Wednesday, December Twenty Sixth, 2:00 P.M…

I yawned as I moved from my bunk. When I had woken up this morning, I found myself still curled up under the blanket that Austin had tenderly tucked around my body. The solid cover of the book was pressed soothingly against my chest. My hair was splayed over the cushion that served as my pillow. I hadn’t started my day looking like a princess, but I didn’t feel too bad. I felt like I could actually face the world.

Or….you know, I could hide in my bunk and continue reading my book. It was a very nice book. Aaron had found me awake with it pressed against my chest. The bassist gladly let me keep it, even though I promised that I would return it as soon as I could.

I flipped to the last page of the book, letting my eyes flow through the lines, soaking up each little word. The words splashed across my mind as if finished up the last poem in the book, A Dream within a Dream. As my fingers nimbly closed the back cover, I shivered in pleasure. It had been a beautiful poem.

The light streaming through the window flooded the bus with natural luminance. I poked my head out of my bunk to take a careful survey of my surroundings. Alan was up front, driving the bus again. I think Austin was in his bunk, reading fan mail. Tino and Phil were out in the front. Where was Aaron?

Quietly, I stepped from my retreat, clutching the book safely in my arms. I turned my head, trying to silently locate Aaron. No, he wasn’t in the back lounge. I hesitated as I glanced to the front lounge. He wasn’t in their either.

A little glow attacked my attention. It came from his bunk. It looked like his laptop screen. Leaning up, I took a deep breath.

No, no, I shouldn’t bother him. I mumble in my mind. I really shouldn’t bother him. I nearly went back to my bunk when I forced myself to turn around and knock on his bunk side.

“A-Aaron?” I mumbled softly. What the hell was I doing!? No, I shouldn’t be bothering him! I might be punished? Wait, would they hurt me? No, Aaron was nice, wasn’t he?

“Oh, hey Rory.” Aaron pushed back the curtain of his bunk, brown eyes holding a curious gleam. I shrank back at the sudden yanking of the sea green curtains. I held out the book to him, ducking my head.

“Um, I finished the book.” I muttered under my breath. I felt it being pulled from my grasp. He took my hand before I could run. I glanced up. My face was met with a grin of his.

“Did you like it?” He questioned quietly. I relaxed as he dropped my hand. I nodded vigorously.

“Oh yes! I love poetry. My mom used to read it to me when I was little.” I admitted. Aaron’s eyes brightened. He laughed and set his laptop down, closing it and rolling over to face me.

“Edgar Allan Poe is a favorite of mine. His short stories are wonderful, but his poems are haunting.” He shrugged. I smiled and leaned against the side, feeling not quite so anxious. Talking about poetry was one of the things to make me relax.

“I agree completely! There’s a certain characteristic to his writing that is perilously enthralling, as if he is drugging the reader’s mind, making them crave more.” I explained, relaxing as we talked. Aaron’s eyes widened.

“You are certainly a poet yourself. What’s your favorite poet?” He questioned. I folded my arms against the edge of his bunk, resting my chin on top of it. My eyes wandered over to the neat stacks of books treacherously piled into three towers in the nook of his bunk.

“Ugh, that’s like trying to choose a favorite song! It’s impossible!” I groaned, louder than I intended to. Thing is…I didn’t care. Who cares if they heard me? I had someone who was willing to talk about poetry and felt the same admiration for the literature! Who cares?

I felt…liberated.

“Okay, okay, I know the feeling. But seriously, which poet do you like a lot?” Aaron chuckled. I thought for a moment before slyly smiling, thinking back to memories that seemed like dusty antiques.

“As much as I ache for Edgar Allan Poe, desire Emily Dickinson, and absolutely respect Robert Frost, I have to say that one of my favorite poets is Dylan Thomas.” I finally let the words roll off my tongue. Aaron’s eyes glazed over with confusion.

“What poem of his?”

“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night is probably my favorite poem of all time. If I could plaster it over my walls, I would do it. If I could just infuse myself in all the words, I would waste no time in starting to do that.” I laughed wistfully. Aaron brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes as I ranted about the striking poem.

“You, my friend, need to read these poems.” He turned over, quickly seeking out and finding a slim book from his pile. He neatly plucked it and handed it over.

