A ripped tulle skirt.
My hand around one of their throats.
A heartbeat fading beneath my gloved fingertips.
Amber lights and a broken mirror.
Her unconscious body in the passenger seat of my car.
There’s so much more to the story.
“I don’t know if his death is connected to Bonnie or her stalker,” James goes on. “But I know the band was there, and I know she started getting clean soon after.”
“That’s why you’re not concerned about her stalker? Because Bonnie thinks she saved her?” I ask.
“I’m concerned,” he argues. “I’m glad there are three of you on the team now, especially with them not being on tour. Things were a lot simpler when they were all together. It was difficult managing all their safety on my own.” James checks his watch again and sighs. “Fuck.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and stands. “That time.”
“Anything else I should know?” I ask.
He gives me a small smile. “I think you’ll be fine, Gemma,” he says. “Like I said, they’re good kids. You’ll get to know them and decide your own strategy. It’s not them you’re necessarily worrying about. It’s everyone who wants to be near them, and that’s… that’s a lot of people.”
I stand with him, knees aching from the tension of the night.
“If you need anything, I’ll have my phone on me, but I doubt you need me,” he says, heading toward the door.
“Is that your vote of confidence?” I ask him.
He laughs. “About the best vote you can get. Oh, I don’t know if you heard, but there’s a masked afterparty tomorrow night. I heard them talking about going earlier today,” James says.
Masked afterparty…
My stomach twists a little.
“What’s the standard practice there?” I ask.
“I’ve never been one to hover. They know to call if they get into trouble. Just stick close, and if any of them find themselves in some shit, you’ll be there. They have your number. I would have a chat with them tomorrow before just so you’re on the same page.”
As for the rest of our conversation, I barely remember it. My mind is elsewhere. I know he says more, maybe a goodbye and that he’ll check in. I hear the door snap shut, watch him walk away through the small window in the door.
My body fucking hurts, but my mind won’t turn off as the thoughts turn to tomorrow night and all its possibilities.
A masked party.
Low lights.
Packed bodies.
Anonymity.
The fantasy of it has me sinking onto the couch. I replay everything about today… God, the highlight of seeing her look at me backstage… Her stark wavy blonde hair, wild and streaked with pink, the glitter on her cheeks, black liner on her lids, her dark nails, and those tiny shorts over her tights, not to mention her top that said,save a drum, bang a drummer, on it.
I want to delight in the way she stammered, the way her cheeks became flushed when she spoke to me, and I need to know if that same thing happens when I text her.
I slouch back and open up my burner phone to her number.
You were perfect tonight.
Such a good performer.
