Silent Understanding

She was a dirty blonde who looked like she stepped out of the "scene". She wore short black boots that were covered with mud. She had on torn jean shorts that hugged her well-defined hips. The same hips she swayed back and fourth as she moved through the crowd back stage. The black muscle shirt she wore hung off one shoulder and showed off her toned stomach. She had thick black make up over both her eyes and a look that said she already lived enough. There was a gloss on her lips, which were curled into a sly smile as she made eye contact with him.

She approached him slowly with a cold attitude. She put one of her hands on the back of his neck and leaned up. She whispered that he looked tense and suggested she could take off the edge.

He hesitated.

She took his hand and started walking off. She only briefly looked over her shoulder to see she wasn’t met with resistance. She led him down the crowded halls to the bathroom. She walked into the mens’ room and locked the door behind them. He had his eyebrow raised as she slid her hand into her jeans. She curled her lips into a laugh as she pulled out the joint she had rolled earlier. They made small talk like an awkward first date. He was nervous being so close to her. She was attracted to the smile that appeared so quickly across his face.

She met up with him every day for the next week. It didn’t matter what city he was in or what venue it was. It was like she always knew where he was going to be.

Her name was Ashlee, but he never once asked. He didn’t ask what brought her to the shows, or if she was a fan. He didn’t ask why she walked around dressed like a groupie. She didn’t ask what he was running from or why he was so tense. She didn’t ask if he had a girlfriend or was jet-lagged.

There were no questions, just a silent understanding. He found serenity in the smoke between their bodies.

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