunk that throwing up wasn't even an option anymore. He looked at her, chattering to him animatedly, not even realizing that he wasn't listening, and he had to chuckle. Only Cori could get drunk after five sips of something. But after a second, it felt wrong to even smile, so he stopped. He wasn't in the mood for it.

The quiet bell chimed, and the number 25 flashed overhead, reducing Cori’s rambling to a small gasp of wonder. The elevator doors opened, and Bryan felt comfortable in the familiar territory of a hallway that could easily be navigated in a minute rather than 60. Well, as comfortable as he could be, given the situation. Though most of the rooms were occupied by their crew, manager, and band, he hoped nobody came out into the hallway. He helped the stumbling girl to room 2583, before carefully sticking his hand in her pocket to retrieve her room key. At light speed, he opened the door, and shoved her into the room before following, and shutting the door as quickly and quietly as possible. Leaning against the door, he shut his eyes and let out a breath of relief. All was well.

For now, anyways.

He opened his eyes to see the young girl twirling in circles, oblivious to all the trouble.
Finally, he decided that if he had to be pissed, he’d be pissed at Cori. It was all her fault. She was the one who insisted on being a big girl. She was the one who tried to order the damn drink without knowing what was in it. She was the one who ended up drunk, putting both her and Bryan in that situation. It was simply and absolutely her fault. He crossed his arms, irritated. If she’d just stayed in her damn hotel room instead of joining the rest of them, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament.

He knew he was being unfair and rather selfish, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He just felt relieved to have found someone else to aim the blame at.

Cori didn’t see it that way. She was still spinning in circles, giggling and now, dear God, a string of off key La-la-la’s were flowing from her mouth. Bryan groaned. What had he done to deserve this? As much as he enjoyed being around his friend, the drummer found that he hated her when she was drunk.

“For God’s sake, Cori, shut up!” he exhaled harshly, rolling his eyes. Cori stopped spinning and looked at him, her eyes glossy and unfocused. A smile wobbled unstably on her face.

“Who… meeeee?” She jabbed a finger at herself before letting out a laugh that was so different from the one that the world knew and loved.

“No. The trashcan.” he said flatly.

Cori slapped her knee, laughing again. It was like every time she laughed, it became more high pitched , shrill, and plastic. “Oh, Bryan….you’re sooooofunnnyyyyyyyy!” She wobbled a bit before beginning to spin again, letting loose with the annoying la-la-la’s.

Oh, hell no.

He marched over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and forced her to sit on the bed. “You’re being annoying, C.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” she asked, sounding like a shrink.

"Stop.” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. A scowl came over her brown sugar shaded features, and she crossed her arms like a two year old.

“Yeah?” she countered, “Well…welllll, you , sir…YOU dun talk.. enuff.“

He had no idea what that had to do with anything. But he shrugged, “I speak when I have something to say.”

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. Cori slammed her hand on the bed like a baby being denied her favorite toy.

“I dunno why yer so mean at me, Bry. I mean, it’s like…all of a sudden…you--” Her big brown eyes widened. She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly a bit wet.
Bryan sighed. God, why him?! “What’s wrong now?”

“Do you--do you…eh…do--”

“What?!” he egged her on, a bit harsher than he should’ve.

“Do yooouuu... hate me?” she spoke slowly, like an infant stumbling over their words. Bryan sighed, “No.” But he was getting pretty fed up, pretty fast.

Her eyes were instantly dry, and she perked up. “Yes! Oh, I knew ya wuddent hate me, I’juss knew!” Jesus. She was on a higher level of alcohol consumption than he’d originally thought her to be. She prattled on. “Goodie! That means tha’ we’re still be best friends! We’re gunna haf so much fun! We--we’ll--” She let out a long gasp, “We’ll go tu’da’ MALL!!” she laughed, “Bestieeeeeeees!!”

