Until The End Of Everything

Manchester Arena had been empty for a little over one hour now and there was not an awful lot left for me to do, other than sit around on the edge of the stage and doodle in my trusty little sketchbook. I would only ever take this book out when no one else was around and this silence was perfect for concentration. Not only that, but my drawing skills were nothing in comparison to the drawings the front man of this band could muster up on a whim. I tried and failed to match his excellence, more or less every other day when I could catch a minutes break.

Nahla — I need some assistance over here
Nahla — I need you to run out and grab this and that
Nahla — I need a few more boxes of merch

No matter the time of day, I was always being called upon to do something or other. I was known only as Merch Girl amongst the crew, but the boys themselves referred to me always with the name I had been given at birth. It was sweet of them to do that, when they could easily pretend I mattered very little and was just another member of their team for prepping and organising. It was no different to being a call girl, aside from the fact that I wasn't expected to sleep with anyone and in recognising that familiarity, I began to wonder what I was doing with my life. In five years time, even ten, would I still be stuck touring with a group of guys who seldom glanced my way unless they needed something? Something they were more than able to get themselves.

I wondered how this all came to be. My mind replayed prior months and tried to put all of this pieces together so they made sense, but it was no use. I did not detest my job, as such; I was just unhappy being ignored half the time and treated as though I could be disposed of if someone more capable came along. It wouldn't be too difficult for someone to replace me. I did my job as I was supposed to and put in a little extra effort where it wasn't necessarily needed, but no one even thanked me and my wages never increased, no matter what I had to offer.

My brain was frazzled with all the negativity, so I quickly shook all those thoughts from my head and focused solely on the empty pad on my lap. My pencil, one of fine quality, was sharp and ready to meet that blank page. I smiled, unknowingly and allowed the nib to touch the paper briefly, before pulling it out and creating a perfect arch. It seemed about the only thing I could manage under the circumstances; to draw the interior of the arena and hope that it turned out as I hoped it would, as opposed to something half hearted. I spent a good half hour or so after that filling in all of the intricate details that painted the walls all around me and failed to notice the tip of my tongue had protruded from my mouth and I looked a little ridiculous.

It wasn't until someone cleared the throat over my shoulder that I snapped back to reality and dropped the pencil, the clattering sound echoing as it hit the ground from stage height. My hands shielded my artwork in a poor attempt to hide the horrid drawing, but a hand reached around from behind and eased the sketchbook out of my vice-like grip.

“Oh—“ he began, his fingers tracing every line and burst of texture before he returned his gaze toward me, a smile beginning to show on his lips. “I didn't know you were so talented, Nahla.”

My eyes bugged out of my head as I sat there, motionless and utterly confused by his words. I did not know which to be stunned by first; the fact that he believed I was talented, or that he had called me by my name, for the first time since we had been introduced all those months ago. My lips parted and I intended on thanking him, no doubt in a very giddy manner as my cheeks flamed in pure delight and embarrassment, but no words came out. I had frozen; my body was stiff and my eyes bored into his own for a good few minutes before I was able to move.

“Thank you, Gerard” I spoke, barely above a whisper as my head dropped and I focused on my torn leggings. Of all the foolish things I could possibly do, I had to act this way. This was most likely the reason he and the others avoided me so much. It just didn't seem as though I was on their level at all and deep down, everyone knew how true that was, even if they didn't admit it. “I, uh.. don't usually show anyone my work so.. you'd be the first.”

The sound of him dropping down beside me jolted me from my daze, but I continued to look down, knowing just how quickly my cheeks were heating up just being this close to him. We had never actually had the chance to talk to one another, what with the hustle and bustle of touring, so this was an entirely new experience for me. He, on the other hand, was probably used to interacting with anyone and everyone on a daily basis. Hell, he played in front of thousands every night, so this was probably easy peasy pumpkin peasy for him.

“Nahla..” he started, only to pause for a moment or two as he reached forward to cup my chin, then lifted my face so he could see my expression. The knowing grin that broke out on his face made it obvious my face was, more or less, a vibrant shade of red, but he didn't comment on it. “I have been meaning to talk to you, lately. But, it isn't easy for me to say something like this...” he trailed off – my attention zoning in on the buckles of his boots.

Whenever someone informed me that they wanted to talk, I assumed the worst of things and right now was no different. The only thought running through my head was of being let go and that the group no longer needed me around, or I wasn't doing my job to the best of my ability and they were going to look for someone else to take on. All of these things flooded my brain and made me feel a little faint, but I tried my utmost not to show him how badly it was affecting me. Instead, I managed to pull my eyes back up to meet his, to find that smile still present but a look of struggle and determination coating his expression. It couldn't be good, whatever it was.

