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Ashes of Dreams	By : ElleU Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Sum 41 Views: 1125 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Sum 41. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3

”What the fuck happened last night?” D-Sept muttered to herself, grabbing her head in pain as she looked worriedly around the unfamiliar bunk, desperately trying to remember. But she couldn’t even start to try to conceive why the fuck there were cartoon figures on her covers and what the porn pictures were doing under the next bunk. Her bunk was the top bunk, wasn’t it? Being drunk was fun, but it wasn’t nearly a fun to wake up with a throbbing head and the unsolvable mystery of what you’d been up to. At least she was alone and dressed. The clothes felt weird too, though. She opened the curtains and swung her legs over the edge, finding the floor quickly. Damn, she was still so dizzy she could barely stand. She needed a shower, then perhaps things would straighten themselves out a bit. She staggered out of the bunkroom and across the hall to where she knew the bathroom on a tour bus was always located. Luckily it wasn’t occupied. She locked the door and without bothering to remove the clothes, which needed the shower as much as she did – she had found leftovers of vomit on the shirt on further inspection - she stepped into the shower area and turned on the water, gasping as she felt the freezing temperature. Somebody else must’ve already used the shower and all the hot water. Screw them! At least she felt a lot more awake now, she noted as she turned the water off, suddenly realising that she had no clothes to change into. This morning was getting better with every minute! She was shaking with cold in the soaked clothes. Soaked clothes… familiar? THAT’S what happened. And that’s where she was. Sum 41’s tour bus. And it wasn’t even her own clothes she’d just soaked. It was the fist things she’d found in the first bag on the floor before taking up somebody’s bunk. She looked down herself, realising that the blue boxers nearly went past her knee and had teddy bears eating ice cream on them. She took a grip of the black t-shirt, holding it out for inspection. ‘You can suck my cock till a million o’clock.’ Okay, that was another mystery solved. She’d seen a photo of Cone wearing this t-shirt at a concert sometime. She was about to grab a coincidental towel, but then thought better of it. You don’t voluntarily use a guy’s towel unless you have a death wish. She ended up just opening the door and walking down to the main area, dripping all the way.
“Morning guys,” she greeted the three curiously already wide-awake men who were seated around the table with bowls of cereal.
“Morning, girl,” Steve greeted.
“We were wondering when you were going to show yourself,” Dave added. “It’s almost twelve.”
“Great,” she muttered. “Anybody got any clothes I can use?”
“What sorts of clothes?” Steve asked. “Since you’ve obviously grown a new body-part during the night.”
“Fuck off,” she replied. “It was the first thing I got my hands on.” She turned to the bassist. “And I’m sorry I soaked it, but I woke up completely stupid. I think I might’ve left my brain in that bottle of Sprite/booze thing last night.”
“It’s okay,” came the answer. “It’ll dry.”
“Good,” she said. “Anybody got any clothes?”
“Not anymore,” Cone answered jokingly.
“It’s okay. Yours don’t fit anyway. Too long and tight.” She smiled. “It’s because you’re so damn tall and skinny.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, cocking his eyebrow. “But in a good way, right?”
“Definitely,” D-Sept answered absentmindedly. “Anybody got anything?”
“Mine has got to be too big for you,” Dave said without looking up as he scooped more cereal into his mouth.
“Take one of Deryck’s shirts,” Steve suggested. “He’s the smallest of us.”
“Can I take a pair of his pants too?”
“Nope,” Dave said, looking up now. “He got robbed on our first tour and he only brings one pair of shorts nowadays. He’ll be wearing those, so on the pants’ part you’ll have to charm them off somebody else.”
“Great,” she said, sulking.
“Take a pair of my shorts,” Cone finally said. “You can probably use them as pants.”
“Thanks,” she said, quickly disappearing to find the dry clothes.

