A/N: when you see this: {*} pop up in the story, play the song on the side /above. you can skip the 30 second intro if you want.

// chapter eleven //

talia's pov

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my head leans against the car's window, watching raindrops splatter against the clear glass. i smile as two drops begin to fall simultaneously against it, then meet in the middle to form one larger one. it reminds me of the notion of a relationship. two polar opposites suddenly bonded by love.

or lust.

i feel michael pat my thigh from beside me. 'hey, you,' he says with a genuine smile, eyes trained on mine when we come to a red light. 'what's gotten you so deep in thought?'

i take note of how perfectly the dark of the early, winter evening, and the iridescent street lamps work together to carve shadows on his face. his normally light-green eyes are currently a deep emerald.

i mirror his smile, and shrug. 'nothing. sometimes nighttime cardrives just get to me.'

'same,' he says. the light flashes a neon green color, and he presses his foot to the pedal, causing the car to zoom off.

sydney's magnificient city lights whir past us, and i find myself tightly clutching the door handle for support. 'michael, slow down,' i say with clenched teeth.

'if i slow down, we'll be late for the concert. just hang in there, babe.'

his pace is at a constant rapid speed, and by the time we park in front of the venue, i find my heart beating at 1000 thumps per minute. i shakily exit the car, holding my black clutch purse with a hard grip. michael hugs my side with one arm as we walk.

'so how does this backstage pass work?' i ask with chattering teeth. the december weather was attacking like a lion.

'basically, we get to go backstage all through the concert. they have a variety of refreshments and beverages that we can choose from.'

i nod, and we head towards the main entrance, which held a line of people.

'i almost forgot,' michael states. he slides a glossy, laminated card from his back jeans pocket. on it was my photo, yet the information was screwed up.

'a fake id?' i ask, taking it from his fingers to examine it thoroughly.

he nods. 'well yeah. you didn't expect them to let you in without some form of identification, did you?'

i shake my head, no. he pulls his wallet from his jacket pocket, and rummages through it to find his id card.

except, his wasn't fake.

we stood impatiently in the cold for about 10 minutes, until it was our turn to confront the security guard. michael hands him his card first, to which to guard casually skimmed over and gave back momentarily after. when it was my turn, the bulky sentry skeptically examined my facial profile.

'this your sister?' he questions michael. an edge of my heart tears slightly.

michael quickly glances at me, then to the guard. 'yeah,' he starts sarcastically. 'an asian-looking chick is related to me,' he rolls his eyes, and pulls me through the entrance, 'let's go, tal.' the guard surprisingly doesn't object, and i'm startled by the arena's lack of suitable security.

we're greeted by the stench of strong alcohol, sweaty bodies, and glow of strobelights. i gaze at my surroundings in awe. i look to michael, who doesn't bother to take in the sight, and instead searches for our designated seats. when he catches my widening eyes, he smirks.

'never been to a club-like concert, have you?'

i shake my head. 'i've never been to any concert, in general, actually.'

'well i'm honored to be the escort to your very first one,' he says, grabbing my hand to lead me through the maze of tipsy people.

our seats are in the thrid-to-front row. when we sit ourselves down, he takes my hand once again and squeezes twice. i smirk, and squeeze thrice. i thought he'd squeeze back, but he doesn't. his fingers are gently clasped around mine.

'if we're seperated during the concert, and any guy tries to talk to you, walk away, okay? and then, try to make your way back to me, if you can,' he says. his voice is raised slightly due to the chatter of the other concert-goers while waiting for porter robinson.

i nod. 'michael?'

'yeah?'

'do you notice how much has been going on this week? i entered the band, you asked me out... everything these past few days have been pretty surreal.'

he lightly chuckles. 'yeah, i've noticed.'

'and we've only been dating for two days. you're acting so... cheesily romantic?' i found myself saying. i tug my coat off of my body, revealing the halter top, and tight jeans that i wore.