When he didn’t share her enthusiasm, she shrugged it off and tried to stand, adjusting her black tank top. She sat back down, a look of wonder on her face as she looked at him with wide, dark brown eyes.

“God, Cori, what the hell?” He whined, “What? What do you want?”

“I’mmmso hot…“ she shined lethargically, “Whysda heat…whysda heat…er…the ayy cee shudden’ beyoff…”

Bryan sighed. He didn’t know whether or not to pity her or feel relieved that she was starting to arrive at burn-out. The full effect of her half glass of pleasure was finally beginning to hit her. Well, he reasoned, at least she’d finally shut up.

“Bryannn!” she whined, “Turn onda air! It’sssoooo hot!”

Or not.

“Well, that’s not my fault!” he retorted, his tone a bit sharper than he’d intended.
Instead of being alarmed, Cori let out a laugh, though it was a thick one, and contained less enthusiasm as it had before. She was reaching burn-out; it was just a matter of time before the hangover would follow, he knew. His thought was interrupted when he suddenly felt a pair of lips against his in a quick, loud, smack.

He never knew that he could go from feeling extremely annoyed to shocked in so little time. Actually, shocked didn’t begin to cover it.

“Cori….” he stammered, but paused, rethinking what he was about to say. Finally, he settled on, “Just no. Never again.“ He was only willing to put up with so much, and she’d just missed crossing the line with that one. But he had to stay calm, let she throw herself into a fit.

Before he could even think, her lips crashed against his clumsily…and stayed there. They were wet, and cold at first impact, but almost instantly, they were warm and soft. He could taste the alcohol, and the zest of lemon was burned forever into his memory. His eyes widened and alarm filled his brain, but he remained frozen on the spot. His brain screamed for him to move, and so did his body, but somehow, his wires had gotten badly crossed, and his body and brain were temporarily on different wavelengths.

His mind was moving at a mile a second. He didn’t know whether he liked it or not, and it confused him, in turn scaring him. Cori was his band member. She was like a sister! A best friend! He shouldn’t be enjoying this! And if he had any sense, he would’ve been able to have been disgusted, without any hesitation. And yet ...he wasn’t. He didn’t know: did he like it or not? He couldn’t say. Which meant there was something wrong. He was supposed to be able to answer. And his answer should’ve been no!

He wanted nothing more than to just push her away, leave her wherever she may fall, storm off to his own room, pout for a while, go to sleep, and forget any of this had ever happened! But he couldn’t even do that! No. Because someone had to stay and watch the drunken girl so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit or something and die, or end up leaving the room and doing something stupid-- either of which he'd no doubt be responsible for. So he settled for simply shoving her away when he felt her tongue brush against his bottom lip, jolting him back to the real world.

“Cori! I--you--!--” he sputtered, staring at the drunken girl wide-eyed. She only looked back with a silly grin. “W-what the HELL?!” He wasn’t sure whose benefit he was yelling for. In either case, there was no point to it, since she seemed to forget what she’d just done. Her smile faded, and she didn’t bother with laughing. He eyed her suspiciously, feeling more and more disturbed by the second.

Her hand rubbed her stomach. “I dunn feel…”she hiccupped, “…so gewwd.” For a minute, he wondered if he should get her to the bathroom, but finally, she lay down and rested on her side, her thick blackish bangs hiding her dark eyes.

She let out a tiny whimper, and he headed to the bathroom, more than happy to get away from her. Apparently while the girl could barely find it in her heart to flick someone off when she was sober, she was capable of anything when drunk, and he didn’t want to find out what other capabilities were on this rapidly extending list. Right by the light switch was what he needed. He filled the paper cup with water and headed towards where Cori lay, now calm and quiet. He thought back to his first time being drunk. The hangover had been hell. He knew it was coming soon for her, and jump started the game by speaking in a whisper, “Cori, drink some water. It’ll help you--Cori?”

