Ur Boi & Dollface

The last thing Reggie remembers is being well over the label of drunk, barely able to hold herself up and needing the help of something pressed against her. The music was so loud she felt it instead of her heartbeat. (The body pressed against her seems to be moving with the music, and the lyrics of the deep-bass song playing, are whispered in her ear. "I'mma bout to fuck who I'm dancing with, yeah, I'mma bout to...") It smelled like sweat and beer and weed. However, because of her drunkenness, Reggie was unable to do anything as the buzzing anxiety she felt was overwhelming in her head. The touch on her sides, though, by the rough, slim hands on her seemed to drown out her apprehension.

When she wakes up the next morning, however, the rough fingers from the night before are softly stroking the skin of bare hip. Her eyes open to view a closed back lounge door and a pile of her clothes that she had been wearing the day before. At first things are blurry and her head is pounding with a hangover, but when Reggie realizes she is not on her bus and unable to go through her daily routine, the routine that causes a little less of an itch in her throat, her heart rate increases and the blonde sits up suddenly.

"You okay?" a scratchy, sleepy voice asks from behind her. Reggie looks and follows the tattooed, rough hand to the body and face it's connected to. She sits quiet, fearful and breathing heavily. He sits up slowly, letting his hand slowly touch and trace the black and gray tattoo sleeve on her left arm. "Reggie, right?"

She nods, flinching away from him and getting up to grab her clothes. Saying nothing, Reggie tries to button her shorts without showing how shaky she is, but he stops her, taking her shaking hands in his and speaking softly to her.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. What's wrong, Reggie?"

"I have to get back to my bus," she says shakily, her deep, quick breaths louder now. He frowns and nods.

"Well we're at the next venue. Let me get dressed and I'll walk you there, okay?"

Reggie shakes her head and takes her hands from him. "No, I'm fine, I'll go on my own you don't have to-"

"I want to, okay?" He says, and Reggie can't do anything about it. She finishes buttoning her shorts and stands still, holding her hands clasped in front of her. Reggie keeps her eyes to the floor, leaving him to put his own clothes back on.

The two sneak out of the bus, all the band members either in their bunks or at catering already for an early lunch since their set wasn't until mid afternoon. Reggie keeps at least a foot of distance from him as she looks through the buses, searching for number forty-seven; a dark red and black beauty that has been nicknamed The Bumpy Melon by Paul, the guitarist from Chunk, No Captain Chunk.

She begins to slow down at the corner of bus forty-six before completely stopping in front of the door to her bus. Reggie hesitates before turning around.

"Austin?" she says quietly, and he hums softly to let her speak. "This was only a one time thing," she says, and Austin smiles, almost sadly, before nodding.

"I know."

Reggie takes a deep breath, nods to confirm what she says, and turns around to disappear into her bus. Austin stares at the closed door, realizing he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up, because this is Warped Tour and the worst place to get your heart broken is Warped Tour. Austin turns and goes back to his bus, numbered seventy-three.

For the rest of the morning, Reggie went about her routine. When she stepped into the shower, the bus completely empty because of early sets and long afternoon signings, Reggie washes her hair and scrubs her body for a good ten minutes. The heat of the scolding water and the roughness of the hand scrub she had turned her skin red, but she was careful with her tattoos. She would never let her tattoos fade and kept them well hydrated and checked for any imperfections almost every day.

Her tattoos, a mess of flowers and birds running down her left arm and a few things bundled together on her thigh and then two simple words across her knuckles, were the only chaotic thing that Reggie could tolerate being in her life. Everything else was routine and had a certain order in her day to day living. Everything.

Even men, and they were at the very bottom, below cleaning the toilet and picking cat hair off her grandmother's couch.

Reggie stands in front of the bathroom mirror, all her things spread out over the counter top as she wraps her wavy blonde hair in a fresh towel. She has another wrapped around her body, tucked in beside her left arm. The steam from the shower has caused condensation to cover the mirror, and after a few calculated moves, Reggie wipes away a perfect circle on the mirror to allow her the chance to look at herself.