“Can I use somebody’s gel?” their guest yelled from the bathroom.
“You’re starting to outstay your welcome and abuse our kind hospitality!” Steve yelled back, although the amused grin on his face told another story.
“You’d better be nice, Stevo!” came the pained reply from the bedroom. “I’m not on your bus voluntarily. And since we’ve crossed the state border I can get you in fucking jail if I choose to call it a kidnapping!”
“You came voluntarily,” the drummer argued, now looking confused.
“You threw me over your shoulder and hauled me into the bus. I think I could have you in for a couple of years on these charges!”
“Use Deryck’s!” Cone yelled, opting on the easy solution. What Deryck didn’t know couldn’t hurt anybody, right!
A couple of minutes later she re-entered. “Where is Deryck anyway?” she asked.
“He and Jo tried to pull a phone prank on me this morning, so I’m supposing he’s on your bus,” Dave said, rising from his seat to retrieve his guitar and get a bit of practice done.
“I had no idea Deryck still had that shirt,” Cone said, pointing at the familiar yellow shirt D-Sept was wearing.
Steve shrugged. “I had no idea you still had the teddy boxers.”
The taller guy visibly started to blush. Having decided this conversation wasn’t exactly going in the direction he wanted it to he turned away, finishing his cereal as he watched their ‘guest’ retrieve a carton of milk from the fridge. She came back and plopped down next to him, drinking the milk straight from the carton. “You guys don’t have any painkillers, do you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Apparently we’ve run out. It seems that’s why Deryck’s on your bus.”
“Great,” she muttered. “He gets my painkillers and I get his shirt? Sucky bargain.”
“You can have a beer,” Steve suggested. “That usually helps.”
“Thanks,” she replied, holding her hand out expectantly.
Steve sighed. If she kept this hung-over bitch attitude up the almost four hours left of the ride to Portland, it would be very long. The weird thing was how Cone didn’t seem to mind.

“Uno,” Deryck said, laying his last card on the table. “Done. I won.”
“You suck,” Dev stated, sending him an annoyed glance.
“Life sucks, Dev,” Jo corrected, putting down her handful of cards in defeat.
“No, no, chicas,” CC said with a grin. “We suck. Even without our dear Dee to kick our arses we can’t win.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Dev argued, looking around the bus. “I want to do something else.”
“Me too,” Jo agreed, looking around. “How about we start the pipe?”
“Dee would kill you,” CC informed. “She won’t let anybody else stuff it.”
“Fuck Dee,” Jo replied. “She could’ve just gotten her arse on the right bus yesterday.”
“She was drunk,” CC stated calmly. “You can’t expect a lot from her other than trouble when she’s in that state.”
“It’s okay, though,” Dev said, smiling. “We’ve got the male version right here.” She looked pointedly at Deryck.
“Come off it,” he muttered. “We really don’t look alike.”
“That’s only because of the hair, the eyes and the boobies,” Jo stated. “Unfortunately that’s the part of Dee we normally use when we pick up guys. I don’t think this bloke will be nearly as effective, so I guess that’s out of option too.”
“Still looking for something to do?” Deryck asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” she answered, trying to sit still, but rather ended up as a hyper ball of energy, who was starting the process of ransacking the bus.
“We’ll make a documentary,” CC tried desperately.
“On what?” the red-head asked, sitting down. Amazingly enough that had caught her attention. Perhaps she shared Steve’s love for home-movies.
“I don’t know…” CC resigned wearily, looking pleadingly at Dev.
“Interview Deryck,” the drummer suggested. “You can sell the tape on eBay afterwards.”
Deryck mostly tuned the rest of the conversation out as they agreed to get the camera. It had been a weird day. And a weird night. He’d been on a bus with three attractive chicks and nothing had happened. And it wasn’t because he was the only guy present with three girls, other than the driver that was. It wasn’t even that one of the girls had a boyfriend. In most of his online bios the thing he was claimed to most likely do was ‘steal your girlfriend and get away with it’. He’d been interviewed by fucking Playboy. And he vaguely remembered waking up with more than one girl on one occasion. He’d just gone to sleep last night. Since when did he start to sleep it off before the early hours of the morning? And why did the whole D-Sept matter bother him so much? This was not how he’d planned to grow up, but it certainly felt like life had something along those lines planned for him. Screw life, he thought, turning around to face the three giggling girls with the video camera.

D-Sept leaned back against the person next to her, quickly noting that it was the bassist. He absent-mindedly put his arm around her to get a bit more comfortable. She put the empty beer back on the table and closed her eyes as if to go back to sleep. This, though, was cut short when Steve decided to put on some music. The already half-asleep girl groaned and edged closer to Cone, ignoring the roaring music for a moment.
“Cut it,” she finally muttered, lifting her head.
“You don’t like Tenacious D?” Dave asked from where he was strumming along to ‘Tribute’.
“I love ‘em, but I’ve got a hangover from hell.” She made a grimace at an especially loud bang of the drums.
“Come on, D-Sept, thaw, chill, whatever,” Steve persisted. He never knew what hit him and five seconds later all thoughts of hangovers, Tenacious D and cute girls were forgotten to the ensuing pillow fight.