Silence was the only reply he got. After all the excitement, she’d finally fallen asleep.
Bryan watched her. Her shoulder rose and fell gently, in perfect sync with her breathing pattern. Her knees were pulled in to her chest, and her arms were crossed, as if trying to warm themselves. He put the cup of water on the nightstand and grabbed the folded blanket from the foot of the bed. Carefully, he covered her up, and she let out a small sigh of contentment.

He sat down on the bed next to hers, his mind reeling from everything that had happened.
And the worse was still yet to come, he thought with dread.

First, there was Cori. She’d have a hangover. She’d wake up and wonder, no doubt, what he was doing in her hotel room. And so would everyone else. And unless he wanted them to think the worst, he’d have to explain. Everything, including that guy she’d stumbled off with, which would no doubt leave her panicking for weeks to come.

And then, of course, there was the small matter of the guy himself. He could very easily run off and tell the closest media reporter of how he’d gotten Cori into his hotel room. Not only that, he realized, but he could also tell of how he’d broken the guy’s nose.
Bryan blanched. Cori was the one drunk out of her mind, and yet he’d made all the bad decisions tonight, he noticed bitterly. He grabbed the cup of water off of the nightstand and downed it in two gulps. He needed that water more than she did. This was too much to take in, especially since he wasn’t in any relaxed state of mind, not by a long shot.

He set the empty cup down and ran a finger gently over his knuckles. They were slightly bruised, and a bit tender, but there wasn’t really any substantial damage. Tonight, he’d stepped so out of character that he was mildly surprised that nobody was banging on the door right now, Oscar Award in hand. He was never the violent type, at all. He was very mild mannered, quiet, and sweet. He was the adorable one in the band, the shy guy who only really talked to his friends, and made small talk with fans if he had time, but was brimming with nerdy intelligence. He was hardly ever angry. And he’d certainly never attacked anyone before, he thought. He absently let his fingers gently glide over his knuckles again, the slight pain an undercurrent to more important thoughts.

Though he hated to admit it, he wondered how the fans would react if this whole thing was ever put out in the public eye. He could just see all the teenaged girls whining in disappointment. He shook his head. It’d be like the time when they thought he had a girlfriend, and was officially off the market that they didn’t have a chance of ever shopping in. They’d been disappointed, leaving whiny comments on Youtube fan videos, and sending him love letters for days, but then they got over it, and didn’t love him any less. (Though, he remembered with a small smirk, they had loved him even more, it seemed, when they found out that it was only a rumor. The whole thing was rather flattering, really.) He hoped this time would be no different. But then, he reasoned, maybe this wouldn’t reach the public at all. Maybe the media people wouldn’t think it was important enough to announce to the world.

He smacked his forehead. Was he kidding? A celebrity accidentally bumping someone on a sidewalk was huge news, snowballing into assault rumors. A celebrity punching out a supposedly innocent man, then dragging his band member to her hotel room, and staying the night in it with her, while she was drunk? The media would eat it up like it was the last supper. He only hoped that they wouldn’t find out. Or that by the time they did, the news would be too old to report. There were so many possibilities for how this could go, and he had enough time to entertain all of them. But he didn’t want to.

With a sigh, he decided to just try and get some sleep and hope for the best. Maybe after getting a good night’s rest and setting all of this behind him, he’d be able to think more clearly. He could always think about things more clearly when the event itself was over and done with. Quickly, Bryan slipped out of his own black t-shirt. It was damp with sweat. He tossed it to the floor and crawled into the bed. He could shower in the morning--in his own room.

Once he was settled under the covers, he looked at the guitarist, sleeping peacefully in the other bed. Her face held an expression of contentment mixed with slight discomfort. Her hangover was starting to rear it’s head, he knew, and it’d certainly be quite a wake-up call for her in the morning. He had no time to think about it, as the quilt was especially warm, and sent him off to sleep within a few minutes, shoving all of his problems aside until morning.


Thanks so much for reading, you guys. Feedback is greatly appreciated! Again, thanks a lot! :)