Party 'til you pass out / When the party's over

2.6

I had just gotten home from California late last night, after a long flight including a lay over in New York. I was jetlagged, feeling nauseous and trying to ignore the throbbing headache while being wide awake at four AM in the morning. To calm my mind, I decided to scroll through the photos I took of Of Mice's last show two days ago and edit them. As I opened Lightroom on my laptop and downloaded some photos into the program, my eyes fell on a folder from 2016. I frowned and despite knowing I shouldn't open it, I still did. My heart and breathing both stopped when dozens of photos from Bring Me's show at the Royal Albert Hall popped up, both on stage and backstage. In my opinion it was still one of the best shows they had put up 'til date, solely for the fact that together with the Parallax Orchestra, they managed to merge their rock music with the symphonic sound of the orchestra so well. It had taken a whole year and dozens of rehearsal days, from first draft to that special night in April 2016. Oliver had never been more anxious and nervous in his life than on that night, right before the show, of which all proceedings would go to a good cause.

Damn, these photos still took me back to that night. It had been real fun, I had been happy. Oliver had been happy. We had been happy. A sudden tight feeling wound around my throat, and I tried to clear it without success. I looked at a backstage picture of the two of us Tom had taken right before the show; Oliver had looked so handsome in his all-black outfit, and to match him, I had worn a little black dress that had made him go crazy all night. He had his arm around my waist, holding me tight with a nervous smile on his face, while I was leaning against his chest, looking up at him with nothing but adoration in my eyes. It still didn't sit right with me how he could do what he did just five months after this.

I jumped a bit when my phone buzzed, and quickly clicked the photo and the folder on my laptop closed. I looked at the message from Alan popping up at my phone.

[Alan]; 'Are you home yet?' I smiled and texted him back.

[Alison]: 'I am. Came home a few hours ago, severely jetlagged.'

[Alan]: 'Good, just checking on you. Loved having you around again. Hopefully see you soon again, Al.' I smiled. Whenever one of the guys had called 'Al!' through the bus or venue, both me and Alan had always responded. It had caused a lot of laughter and sometimes confusion under both band and crew. God, I missed them already. The apartment was way too quiet and lonely after spending five weeks on the road with them, and I felt already homesick again.

*

Whenever I was home for a few weeks or months, I would often do freelance work for magazines. Since my major interest was music photography, and I had made a name within that scene, I had gotten requests from music magazines often. Ranging from Kerrang! to Rolling Stone, I had seen the lot of them, working with big artists sometimes that made me often wonder whether I was dreaming, on places all over the world. Because of those collaborations, I sometimes bought a copy of the magazine to keep it as a memory, or just stay updated on the music scene a bit.

Today I was out in London by myself, and randomly decided to buy a copy of Kerrang! because of a photo of Machine Gun Kelly I had taken was being featured as a poster. He wasn't the average Kerrang! material, but his new album was more punk than anyone would have guessed from him, and so the magazine wanted an interview with him. I smiled at the memory of shooting him; I had always thought of him being a real bad boy, but he turned out to be really sweet and funny, maybe even a bit awkward. He had also been really flirty, and had asked me out for a drink after our photoshoot. And no matter how much I wanted to give in, solely for the fact that I felt flattered - and he was fucking gorgeous -, I politely declined. I was not going to be one of his flings, and I didn't want to have a short moment of fun with someone whose entire appearance made me think of Oliver. Even though I had a real weak spot for tall men with tattoos all over their body.