Joining the metalcore band, Young Decay, was the best thing I ever did.
I love this band—our wild little family.
Four dumb fucks who have saved each other’s lives in one way or the other, all pouring that energy into the notes and lines of our music and hoping to hell it heals our fans the way it heals us.
A gold arrow logo with the textNew message - shesatrackstar1988displays on my phone. The vibration alert is barely noticeable with the 90s grunge playing through my headphones.
I smile at the notification. Warmth rushes through me that has nothing to do with the fact that we’re fifteen minutes from headlining metal’s most popular music festival in the United States—DeathFest.
I shouldn’t answer the text this close to stage time. It’ll be a distraction…
Still, she’s really fucking cute.
shesatrackstar1988
Do you think we can finally video tonight?
She and I have only chatted a few times. Dating apps are the only form of “sextracurricular” fun the band’s been allowed to have during this tour break.
For your protection, our former head of security, James, told us.
Of course, Reed and Mads haven’t minded. They’re already married. Zeb and I really haven’t complained either. Not after the shit this band has been through last couple of years. First, when Mads murdered his wife’s ex-boyfriend, and then this past New Year’s Eve when our lead singer was kidnapped by some poser mafia idiot.
Our leashes have never been tighter.
It’s been fun texting random strangers. Yet even with all the gorgeous selfies and insanely hot exchanges… I really fucking miss sex. I’m craving it. And not just any sex. I want rough sex. I need to be choked. Touched. Slapped. Handled—withoutcare. God, the last time I had bruises on me from a good fucking, it was from a too-small bathroom at a sex club’s masked rave where I met a gorgeous black-haired goddess wearing teal feathers on her eye mask who let me spit in her mouth and then called me a dirty slut while she kneeled on the filthy tile floor and licked my cunt until I cried.
I still think about that sometimes.
I wonder what her name was.
A hand slaps the counter beside me twice, and I take off my headphones when Zeb makes himself comfortable atop it, kicking his foot up to tie his Converse on the arm of my chair.
The moment the real world hits my ears again, I realize it’s the sound of the crowd that’s vibrating my feet, and the three syllables they appear to be chanting are the name of our band.
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
I feel my eyes light up when I look at Zeb. “Holy shit,” I say to him.
“Fucking right?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Mental. I’ve never felt the crowd like this before. Not all the way back here.”
My phone buzzes again, and Zeb leans over to check out the message with me, but it’s just a reminder of Trackstar’s first message.
“A little play before work?” he asks suggestively, and I grin as I pick up my phone.
“She’s pretty cute,” I say.
Not tonight. Working.
Send me a few pictures to get me through, baby.
“Is this one through Cupid’s Arrow?” Zeb asks, pulling his vape from his pocket.
“Yeah. Started chatting after the Summerween party a couple weeks ago. We matched on the ‘anonymous and strictly casual’ options,” I say about the filter I chose to look for matches on the dating app.
My phone vibrates again, this time a picture comes through of the girl I’m texting, and I almost whimper at the photo of her wearing fishnet tights so snug that they’re creasing her skin and a cropped shirt that shows the underside of her breasts. Those cute ass black glasses framing her bright eyes and apple cheeks make me melt a little in the chair.
