“If you want in, I’m fine with that, too,” Marc said, crossing his legs at the ankles while flashing her a cocky smirk.
“You need to sleep it off, Zimmer.” She laughed.
Indeed.
Marcneverflirted with her. Not even jokingly. So either he was drunk as a skunk or letting the beast out after breaking up with his succubus of a girlfriend. You know;summer, fewer clothes, more skin showing, hormones going wild...
Leah got up and grabbed Marc’s wrists, pulling to make him stand. His arms slipped out of her hands and she stumbled back, but he didn’t move an inch. Barely even blinked. Just stayed there in that lazy sitting position, grinning at her.
“Jeez… Come on!” she grumbled, trying again. “Or you’re gonna be all hungover and wanting to die before tomorrow’s concert.”
“Okay, but only because it’s you asking me.”
“No, you’re doing it because you don’t want Erik using your skull as a practice kit for being so damn reckless.”
“That too.” He tittered, finally standing, his height towering above Leah.
With Marc’s arm around her shoulders and hers on his waist, Leah turned around. “Are you coming?”
“Gonna finish this.” Chris gestured with the joint between his fingers. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay.”
A faint smile painted across his face as he watched them walk away. These two crazy people, together with Erik and the rest of their growing crew, had become his family. It was a family by music, not by blood, and still, there was little he wouldn’t do for them.
2. From The Ashes
September,fouryearsprior
Munich, Germany
The rehearsal room feltempty without the roaring of their compositions reverberating between its four walls, which only made the pressure in Chris’s chest increase. His anger, too. The grunge vibes with all the posters, stickers, and dusty red rugs decorating the space only added to his gloomy mood.
Buried Alive had gone through so many ups and downs during its few years of existence, their wannabe career looked like a fucking rollercoaster. And now that they were finally getting noticed in important circles, they were sending it to shit. Well, not them,her.
Clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring, Chris slumped deeper into the couch. He tried to focus on the notes of his six-string as he tuned it, but Marc relentlessly bouncing his leg up and down was making him nervous. “Stop that,” he barked, putting a palm on his knee and squeezing hard.
“Shithead.” A cloud of smoke slipped through his friend’s nostrils.
The door opened, and both men jumped to their feet instantly—thank God Chris had the strap of his guitar around his neck.
“Hey…” Erik tossed, hanging his coat in the closet as if nothing had happened. Lack of sleep was clear from the dark circles under his eyes.
“Is LeBit—Hannah coming today?” Chris asked, correcting himself midway when the drummer sent him a warning glare.
Erik was too decent. The bitch had been the last member to join the band, and only because the bug of actually performing had bitten them in the ass.
It was all perfect at the beginning, but as time passed, she’d started behaving as if the group was nothing without her. Chris didn’t like that one bit. Sure, she was talented—the only reason he’d put up with her—yet he couldn’t stop from mentally rolling his eyes whenever her know-it-all mouth opened.
Extroverted and cute on the outside. A manipulative, narcissistic, poisonous snake on the inside. Why didn’t Marc, Erik, and most people see her true colors? Chris had no idea.
“Yeah.” Erik nodded, sitting on his stool, obviously wanting to keep some distance from his friends and the entire world. “Though for her, it’s just another rehearsal day.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s smart enough to know you’d tell us, but you still should have given her the heads up,” Chris stated as he and Marc plopped down on the couch again.
Skeptical, with a brow raised and confusion clear in his eyes, the drummer glanced at him.
“You thought we’d choose the band over you?” Chris asked, almost mockingly.
