I’m resting my foot on the propped podium that Tyler accommodates with his drum kit. He’s lighting up a blunt and taking a heavy pull when Chase chuckles into the microphone.
“Fuck, we have the best friends.” He is talking about them, the crowd, the people who stream our shit daily, show up to see us perform in the sweltering sun like today or through blistering cold winds in the winter.
The people who listened to us,and heard us.
Asher starts on guitar, right at the front of the stage with Chase, and when I turn around and gaze at the crowd, a set of tits comes into view, and Chase chuckles again. “Ow, titties.”
I snort, swallowing my mouthful of water before joining them.
My fingers pluck my bass as Asher and I fall into perfect sync while Tyler taps lightly at his snare and kick drum. Ty’s blunt hangs from his lips. He doesn’t remove it, inhaling and letting it dangle there as he exhales through his nose. He’s grinning around it, then he flicks his sweaty black hair out of his eyes before he winks. The buildup is intense, as Chase, Asher, and I stand together at the front of the stage with Chase’s arms draped over both of our shoulders. The melody continues to escalate, with only one simple destination of destruction.
Tyler’s drums become slightly louder as both of his feet fall on his double kick, my bass pulsing through my veins and Asher’s minor riff sending deep chills over every one of my limbs. And I’m sure everyone else's.
This song will always hit deeply,“Severed Veins.”It is why we are here, living out our dreams on this stage. I have no idea how the fuck Chase finds the strength to perform it, though.
Chase tilts his head back, his long brown hair going with him, and the hand holding his microphone comes to his mouth. Hepushes two fingers to his lips and throws his fist into the sky, like he always does before the first and final songs.
Goosebumps ripple across my skin. I have to close my eyes for a moment and suck back a deep breath of air.
Music is survival.
It is pieces of trauma, and pain, and heartache, and insecurities all stitched together among a deep cloud of black contusions, and somehow through the tumultuous, internal, never-ending trials, we find peace and beauty alike,a place to call home.
When I open my eyes, I find Chase’s head still reclined as he holds the piece of metal to his mouth and growls right into his microphone, “LET’S FUCKING BLEED!”
The three of us part, and as I move, I can feel the pads of my fingers cut up against the coiled wire, rivulets of scarlet dripping over the face of my turquoise guitar. Intense flashbacks of the barbed wire around Cherry’s ankles tearing into her flesh haze my vision.
A rage like no other boils in my veins.
It makes me wonder if she’s still dancing, but then I shove the thought away, because dance was the only thing that kept her alive.
Of course she is.
I can feel it.
“Rule The Night” by Shaker pounds around the towering red and white meet-and-greet tent as I snatch up a towel from a stagehand and wipe away the beads of sweat rolling down the length of my arms and face. It’s fucking hot and the largeindustrial steel fans that have been hired to circle a breeze do nothing but push around warm waves of sweltering air.
Pulling my hair back into a low bun, I guzzle the contents of a water bottle in three mouthfuls. I’ve always enjoyed meet and greets, though today, I’m on edge. I need more coke and a place to bury my cock.
Sometimes I think that Chase can read my mind, or maybe we just share half a brain, because he jerks his chin toward two girls midway down the line. They’re dressed in, well, barely anything, and it’s pretty clear by the gruff look on his face that he’s chasing the same thing I am. He drops his sticky, tattooed arm around my shoulder and taps my drenched chest with a closed fist.
“Should we–”
I don’t let him finish, already nodding. “Yep,” I confirm, and he chuckles beside me, punching my chest for a second beat before shaking the hand of a fan at the front of the line.
The girls are nothing special. I mean, maybe they are,but not to me.They’re weeping for a rockstar, and I’m eager for a fucking release, so really, I don’t give a fuck.
Asher tsks from beside me, biting that lip ring between his teeth and smiling around dimples that are way too fucking pretty for his face. Tyler just laughs, dropping his chin to his chest and grinning when he shoves a hand back through his dark hair. They know what’s up,the escapades of Harlen and Chase.
I keep my eyes on the one with bright blue eyes. They remind me of Cherry’s, though less haunted, and I fucking hate it. So, I divert them to the light hazel next to her, finding them much less confronting.
Why do I feel guilty?Fuck, I shouldn’t feel guilty, but every fuck since Cherry has left me feeling sick, and just empty, yet I keep doing it.
Both girls are brunettes, with fake tits and tiny waists. And when they reach the front of the line, Chase and I move in. They hand their phones to the guy in charge of taking a million fucking photos and step between us. Ty is on my side, and Ash on Chase’s when we all crouch in for the photo. The slim arm around me slides down to my back pocket, and I can feel her slipping something into my light denim jeans.
Probably her number.
Fuck, who am I kidding?It’s definitely her number.