That night after the after party D-Sept sat back on the bed of her hotel room, an anonymous-looking bottle of ‘weird American booze’ hung loose in her hand as she flipped through the channels of the TV, all the while pumping away on the pipe. Only the sound of her own name made her stop at the non-primetime news of MTV to see what that was about.
“Earlier today D-Sept Morgan of Ashes of Dreams was spotted leaving Sum 41’s tour bus, obviously having slept there and wearing an outfit known throughout the world as belonging to Deryck Whibley of Sum 41. It would seem that the two lead vocalists have lived up to their reputations and gotten it on already on the first day of the tour. We’ll have more news as the affair ensues.”
D-Sept gripped the remote roughly and threw it hard against the TV in the exact angle she knew would cause the glass to crack. She didn’t mind people knowing that she sort of slept around a bit. Okay, a lot perhaps, but that was in fact beside the point. She minded the groping of private life; she minded the fact that they made her sound like a whore. And she certainly minded that she was being badmouthed by a channel that was too stupid to mention that Deryck had in fact been on the other bus. Obvious stupidity depressed her. And if the radio interviewers watched MTV tomorrow’s interview was going to be one of the suckier ones. Damn, she could use a good party. She put out the water-pipe and went to her bag, changing the shorts she was wearing for a short, plaid skirt while finding a tighter shirt. She needed to get laid, but first she would party. She thought for a while. Who could she get to come to town with her and party with her without having them constantly ask her if she was okay? She bit her lip. Damn, her mind was already getting blurry from the alcohol. The Lovato cousins! She didn’t know where Matt slept, but Tony had given her his room number earlier, saying that she could come if she needed to talk or drink or… *wink wink*. Tony was fun. And he knew every good club in any city. Tony it was.

The cab came to a halt at what you could call ‘one of the dicier parts’ of the city, the Roseland Theatre. The venue’s nightclub was still open for an hour and a half, so there ought to be enough time to cheer up a bit before they had to get out at three. Tony had been more than willing to come with her, saying that he’d just sleep in the plane tomorrow. He’d rather party on ground than be awake in the air. Despite all the rumours of Tony being stupid, his logic was undeniable.
They entered through the door, trying hard not to be seen. D-Sept had uncharacteristically flattened the front of her hair, making bangs, and had spiked the back of it even worse than before whereas Tony actually, unlike at the show, was wearing a shirt.
“Hey you two!” a doorman called. “Can I see some ID?”
“Damnit,” D-Sept breathed. IDs always revealed her as being a bit too young. Now, at least, it wasn’t far more than a year until she could legally drink in the States. She was turning twenty that exact week.
“Fuck him,” Tony muttered. “I’m twenty-fucking-four.”
It was all the girl could do to keep from laughing.
“Hey dude,” Tony said. “We played here earlier. We forgot some stuff and we need to get it back.” He fought a hard battle to keep his voice sounding reasonable and sober. In fact they’d been at Portland Center for the Performing Arts, but whatever works.
D-Sept started to frantically search through her handbag, trying to find just any kind of an all-access-pass. She finally got one out, knowing from experience that they all looked alike if you remembered to cover the name of the venue with your hand. And in the lack of light here it shouldn’t be that hard. She flashed it quickly in front of the doorman, who most likely only saw the letters VIP and therefore nodded at them, finally letting them in.
“Good move,” her companion said, smiling.
“Yeah. I forget to throw them out sometimes. Never knew it’d come in this handy.”
He laughed, showing off a pair of large, boyish dark blue eyes and a row of perfect, white teeth.
“So, Mr Lovato, are you going to buy me a drink or what?”
“I was under the impression that you invited me out, not the other way around.”
“I guess so, but you’re still the guy.”
“You know that my paying would make this a date?”
“Yes,” she answered, starting to pick boredly at her nail polish.
“Alright,” he said. “Can we please have a bottle of…” he trailed off. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Ehrm… I dunno. Just some Bacardi, I guess,” she answered, looking around the place.
Tony merely lifted his eyebrows at the bartender, indicating that this was what they’d have.
D-Sept grabbed the bottle when it was pushed across the bar, opened it and started drinking; giving it up after a moment so that Tony could get some as well.
“So?” he asked jokingly. “How serious are we?”
“Oh… let me see…” she sent him an amused smile. “…as serious as you can get with a girl who only said it was a date because she forgot to bring her purse,” she said, cracking up.
“You’re a bitch, you know that?” he said, his eyes stating otherwise.
“Yeah, and you just want to get in my pants.”
“Of course,” he replied, grinning.
“Pig,” she teased lightly, grabbing the bottle back from him before she scurried off into the crowd, having decided to dance a bit. She gulped down some of the substance, realising that the song which had just come on, was quite familiar to her. She’d heard it earlier tonight… oh of course! ‘We’re All To Blame’ was what came blaring out of the speakers. She grinned slowly. She should’ve been used to it by now, but there was just some special feeling when you heard a track and actually knew the persons who were responsible for it.
“Hey! Where’d you go?” Tony yelled from behind her, his voice nearly being drowned out by the music.
“Dancing,” she answered, dragging him with her, taking a gulp of the Bacardi every few seconds.

