He says it like an afterthought, tossed into the crowd like a match into gasoline.
To them?
Or to me?
They cheer as if he has just promised them salvation.
I grip my camera tighter, throat closing, and lift the lens like it might shield me from the fire in his eyes.
But he turns back to the crowd like he didn’t just unravel me with a single look. His voice dips low, almost reverent.
“This one’s for the ones who were never safe to begin with.”
A roar rises, wild and aching.
“For the broken, the haunted, the ones who find beauty in blood.”
Then Ash, on his guitar, rips through the silence like a scream, and Silas is hitting the drums like it means war.
I try to focus.
On angles, lighting, and shadows.
But his voice wraps around me, almost making me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
I catch pieces of verses between clicks…
“I saw the angel in you—
and carved it out with my tongue.”
Click.
“Don’t pretend you’re not addicted—
I’m the high you hide from everyone.”
Click.
“You say you’re fine—
but you flinch like you’ve been burned before.”
Click.
And I don’t even realize I’ve stopped moving until I hear my heartbeat in my ears.
He screams, and the guitars part around it like metal doors blown off their hinges. I bite my lip trying to distract from the heat pooling in between my legs from the sound alone. When he cuts the scream off, he looks right at me and grins.
He knows exactly what that scream did to me.
And I realize I’m not just watching a show. I’m being hunted… And why do I want to be caught?
***
The second they step off stage after their set, the world keeps spinning, but I don’t.
Not really.