“I think I know what this is — you think I am not good enough, that I have not been doing my job properly and you want to find someone who will do everything right. You want someone who doesn't know how to make mistakes, never questions the tasks you give them and in general, does not sit around after shows doodling in a sketchbook with the hope of one day becoming something more than an underpaid, untalented and unappreciated merch girl?”

As soon as I had finished my miniature rant, something inside of me exploded and I felt a wave of strength. Never had I been so forward before, in my life and it didn't seem likely I'd manage such an outburst again any time soon. I realised, also, that I'd pretty much just yelled at the man who was in charge of me; the man who had employed me and trusted me enough to handle all the drama he himself couldn't given the time limits he had due to performing. Every ounce of happiness I'd felt seconds ago evaporated and I once again felt tiny under his gaze. He looked just as surprised as me when the last word had rolled off my tongue and I knew I had to apologise, but how could I possibly find myself able to speak, after all that?

“Uh.. Nahla, that's not..” he said, looking at me with a mixture of hurt and confusion, but I didn't give him chance to finish his sentence as I bolted up, jumped down off the stage and headed for the backstage area. I was vaguely aware of him calling my name, but I didn't slow down.

Hot, fresh tears dripped down my cheeks as I ran into the nearest room I could find, not caring who it belonged to as I was in too much of a state to give a damn. It was vacant, however, so that was a good thing. I flopped down onto the couch and curled into myself, pulling my knees up and hugging them tightly as my crying increased. The sound of scampering feet outside the door silenced me. I panicked, sat bolt upright on the couch and hoped whoever it was would not enter the room. But, as it was just my luck, the handle turned and in walked Gerard, panting heavily from having chased me from the main hall, to what I now realised was his dressing room. With that realisation, I cursed inwardly and sprung from the couch, moving rapidly toward another door on the opposite side of the room and far away from him, but he was too quick.

Just as my hand reached out to grab the handle, he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, backing me right up against the door so I was unable to make a run for it. My breath hitched; his hands rested on either side of me, palms pressed flat against the door. His eyes searched mine for something, but I couldn't work out what he was looking for and though the gaze was intense, I could not tear my own eyes away. All I could manage was to stare right back at him, no longer ready to make a run for it but instead, intent on finding out what he had to say.

“Nahla—” he sighed, making sure I was still trapped and had no means of figuring out an escape route, before he continued. “I love you.”

I love you... I allowed those words to sink in, but then needed a few more minutes to allow the exact same thing, not quite believing his confession. Nor the fact that he had told me so easily, without any kind of stuttering or uncertainty. It sounded almost as though he knew how he felt and was making no mistake in letting me know all about it.

“I..” my words were strained, my shock evident in both my voice and expression as his eyes danced over every inch of my face, waiting for some kind of response. I didn't know what to say in return, but my heart was swollen with an abundance of what was obviously the same emotion. I did love him, very much. I always had – and since spending all this time around him, though not actually conversing with him, I understood that my feelings were on par with his own. “Gerard, I love—“ I squeaked out, but was unable to finish as his lips came crashing down on mine.

His hands moved from the door and held onto my hips; my own flying upward and into his tangled, ebony hair as it fell around his shoulders. We pulled apart after only a minute or so, but the smile on my face mirrored his own, due to our exchange.

“So, you're mine now?” he asked, almost as though he didn't feel sure of everything.

I cupped his cheek with the palm of my hand, the other playing around with one of the buttons on his jacket. Biting down on my lower lip to banish a daft grin, my eyes met his once more, shining with all of the love I had been holding back for so long, and he knew the answer. Another bright smile broke out on his face and he scooped me up, spinning me around a couple of times before he tripped and we both flew toward the couch. Luckily, neither one of us landed awkwardly, though he was given the upper hand and landed on top of me, as opposed to me on top of him.

“You're so special, Nahla” he breathed, the back of his fingers tracing my jawline as I instinctively leaned into the unfamiliar, comforting touch. I noticed the adoration in his eyes as I did this, but before I could speak up to offer a response, he closed the gap between us once more. It was like a moth to a flame – neither wanted to end the kiss and neither heard the roar of laughter coming from the now open door. We were only partially aware that we were not alone; even so, our hands continued to roam and our lips moulded together with little interest in our surroundings.

This...this this is awesome and sweet and adorable and I can't even. This is wonderful...please tell me that they get a happy ending! I'm rooting for them to be together!