“You’re such a sucky dancer!” Tony laughed drunkenly as they staggered down the hotel corridors.
“You’re such a bloody lousy kisser,” D-Sept giggled, overcome by an attack of too Londonese English.
He put his arms around her, staring down at her. “Take that back,” he whispered.
“No,” she replied, still trying to fight off her fit of giggles.
“Take that back,” he repeated, his face inching closer.
“No,” she whispered, closing her eyes in expectation for the short moment it took before his lips came crashing down on hers. She squirted closer to him, reaching up with one hand to grip his hair, keeping the other firmly on his lower back as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. His hand started travelling down under the short skirt and she quickly broke the kiss. “We’d better get a room,” she muttered, allowing him to pick her up and carry her to his hotel room, locking the door behind them.

She hadn’t really planned to end up with Tony, but it was all good. He was cute enough, and went rough enough to make her forget her annoyance at stupid MTV. Only problem was that they didn’t fall asleep until five.

At five thirty MEST’s personal assistant crashed into the room, backing out quickly at the sight of the worn-out, naked musicians in the bed. After a moment he went back in, waking up the two so that they could get to their different early-morning interviews. D-Sept quickly got up, got dressed and ran back to her own hotel room, changed and brought a can of wax to apply in the van.

“That was not acceptable Deirdre,” their own PA said harshly as D-Sept as the last person ran into the van, starting to wax her hair. “Not only do you stay in another room without telling me, ruining the entire schedule, you also broke the TV in your room. Island is not going to be happy.”
“Fuck Island,” the singer replied, now in the process of spiking her hair. “And that damn TV.”
“What is it, Dee?” CC asked as she handed her the regular mixture of painkillers and vitamins.
“I just watched MTV last night. Decided I’d better give them some material for substantial rumours this time,” she explained, showering the pills down with a gulp of the rum and coke she’d brought in the pocket.
“No drinking, Deirdre,” the PA said. “You need to be completely sober to answer to the questions you’ll be getting today.”
“Don’t fucking call me Deirdre,” the singer muttered, leaning back in her seat to gulp down some more of the alcoholic substance.
“Miss Morgan you have got to let go of that spoiled, suffering rock star image. It doesn’t look good on you. Especially in America!” The young man was nearly yelling now. “You’d better come off it if you don’t want to be a one-hit-wonder.”
“I live whichever way I damn want to!” she answered; now yelling too. “And I happen to be living the exact same way I’ve done for the last four years! What do you want me to do?”
“Grow up,” he muttered under his breath.
D-Sept was about to answer something back, but thought better off, leaning back in her seat with a sulky expression on her face, still defiantly sipping from the bottle. Right now life sucked!

Life sucked. That was the only conclusion Deryck could get to as he tried to think of a convincing answer to the question he’d just been asked.
“How did you and D-Sept Morgan hook up?”
How about we didn’t, he though. The thing was just that journalists never believed all this.
“We all got really drunk that night,” Cone finally explained, coming to his aid. “The buses stopped at a McDonald’s for something to eat. Deryck was completely shit-faced and went back to the AoD bus to get some of their painkillers since we’d run out. Steve accidentally picked up D-Sept, thinking she was Deryck. It’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“True,” Dave said. “They can’t exactly have done something when they were on different buses, can they?”
“So what happened all night? You had a girl in the bus from just outside Redding to Portland. That has to be fun.”
“She nicked all our clothes, drank all our milk and beer and totally kicked our asses in a pillow fight,” Steve told. “The girl’s a psychopath, but she’s fun to hang out with.”
“Definitely,” Cone agreed with a smile, nodding.
“What about you, Deryck, what were you up to?” the interviewer asked, looking slightly disappointed that it didn’t seem like there was a good story coming up.
“Got my painkillers, went to sleep. The next day we just hung out, doing phone pranks and stuff. They actually interviewed me,” he explained with a smile.
“So you all failed to live up to your reputation?” The journalist seemed stunned now.
“Don’t look at me,” Dave said, holding up his hands. “I’m married.”
“Actually I try to avoid one-night-stands with people I’m touring with,” Cone said quickly. “It always gets so complicated.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Actually we were just living up to our principles.”

