Page 21 of Layla

John

Layla really wasn’t kidding about the pace of the band’s schedule over the next week. After a stop in Syracuse, they’re preparing for shows in Boston, New Jersey, Long Island, and then two concerts in Manhattan. In between the performances, the days are a blur of interviews, photo shoots, and taped appearances. It’s clear to me the frantic pace of the schedule is putting a strain on all of them. They’re snappy with each other and even worse with Louis, who I’m starting to realize is something of a scapegoat for them. He takes it in stride though—the man truly has the patience of a saint, tirelessly directing them through their obligations as the band becomes increasingly more grumpy and exhausted.

From a security perspective, the schedule has its benefits. I know Layla feels better about the constant protection—and is therefore less likely to fight it—when it applies to the entire band, rather than just her. It’s a hell of a lot easier to keep a close eye on her when she’s too busy to argue with me.

Either that, or she’s too tired to argue with me. Because Layla is definitely tired.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that the girl sleeps even less than I do. I had assumed that first night on the bus was something of an anomaly, so I’m surprised to see her again sitting on the couch well after three a.m. when I get up to pee the second night on the road. This time she has a paperback in her hands and the empty chocolate milk bottle indicates that she’s been up for some time already.

“Couldn’t sleep again?”

She just shrugs, not meeting my eyes. I watch her, wondering what I should do. Indecision has no place in my line of work, no place in my life. But damn if I don’t feel torn in that moment. She’s still not making eye-contact and even from here I can see the tension in the set of her shoulders. She obviously doesn’t want my company right now. But the thought of leaving her to sit alone feels absolutely wrong.

Finally, she looks up and there’s no mistaking the glare on her face. “Did you need something?”

“I hope you’re able to get some rest,” I say, feeling useless. She’s still sitting there when I come back from the bathroom. This time she doesn’t acknowledge me at all and I don’t try to talk to her again.

The third time I find her on the couch, I walk straight to the kitchen and rummage around until I find a chocolate granola bar. I take it over to the couch, dropping it on the coffee table before continuing on to the bathroom. When I emerge a few moments later, she’s eating it, and she offers me a small smile as I make my way back to my bunk.

When we hit Boston, the band goes straight to promo spots. Everyone is tense and quiet in the van as we dart across the city, keeping up with Louis’s schedule. Eventually Dylan begs him to let us stop at a 7-11 between radio interviews so he can get some candy. “I need some sugar or something if you want me to get through the rest of this day,” he says flatly.

“Ooh, yes please,” Haylee agrees, rubbing at her eyes. “I need coffee.”

“We have a schedule,” Louis says, and they all boo loudly until he relents.

I climb out of the van, my eyes scanning the street. “You think my stalker just so happens to be waiting at this exact convenience store?” Layla mutters as she passes. I don’t respond as I follow her in, staying close to her heels. I hear her sigh, loudly, but she doesn’t say anything else.

I follow her around the store while she picks up a protein bar and an energy drink. I want to tell her that the thing is full of sugar and is likely to make her feel far more jittery than energized, but that’s not really my job. I do grab a bag of chocolate covered pretzels and some M&Ms—we’re running low on chocolate in the bus kitchen and she might want it if she has trouble sleeping again.

And she does. We drive straight through to Jersey after the show that night and I find her on the couch once again, holding the same paperback. This time she looks up when I emerge from my bunk, offering me a rueful smile. I walk straight to the cupboard and pull out the chocolate, bringing it to her along with a water for me.

“I see you’re making progress,” she says, gesturing at my sweat pants. “No tie.”

“I was sleeping,” I point out, handing her the pretzels. She looks taken aback.

“I saw you buy these today,” she murmurs, her forehead creased. “For me?”

I shrug, taking the seat next to her. “I noticed the selection dwindling last night.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, she clears her throat. “Thank you,” she murmurs, so softly I can barely hear it over the rumble of the bus engine.

“No problem.”

I crack open my water, letting my gaze wander to her fleece pajamas. These ones are pink and decorated with tiny donuts. They’re cute—and about the farthest thing from her on-stage style that I can imagine.

“I would have thought you’d be exhausted tonight,” I say. They were on the go from morning until their show and they don’t even get a hotel night to recover. From just a few days on the bus I can tell that it’s not the easiest place to get some real rest. There are just too many people crammed into too small a space.

Layla shrugs. “Doesn’t usually matter how tired I am,” she says.

God, do I know how that goes. “This happens a lot?” I remember now that I’d asked her that the first night and she changed the subject.

She nods, her fingers rubbing over the edges of her frayed paperback. I tilt my head to read the title.The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.Hmm. That seems a little young for her.

“I’ve had insomnia my whole life,” she mutters. “It’s annoying as fuck.”

“Does Louis know about this?”

She snorts. “Of course he does. This bus might seem small to you, but believe me, we’ve traveled in much closer quarters than this. They all know.”