She brushes her teeth, giving each tooth twelve good scrubs, before moving on to her make up to cover her freckles and then drying her hair to only throw it up into a quick bun. She covers the few flyaways with a striped knit beanie that matches the striped skirt she pulls on over her underwear and floral lace tights. A matching blue top and pair of sneakers later, Reggie is rushing from the bus to make it to her set on time.

Waiting side stage is a certain ginger and lead singer, both of who Reggie feels nervous around. Her skin already itches from the delay in her routine, but from the evident lust in Alan's eyes and the kind smile from Austin, seems to make her hands start to shake again.

"Reg," Linda says, grabbing the blonde's attention. She had been manning Reggie's tent since that morning, seeing as her busmate was no where to be found during set up. "Where the fuck were you? Travis and Bert were about to go send out a search party."

"Sorry," Reggie says, grabbing her headphones and putting them over her ears, taking a few spare seconds to gather her thoughts. Linda notices that Reggie avoided the question and knows to ask her later about it.

The set begins not ten minutes later, with Reggie running out onto the stage, Welcome Home by Coheed and Cambria being the instrumental introduction for her. The small crowd of people that have crowded around her stage cheer and she smiles, but doesn't say anything and starts off with her first mix (Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar on Me and Fall Out Boy'sSugar We're Going Down). The first song blends into the second, and the third, and then the last begins to play, her hands moving effortlessly over the switchboard. This was her release from anxiety and stress. The calculated, yet creative, mixing of songs and tunes and beats. Her crowd had grown a bit bigger, but there was an evident increase in those that would stop to listen before moving on to one of the bigger stages.

Reggie pulls out of the DJ Instinct persona and becomes the same person she has been over the past few days in between her set times. Her anxiety and need to organize the mess of amps and cords backstage begins to fight at her fingertips and overwhelms the already fuzzy mind. Her hangover is there, beating at the back of her eyes. The sun of Portland was hot and the humidity was reaching an all time high for the day as the hands on the clock hit noon. The lead and the ginger are gone, much to Reggie's relief.

The catering tent was Reggie's first stop, flashing her card to the guy dressed in a bright yellow shirt, and falling in line behind the other bands.

"Well if it isn't Miss Party Pants."

Reggie glances behind her and winces when she realizes she's been found by the ginger she was trying to avoid.

"Hello, Alan. When's your set today?"

"At 2:30. You should come by. I saw your show today. You're really good."

"Thanks," is all Reggie replies with, getting a to-go box for the chicken and pasta that is being served. The line goes quickly. She grabs a chilled bottle of soda and skirts around the tables, out the exit door. Alan is lost in her attempt to get past him and she gives a soft sigh before going through the tents and coming across her bright blue one that happily stood out against the dark colored merch tents of surrounding bands.

"Fuck, Reg, there you are!" Linda yells, for the second time that day in just an hour, standing up from the fold out chair under the tent and stretching out the kinks in her back. Reggie nods and takes the seat. Linda leaves, grabbing her small bag and pass, moving on to the We the Kings tent to get ready for the signing they were going to have. Reggie looks through the forms that Linda had gotten since the venue first opened that morning and begins to input the filled out information into the slim black laptop she has all her contacts and documents in, eating whenever she gets a free second and stuffing her face with the creamy pasta or tender chicken.

Over the next three hours, the WWFT tent was so busy that Reggie couldn't finish the last half of her lunch. She was constantly taking money for the many tees she had and was forced to go ahead and put in another order that she could pick up at the next venue. She had almost twice as many forms to put in and Reggie knew she wasn't going to be able to find everyone an internship, but maybe she could give them hope in at least taking art classes at a local college.

It got so busy, with a total of at least six people in front of her small blue tent, that she got a surprise helper to come up behind her.

"The red shirt in a medium?"

Reggie's head snaps over to her left, staring at the back of Austin before he returns with a shirt in one hand and holds out the other for the twenty dollar bill. One of the kids at the tent, a sixteen year old teen wearing an Of Mice and Men tank top, stands frozen to the spot, a filled out form in one hand and a ten dollar bill in the other.

"You're Austin Carlile."

Austin grins and nods, laughing kindly at them as he takes the form from the fan. "Yeah, that's me. Did you catch out set?"