D-Sept flopped down in the seat of the private jet. She was half-drunk, annoyed, and suffered from the lack of sleep. If only nobody would try to talk to her before they reached DC. The entire morning had consisted of so many interviews that they had barely had time to eat, and all the interviews had been on the same topics, all the same stupid questions just from a different stupid interviewer. Tomorrow would be slightly better. Only two interviews and then a couple of signing sessions. Screw everybody who thought there was no downside to the rock’n’roll business. It was great and she loved it, but damnit the routines got old sometimes. As did the early mornings. Sometimes all she wanted was to reach out and take her life back, be able to control it on her own again, but on the other hand she also knew that she’d never find a job she’d enjoy half as much as this. She just needed to learn how to deal with her depressions sometimes. With a sigh she found the old all-access-pass in her handbag and after a while also managed to conjure a pen.

Nothing’s wrong, but nothing’s ever right
It’s a fucking contradiction
That I live with every day

She bit her lip, looking at the lines. Writing was what she did, she reminded herself. This was why she did it. If she couldn’t write and couldn’t make her music, she would probably end up killing herself.

I hurt and I cry but I can’t think of a reason
It’s just my friggin’ melancholy

Perhaps if she’d had a proper family, or if she hadn’t started heavy drinking at fifteen or if she hadn’t lost her big V at thirteen, things would’ve been different. Sometimes she couldn’t help but feel weary and spent. She needed a drink, she decided, getting up to fetch something.
Sitting back down again with the cold Martini in her hand she wrote on.

I know I’ve got it all bottled up
I’ll never break free from it all
It’s like a part of me is gone
Gone for so long that I tend to forget it
It’s hurt that I’ll never be free of

She sighed as she emptied the drink, already feeling a lot better. She put the lyrics down, intending to finish them later and leaned back in her seat to finally try and catch some sleep. She was almost asleep when somebody plopped down next to her. She opened her heavy eyelids with a groan, looking into Tony’s blue eyes.
“Hey babe,” he said.
“Go back to your own seat and sober up,” she muttered irritably, closing her eyes again at the sharp electric lights in the plane. She hated flying, but at least it gave you time to sleep. Unless somebody decided they wanted to talk. “Are you still there?” she asked, opening her eyes again.
“I just…” he trailed off. Then he bent down to kiss her, surprisingly sober.
She responded for a moment, then broke away. “Please don’t, Tony,” she muttered. “I’m really tired and I need to sort stuff out in my head.” She bit her lip. “It doesn’t feel right,” she ended up admitting, looking away from his eyes.
“Alright,” he said, standing. “Well… it was fun.”
“Yeah,” she said, giving him a tired smile.
“See you… buddy?”
“Yeah, buddy,” she smiled slightly; glad there was nobody to be hurt this time.

Deryck leaned back with his drink, bored out of his ass as always when it came to flying.
“Alriiiiight!” Steve grinned across from him.
“What?” Deryck asked.
“Looks like wee Tony got laid,” the drummer said, pointing.
Deryck followed his gaze to where D-Sept had just broken the kiss between the two singers. He looked away, feeling uncomfortable. As he looked at Cone he suddenly realised that this time he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t cool with it. He knew the expression on the bassist’s face; he’d just never seen this exact version of it before. “Cone,” he muttered, poking him. “Cone, you need to not look so obviously.”
“Oh,” the other guy said, turning his spiked head away. “Thanks dude.”
Deryck closed his eyes in deep thought. He couldn’t figure out how a basically not really likeable girl could make them ‘feel’ like this. He shouldn’t care about her, but on the other hand it was quite understandable that he would since she was basically him with tits, blue eyes and even more of an attitude. Why Cone would get that far-off look on his face after having known the girl for only a couple of days was a mystery he couldn’t solve yet.
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Ashes of Dreams