'i guess i wanted to give you a pre-taste of what i'd act like in the future,' he replies, smiling.

i catch the same twinkle in his eye that he had when we kissed. i lean in, and so does he. but before i could feel his moist lips on mine, a blast of techno music blares from the mega stereo speakers. suddenly, everyone in the arena is at their feet, chanting porter's name. i snap my head away from michael, and do the same. i could clearly see the producer's fluffy, chestnut hair from my perspective.

porter speaks a short introduction, and before we know it he performs 'sad machine'. i let out an ecstatic whoop as glitchy, kawaii-like symbols flash on the gigantic screens behind him. michael finally stands, and i bounce to the music. i sing along to the vocaloid that's featured in the song, losing myself in the dance track.

a few more songs are performed after, and michael taps my arm. 'i'll be at the bar, okay?' he shouts over the ultra-loud music.

'alright,' i yell back. he walks towards the direction of the alcohol center, and i watch so i can easily know my way over if i needed to find him.

i continue to observe the stage, and every now and then, a person would hold their phone in the air to record the act, blocking my view-point. i frown, but i manage to tame the temptation of throwing their devices out of the building.

two songs later, michael isn't back. i try not to worry. he was at the bar; when he tastes alcohol, he won't stop until someone pries it out of his hand. i sense some movement on my right, but i tell myself that's it's probably another intoxicated party girl.

it wasn't.

a hand grasps my exposed shoulder, and i let out a squeak. i jerk my head to see a young man (probably in his early twenties) with a drink at hand. he wore a red plaid shirt that hung off of his body. he was taller than i was, but definitely not as tall as michael. his scruffy, light brown hair, hazel eyes, and dark facial hair gave him a handsome appearance, i have to admit.

'hey,' he says. his voice had a very mild accent. he wasn't australian, that's for sure. 'that's my friend up there.' he points to the stage where porter was singing live backup vocals for his song.

this guy was friendly, and respectful, so i decide against kicking his ass and running off to michael. i quirk an eyebrow. 'you know porter robinson?'

he smiles politely and nods, taking a small sip from his beverage. 'he co-wrote a song of mine, and sang background vocals. now i'm just coming along with him while he's touring.'

'huh,' i say, interested. i observe his profile once again, and cock my head to the side. 'now that you mention it, you sort of look familiar.'

he smiles sweetly once again, and holds his free hand out. suddenly, i wasn't paying attention to the performance, or the obnoxious concert-enthusiasts around me. i look from his large hand, to his soft eyes, and shake twice.

'i'm anton,' he says.

'talia.'

he nods slowly. 'that's a pretty name.'

'thanks,' i reply, oddly finding myself grinning. 'where are you from?'

'germany.'

'cool,' i smile, and cross my arms over my chest.

his lips twitch. 'you look sort of familiar, too. are you... well-known?' he asks.

'uhh. not quite yet,' i say awkwardly. he laughs. 'but you might know my brother. his name's calum hood. he's the bassist for 5 Seconds of Summer.'

'oh, that's the boyband i see on tv all of the time, right? i think they performed on one of the awards shows that i was nominated for,' anton says, trailing off in recollection.

i ignored the fact that he called them a boyband; there was no use in trying. 'you were nominated for an award?' i ask incredulously. 'who are you, exactly?'

he chuckles. 'i'm an edm producer, like porter. the stagename i use is zedd.'

i gasp as the pieces fit together. 'my friend loves you!' i say, clarisse in mind.

he smiles. 'that's good to hear. are you here alone?'

'no,' i say. 'i'm here with my boyfriend. he's... somewhere.'

'oh okay then.' anton takes his phone out of his pocket, types in his passcode, and hands it to me. i pull a puzzled expression, requesting further explanation.

'i was wondering if i could get your number,' he clarifies. 'i just want to stay in touch.'

i nod, and we switch phones. when i hand him his, and he hands me mine, he waves me a goodbye. 'i'd better catch up with my friends. it was nice meeting you, talia,' he says with a smile, and runs off.

how odd to find such a humble young man in a wild club like this.