Reggie finally notices the sweat still evident on his bare skin, and his slight out of breath-ness and the red tint to his face while he messes with his spiky hair. The fan nods, but Reggie is forced to finish helping the other three kids, taking forms and money and handing out shirts and giving back change. By the time she's done, at least five more have scooted over to grab a quick picture of the tall singer and a little bracelet from the booth, spending chunk change and giving Reggie the dollar bills she needed for giving change later on.

Just after 5, the tent dies down, as does many of the other nearby tents, and Reggie begins to count the money in the small black bag she has hidden in one of the shirt boxes. There's an uncomfortable silence between the two as Reggie counts her money before she finishes, confirming the right amount three times, before putting the money back.

"Thank you," she finally gets out. He brought her business, and even though she feels uncomfortable around him, Reggie is thankful to be getting somewhere with her organization. Austin smirks, but it's not a smug one. It's like a half smile that accepts the thanks because he understands how hard it must have been for her to accept the help.

"You're welcome," he replies softly. Reggie tries to smile back but it's stiff and never reaches her eyes.

The two sit in more silence; Austin isn't sure of how to start a conversation with her and Reggie doesn't want a conversation. There are a few mote rushes of people when word gets out that Austin Carlile is at a certain tent and taking pictures and signing stuff if they buy something from the tent. Reggie watches on from the side, taking money and more forms and passing out what is left of her shirts.

By seven o'clock, the tent has sold out of almost every shirt, only a few left in her least-popular one, and over thirty more forms have been turned in. Reggie is certain she won't find internships, plus most of them aren't even old enough to walk into a tattoo shop, let alone get one or give one. The best she can do is find art classes and set up a group on the internet for them to talk through and swap tips and gain criticism over their pieces.

Other tents have already packed up, but there are almost two more hours left of light and kids being at the venue to buy things. However, Reggie makes the call to pack up and call it a day, setting a reminder in the front of her memory to order more of everything since now all she has are empty boxes and a moneybag full of crumbled bills. The silence between the two musicians is broken by the bothered Austin.

"We have an off day tomorrow, driving to Phoenix," Austin started. Reggie glances up from her inventory log. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay on the bus with me and hang out some."

Reggie fully looks up now, puts down her pen and log, and purses her lips together into a thin line.

"Austin, you're a really nice guy. You give really nice sex, too, I've been feeling sore all day." Austin's face grows a light shade of pink from her blunt words. "But I have a very dense form of OCD. Everything in my life is planned out and set up in a schedule. This morning almost killed me because my brain is wired a certain way that if I don't wake up and start off immediately with my routine I start to shake and my skin itches and I can't function."

Reggie takes a deep breath, feeling some type of sadness over the fall in Austin's face, but continues.

"Love and dating and sex are nice for books and movies, but not for me. I can't control another person and the chemicals in my brain don't like that. I was drunk, so none of my decisions were well thought out. I can't handle disorder."

Reggie rubs at her knuckles, feeling the slight raised letters of her knuckle tattoos.

DISORDER

The word meant so much to Reggie that she had is permanently etched into her skin. Disorder was something Reggie couldn't deal with. She faced it everyday, and instead of fighting it and controlling it, she let it control her. She let it decide on her life for her, and this is why Reggie shut herself out; she was nothing much than a coward.

"Thank you, again, for helping me with my tent and having more people come than I thought would stop by this whole week, but this is where our contact stops. I'm going to have to decline your offer for tomorrow. I have almost forty forms to input in my system, and I have to go through each one and pick out those of age and those who have potential for an internship, and that is before I even start calling shops and looking for an opening."

While Austin registers the conversation, Reggie takes a deep breath before breaking down boxes. She does not take back her words or have a compromise. Reggie cannot let the feelings of others come before her own, because that will be her downfall.

"I had fun," Austin starts, clearing his throat as he stands. "I'll stop by some other time to help out if I get a free afternoon. See you around."

Austin leaves Reggie to her own devices, leaving the girl to start cursing to herself.

It's just chemicals, they say, just chemicals that make us up. Take deep breaths and remember it's just chemicals.

Reggie finds herself alone in her tent, with no one in the surroundings one, crying into one of the left over shirts because she realized just how much of a coward she is because she won't face the chaos.

Notes