“The Fifty Greatest Poems of All Time?” I asked him curiously. He nodded eagerly, eyes flashing to something behind me before turning around. I ignored the movement as I studied the grey cover.

“I remember that poem’s title from this book. It has a little bit of many poets in here. Trust me, if you love poetry, you’ll love this book. It’s a must have for all poem enthusiasts.” He chuckled and tapped the cover with one callused finger.

“And it’s filled with a bunch of great poems?” I questioned quietly. He nodded.

“Trust me, you will simply adore it. They have poems of all sorts. It’s just wonderful.” He gushed. I nodded and held it to my chest.

“I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can.” I promised, eyes pleading. He shook his head, his brown furrowing in concern. I looked at him curiously.

“No, no, no, don’t read it quickly. Take as long as you need and just absorb all the words. Read and reread them all. I want reports on how you like the poets.” He winked at me. I grinned and nodded, stepping back. I went to the front lounge, taking a spot in the corner and starting to glance through the table of contents.


Austin’s POV

As soon as Rory had left Aaron, I leaned further out of my bunk, chucking my small pillow at Aaron. He scowled at me.

“Hey!” He complained. He tossed the pillow back at me. I caught it and propped my body up on one elbow.

“Dude, you found her niche!” I whispered excitedly, checking over to the front lounge to make sure no one else had heard me. Aaron groaned, turning back to his laptop for a moment, checking his email probably, and then going back to me. I was still beaming from the joy.

“Are you sure?”

“Aaron, did you even see how she acted around you? Would Rory ever talk that excitedly about something? Would she ever let you get that close to her, even brush her gently? Would she ever act like that?” I let the words sink in. His face twisted into an emotion of confusion and knowing before slowly nodding.

“I guess you’re right.” He finally admitted. I nodded.

“Of course! Aaron, she adores poetry. This is the way to help her. Poetry is the way for her to get out of the rut she’s stuck in! It’s the way to help her with her PTSD and RTS!” I nearly hollered from joy. He rolled his eyes and lay back down, grinning.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He murmured. I turned back to the fan mail around me, opening another sweet letter in a crisp envelope. Plans started to swirl around in my head. Rory was getting better, and I was going to help her with it.


Thursday, December Twenty Seventh, 6:47 A.M….
Rory’s POV

It had been about sixteen hours or so since Aaron had given me the book. After long minutes carefully contemplating which poems to start with, I decided that page one was better than never starting at all. I blankly looked down at the page, trying to make out the lines. I had stayed up for most of the night, reading three different poems and taking breaks in between.

I would start with one verse and read it carefully, taking in every sweet word one by one. I let the poems roll around in my head until I’ve memorized every single line.

I began with Shall I Compare Thee to A Summer’s Day? It was a poem by William Shakespeare, his Sonnet 18, actually. I looked at the big words on the page in the dim light of last night.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

This morning, I had moved from Shakespeare to Anglou to now Frost. Robert Frost’s A Line-Storm Song was tantalizing on the page. I had woken up at six thirty just to read it, just to catch a sun’s new morning rays linger on the pages as I leaned up against the dark couch, engulfed a dictionary beside me.

This morning when I had opened the poem and read the first two lines, I realized that I had no clue what a line-storm was. Now that I had read through the poem, I had scoured around the bus until I dug into a cabinet, finding a hidden treasure in the dusty depths of towels and spare accessories. It appeared, like a sudden gust, and I was surprised that it had survived any cleaning.

Now that I was settled back on the couch, I found the word in the dictionary. The definition of a line-storm was a great storm during an eclipse, often with violent rain or wind. I sighed as I set the large book next to me and picked up my poem again.

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day…

“Rory, you’re up early.” A voice whispered quietly. I jumped at the surprise, looking up in fear. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I scooted over, letting the visitor sit down.

“Sorry, Aaron. I was just really getting into this poem.” I blushed as he chuckled. I moved the dictionary out of his way. I sat in the middle of the couch, turning to face him with my legs crossed.

“It’s fine. I brought my book, see?” He asked, pulling out his own book. It was Fahrenheit 451. My eyes widened in surprise. He settled right across from me, leaving an inch of space between our crossed legs. I didn’t mind so much. He dug his nose into his book, hunching over to match my position. In twenty minutes, we’d both be sore and have to switch positions.