+++

{*}

i frown as the last song of the night, language, plays, michael still absent from my side. curious if he was still at the bar, i grab my coat and purse, weave through the crowd of perspiring bodies, and jog over to the destination.

an extremely long counter lined with fluorescent, neon tubes comes into view at the very back of the building. the barista, who was impressively twirling bottles of scotch with both hands, stands behind the counter. i attract the attention of the people present on barstools when i hop in front of the server on the other side of the table.

'excuse me?' i say to him, my voice coming out small and squeaky. the barista ignores me; his task at hand appears to be more important.

'excuse me,' i repeat, and he still doesn't acknowledge my presence.

'what do you want, sweetie?' a man with greasy, long, black hair beside me asks. he wears thickly rimmed shades, even though it was nighttime, and we weren't outdoors. his sleek, black cellphone rests in his right hand, and in his left is a half-empty glass of alcohol.

even though he appeared to be intimidating, i say 'i'm looking for someone. he said he'd be around here.'

'well i've been here for practically the whole concert. who're you looking for?'

'um. he has dark, purple hair... he's really tall, and white. black skinny jeans-'

he cuts me off. 'michael,' he states.

my eyes brighten. 'yes. do you know where he went?'

'think he went backstage. the f*cking bastard didn't even pay for half of the drinks he bought; just left with some blond chick. lucky for him i was here to save his ass.'

my entire world freezes. the dancing people, the flashing lights, the music- it all stops when the man's words make their way to my ears.

just left with some blond chick.

subtly blinking away the uncalled-for tears that were forming in my eyes, i run off to the direction of the backstage. i find myself pushing past people, and not even bothering to say excuse me.

i stop in front of a staircase connected to the left end of the stage. flashing my glossy verification card at the guard, he nods and allows me behind screen that seperated the stage from the back.

not being bothered by manners at this point, i shove caterers, and men with headsets out of my path. i aimlessly walk through the maze of tables of refreshments, spare microphones, and even some backup launchpads. my mind didn't even register how retro-chic the back of the stage was decorated. the only thought that ran through my mind was: he cheated.

i turn multiple hallways and begin to grow frustrated. no michael.

wiping the flowing tears from my cheeks, i decide to give it a rest. i slide my back against an unoccupied wall, and attempt to control my breathing.

the silence is no longer present as i hear obnoxiously loud smacking noises from a pitch-black hallway to my right. curious, i pull my cellphone from my clutch, and turn on the flashlight, aiming it to the source of the noise.

there was a girl who looked around five years older than i was with a disgustingly revealing top that only covered her chest. her thick, dirty blonde hair was tousled around her face, and her deep blue eyes held lust in them as she gazed at michael.

michael pushed the girl off of him when he notices my tear-stained cheeks, and expression of hatred. he resembled a deer caught in headlights.

'talia i-'

'shut up!' i screech. 'shut the f*ck up, michael.'

i stuff my phone into my back pocket and run. past the never-ending line of tables, past the concert technicians, past backstage entrance, past the security guard, past the crowd of people, past the arena's exit and into the freezing cold.

sniffling, i pull my jacket on, and walk to the bus stop, since i no longer had a ride. passing multiple streetlights, began to think negatively. what would happen when we get home? what will happen at the next band practice? what'll happen to us.

the sound of a car's engine cutting off shortly beside me catches my attention. not caring if the person in the mobile would see the hideous mascara stains that dirtied my face, i turn. anton sits in the driver's seat of the black jeep, sending me a sympathetic smile. he reaches over the seat beside him, and pushes the door open, allowing me to get a better view of the inside of the car.

'come on,' he says softly, patting the passenger's seat.

i nod reluctantly, and shudder as i climb in, shutting the door to preserve the heat of the car. 'thanks,' i mumble weakly as he pulls a tissue from his pocket. i touch it to my tongue, and smear away the makeup on my cheeks.

'where are we going?' i ask with a stuffed-up nose as he drives calmly down the avenue.

glancing at me from the head-of-the-car's mirror, he replies, 'somewhere.'

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anton zaslavski is bae (which stands for: bacon and eggs).

haaha. get it? because he loves bacon?

no? fine then.

teehee xx