“I don’t know. He went to get some shit.” Drugs. He went to get drugs. “I told him I didn’t want any blow, but he went anyway. Can I...”
He trails off and abruptly grabs my hand, tugging me so I have to scoot in a little closer.
I won’t complain.
Lacing my fingers with his, I meet his eyes. “You’re the best drummer I’ve ever seen. Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” he lies. “I was getting ready, and then all of a sudden my chest got so tight it felt like I couldn’t inhale fully, and it made me hot and nauseous. I think a heart attack was starting, but it changed its mind.”
He absentmindedly rubs his chest, and I sit there trying to figure out how to explain a panic attack to a grown man.
“Not a heart attack, but similar. It’s called a panic attack. Do you feel okay now?”
“But I wasn’t panicking. I—” He takes a breath, and then decides not to argue. “I do now, yeah. This helps.”
He squeezes my hand as a faint blush takes over his cheeks like that was hard for him to admit, but I have a feeling it’s harder for me to hear. In less than 24 hours he undid weeks of me convincing myself I didn’t care about him like that. When he asked to hold my hand on the bus I tried to say no, tried to talk myself out of saying yes at least — but at the end of the day, I will always be hopelessly in love with this impossible man, and I’ll take whatever scraps I can get.
“We need to go then. Will you come with me?”
“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Bash is going to kick my ass.”
He pulls himself from the bed and I find myself thanking all of the gods that he’s already dressed. Now that he’s awake too, it doesn’t take long to get him back where he needs to be and in the hands of his band.
I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but I do know that he’s different. Something inside him has shifted, and if I’m not careful... he’s going to drag me down even deeper this time.
I’VE NEVER SEEN LEVIplay so well in my life. Usually his talent and appeal comes from drug-induced chaos — his rhythm is fine, but notes get missed, and he makes up for it with showmanship and raw energy.
But tonight, perfectly, beautifully sober, Levi Cross set a new precedent for what drummers should be. His technique was flawless, energy contagious, and he looked so fucking alive up there that it actually killed me a little.
This is what he’s been missing. What we’ve all been missing. Who knows where Hollow Apparition would be on the charts if he was always like this? Who knows where we’d be if he let himself be vulnerable five years ago?
I can spend all night thinking about the what-ifs and if-only’s, but now the show is over and it’s time for the first after party of this tour.
Maybe a little stupidly, I’m choosing to sit it out. He says he doesn’t want meaningless sex this time, but I’m not sure the pool of potential partners has ever been larger. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the changes in him tonight, and I’m not about to sit there and watch as he gets sucked in by some pretty girl with basketballs for tits or a skinny little twink like me that he can fuck without the baggage.
Besides, I’m tired. Despite Carter’s lackadaisical approach to handling, it’s not as easy as it looks. The physical load is manageable but the mental load will really take it out of you if you’re not careful, and unfortunately, I’m rarely careful.
So, as early as I can, I sneak away from the group back into my trailer and stop dead when I close the door behind me.
It smells like sex in here.
“What the hell?” I mumble, sniffing again and setting my phone down on my desk. It’s definitely sex I’m smelling, and I know it’s not from me — much to the chagrin of most of the partners I’ve ever been with, I like the taste of my own cum. I don’t waste it, so the scent rarely lingers.
My bedsheets are messed up which tells me without a doubt that someone else was in here. I’m no clean freak — there are scrap papers lying on my desk, a shirt I tried on and hated laying on the floor, and the trash definitely needs changed — but I always make my bed. It gaslights me into believing I have my life together even just a little bit, and I don’t know many feelings better than crawling into a nice, tidy bed after a long day.
Someone fucked in my bed.
Scowling, I change the sheets and go to change the trash as well when I notice the tissues sitting on top. Crusty, gross tissues that I’d bet my life aren’t covered in snot.
Jesus Christ, is nothing sacred anymore?
Grabbing the bag, I head back out to the parking lot where I catch the crew packing the equipment away. “Hey!” I yell. “Which one of you decided my trailer was a rent-by-the-hour motel?”
“Huh?” Steve’s eyes flick between my face and the bag in my hand a few times, then at his partner Gabe. They’re unbeatable when it comes to camerawork, but anything else? They don’t have two brain cells to rub together. “It wasn’t us.”
“I don’t get it,” Gabe adds, both of them looking so confused I know it wasn’t them.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?”