Ah, the pains that come with being an avid reader! We have to constantly switch positions to find a more comfortable reading posture, we deal with the emotional conflict as we root for the underdogs and cheer on the handsome bad guys. (I mean, look at Loki!) We take the heartbreak as we watch our OTP’s split up, our favorite little girls die in terrible ways, and feel the wrench of our hearts as the writer drags our soul to Hell and spits it back out at the end of the book, leaving us pleading for more.

I personally believe that all readers, whether that of novels, poems, fanfiction, or whatever, all people will experience these torments and then beg for sequels. The pain never ends and we wish it not to end.

Aaron never asked me anything, never really looked up except for the occasional flicker of his eyes, and even then, he said nothing. We just read in peace, occasionally checking to see if anyone else was up.

“Coffee?” He asked me at one moment. I shook my head.

“No thanks.” I murmured and went back to my book.

“Juice?” He asked again. I thought for a moment and then nodded. He got up, went to the little fridge, and pulled out two boxes of apple juice. He took one and handed it to me. I sipped on it, setting it between my legs. As I read my poems, I occasionally sipped the juice. We drank quietly.

There were footsteps behind me but I was too deep into my book to notice. Something sat down suddenly, right behind me. Two arms wrapped around my waist. I shrieked and nearly dropped my book in surprise. Aaron looked up in worry.

“Hello, sweetie.” A voice murmured. I was frozen, eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle in my body was tense and ridged.

“Austin, let her go.” Aaron sighed. I relaxed just a moment at the name. His chin settled on my shoulder, nuzzling my neck slightly. I tensed up again, ready to bolt. This was how Ryan was! This was how he acted when he locked me in the bunk! I bit my lip from the memories, not wanting the past to be repeated.

“Mmm…I’m good.” Austin murmured. Shakily, I picked up my book, starting to read it again with Austin’s arms wrapped around my small waist. Aaron stared at him, shaking his head.

“Austin.” Aaron warned.

“Hey, I just want to see what little Rory is reading!” He defended, his words blowing cool air into my neck. I shivered. Aaron rolled his eyes and went back to reading his book. I just tried to focus on my poem with Austin’s cool breaths kissing my skin were distracting me. His nose brushed my jaw as he peered down to the poem I was reading.

It took me longer than usual, but I eventually got back into the rhythm of my poems. I chose to block out the unwanted intruder. I dove under the waves of Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson. I started out on some of her poems, trying to refresh my brain. Aaron got deeper in F451 while I eventually closed my book. The screamer’s breathing was ticking my neck, sending shivers of pleasure coursing down my spine.

“Austin, you are very distracting.” I grumbled. He held me tighter, laughing into my neck. I could’ve sworn his lips brushed my collar bone.

“What am I doing?”

“Y-your whole b-breathing thing.” I stuttered out. He purposefully blew air onto my neck again and I shrunk forward, arching my back.

“Should I just stop breathing?” He joked huskily. I sighed and shook my head.

“I just wanna read.” I mumbled. He kept on holding to my waist, not letting me have any movement. I went back to reading, my back starting to hurt. No, I’m not giving into Austin, even if he’s trying to woo me into falling for his false innocence.

“Stop.” I grumbled. He chuckled, lips brushing my ear.

“What?”

“Please.” I mumbled.

“Aw, what am I doing?” He begged again. We just had this talk! I sighed, putting my face into my hands.

“Distracting me!”

“It’s fun watching you get ticked off. You’re so adorable.” He growled into my neck. I buried my nose into the pages once more, trying to ignore his shy smile against my shoulder. Aaron chuckled. I glared at him. He ducked back into his book.

This would be a long morning.

Notes

Oh, so now we have Austin being all cute and cuddly. What happened here? Well, it's his plan, which you'll all see more of later ;) Anyways, I hope you're loving it so far! Don't forget to look at this from a critical eye. Analyze every move of each characters. What does it mean? What do their thoughts portray about them? DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT BELOW ON YOUR THOUGHTS! I'D LOVE TO HEAR THEM!

Anyways, here's the question of the day, of which I'd love to hear your answers...

Austin has discovered Rory's niche, her little weakness in the defenses she's built up against getting hurt again. Now that he's found it and is going to exploit it, how is Rory going to react? Will she just crawl further into her shell of hiding or will she let Austin and Aaron help her?

Leave your comments below! Thanks for reading!!!