It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was just that, some days, he couldn’t deal with drama and the daunting sentiments it forced upon him. His mind, usually lost in a spiral of rag-tag overwhelming thoughts, ended up so numb, Chris simply disconnected from everything and everyone. Though to be fair, it also happened in the happy moments. He was there, but at the same time, he wasn’t. As if he didn’t belong in his own body.
Why he felt so empty was beyond his understanding.
Leah had told him once that he wasn’t broken or a sociopath, like he’d joked about while in questionable control of his actions, but that his head was trying to protect itself from the pain. Even if he didn’t realize it, he loved deeply and hard, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and not letting anyone help him. That it was only normal heneededto break away from reality and not lose his sanity.
Maybe she was right. At least, he hoped she was. Her explanation was prettier than his.
With these intrusive thoughts swirling in his head and the gravelly pavement crunching under the soles of his Vans, Chris dove deeper into himself, finding nothing but emptiness and darkness.
He had a caring family, incredible friends, a job that seemed to keep his interest even after such a long time, and his band was finally taking off. Anyone would say he was living the dream. Even so, it was incomplete, though he couldn’t put a finger on what was missing. And no, it wasn’t a serious relationship. Everything that type of commitment entailed was a lie, and he wasn’t interested. He might not have personally suffered heartache, as most described it, but he’d seen his parents falling apart. Vows. Love. Promises. Future plans. None of that mattered if you ended up fading into a shattered perspective you couldn’t foresee, losing your identity to make the other happy.
When Chris finally stepped into the merchandise area, everyone was already packing, the savagery of the last band before the headliners pounding around on the nearest stage.
Under the bright orange light of the sun as it dipped below the horizon, people were rushing between their buses and stands to finish as soon as possible—all everyone wanted was to sit down with a beer in hand and relax. Boxes filled with t-shirts and whatnot, the sound of mechanical screwdrivers taking down tents, and in the middle of that mess, as he walked into the back of Buried Alive’s stand, the weirdest scene was happening.
Leah and Natalie were jumping to the rhythm of “Welcome to the Black Parade”, belting out the lyrics. Meanwhile, the photographer and Colson, Nat’s husband, were dismantling and folding the three long tables settled in a U shape inside the tent. My Chemical Romance hit differently for those who had an emo heart.
What is it today with people and singing, though?
Chris couldn’t help it and smiled; mood completely restored—almost. These two knew how to cheer one up without even trying.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be helping them?” he quipped as he approached.
“We’ll carry on!” Leah sang louder, without stopping the weird dance she had going on.
“You’re crazy.”
“You still love me.” She blew him a kiss and went back to closing boxes with duct tape, shoulders and feet still moving to the rhythm.
“You need help with anything?” Chris asked.
“Actually, if you could start bringing these to the bus, that’d be amazing,” Colson said, handing him four chairs.
Two hours and something later, with Noah’s help and a few trips to the bus, they were almost done loading the trailer.
At a normal gig, gathering all their shit wouldn’t have taken longer than an hour. But here, where the merchandise was set out since ten in the morning, there was a lot to account for. Pins, patches, keychains, tour t-shirts, flags, bags, and even limited edition vinyls. Besides, having to disassemble the stand structure wasn’t the same as just collecting a couple of plastic seats and a table.
“Hey…” A feminine voice made Chris turn around when he was putting the last few things on the trolley. “I think you dropped these,” a green-haired woman with a tattoo covering her throat said, handing him a transparent pouch full of stickers.
“Thanks.”
“Oh my God!” Her brown eyes widened, voice shaking. “I-I… I can’t believe it! You’re Chris!” Her pitch came out quite high at the end.
“Yeah.” He chortled. “And you are…?” He tilted his head to the side as he read the volunteer badge hanging from her neck. “Katherine.” His smile transformed into a cocky smirk when her stance changed from surprised into something else.
“That’d be me, yes.” She nodded, slowly batting her eyelashes at him, a shy smile curling the side of her mouth, bottom lip adorned with a ring. “You can call me Kat, though.”
He was great at playing the guitar. A monster at tattooing—his job since they couldn’t live off music yet. But another thing he’d mastered over the years, even if reading emotions wasn’t his strongest skill, was interpreting people’s non-verbal language. And this girl’s attitude said she was anything but innocent.
“Kat,” he parroted in a sultry tone. “A pretty name for a pretty woman.”
“Thanks.” Her smile widened. “I really can’t believe I got to actually meet you. I’ve been following you guys for a couple of years now. You’re so good… and you have suchtalented hands.”
Chris raised a brow, letting her go on with the praise. Not that he needed it, but he already knew the drill.
Volunteers at these types of events were here for diverse reasons: wanting to publicize their business, loving music to the point of wanting to live this experience even if they didn’t get paid, meeting a variety of people from all over the world, having the chance to meet musicians they admired, and/or adding names to their fuck lists.
This chick was maybe here for one of the first reasons, but the last was definitely one she was considering as they talked. And Chris had never rejected a gorgeous woman eager for cock. Much less someone who carried herself around like Kat.
