head up to see who it is. Some masked perpetrator? A stranger with wicked intentions?
Instead, the person that ascends the steps is one of the last people I expected to see. I swallow hard and force the word past my dry lips.
“Hayden?”
The storm we had in San Antonio rolls right into Austin and slams us all hard, crackling the air with electricity and passing an eerie shadow over the venue. I'm in the back early today, fresh out of ideas and frustrated as fuck. I should've followed Hayden. I watched her, sure, and she went back to Terre Haute's bus, but I should've kept on her. Something isn't right about that girl, never was. For the first time in my life, I feel wrong inside for sleeping with someone, like something inside has gotten tweaked in a bad way. Thank fucking God I don't remember that shit.
I stand with my arms crossed and my gaze focused on the stage at Ice and Glass. I don't know much about their music, barely even remember that they exist. They've been opening our shows since we left Seattle and yet, I've never bothered to download a single track. They're alright, but they're not star worthy, not by a long shot. I light up a cigarette and turn away, focusing my gaze on Milo who's speaking with one of the roadies. To be honest, I don't know how any of this works. Milo tells me what to do and where to go, and I follow along. Who does what here, who's in charge, none of that matters to me. It should, maybe, but it doesn't.
I pull out my phone, check for messages, scan my Facebook page, my blog. Nothing. Nobody has anything helpful to fucking say. Bunch of damn trolls. I tuck it back in my pocket and nearly drop my cig when the power flickers off and on. To their credit, Ice and Glass keeps going, not skipping a single beat. The crowd, lukewarm previously, starts to titter and get excited. Good. I need a lively show tonight, something to fuel my blood so I can keep on keepin' on.
The power goes off again, and the emergency lights wink on, bathing both rooms in a red glow that reminds me of dark rooms and perverted serial killers. I don't like it at all. Makes me sick to my stomach. The singer, a guy in his early twenties with a cocky fuck face and an attitude to match, belts out the lyrics to his song, screaming them at the crowd with a music fueled rage. They love the shit out of that and start to bounce, bathed in the bloody glow of the lights and the distant pounding of drums. When the electricity explodes back into action, they shriek like wailing demons and rush the stage. It's a bit lower than usual, an improvised arena made from an old church dais. Kind of creeps me the fuck out. Either side of the platform is draped in these heavy, red curtains that dangle from the vaulted ceiling like ghosts.
I turn away and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of sweat and pot, wishing like hell I was high. But I know I'm less than useless that way. If I'm not making any headway now, how the fuck do I expect to get shit done with a bunch of screaming voices in my head? Drugs are not an option right now.
“Turner.” Just my name, short and clipped. I open my eyes to find Blair dressed in a form fitting red dress, tight and ruched. It looks like it's got a mind of its own as it inches its way up her pale thighs. Her black and blonde hair hangs over her shoulders and teases the edges of her fingers where they're pressed against her chest. Beneath them, I can see something peeking out. A picture maybe?
“What's up?” I ask as I watch her watching me carefully. She's making a lot of judgments right now, and I've got to make sure I'm on the right side of them. There's conflict burning in her eyes, warning me that something's happened. I don't know what it is, but it's serious. Otherwise, why the hell else would she be here talking to me? Blair closes her eyes and rests her long lashes on her cheeks for a moment.
“You asked me if there was anything of Naomi's that might help you figure things out. Well, I
Instead, the person that ascends the steps is one of the last people I expected to see. I swallow hard and force the word past my dry lips.
“Hayden?”
The storm we had in San Antonio rolls right into Austin and slams us all hard, crackling the air with electricity and passing an eerie shadow over the venue. I'm in the back early today, fresh out of ideas and frustrated as fuck. I should've followed Hayden. I watched her, sure, and she went back to Terre Haute's bus, but I should've kept on her. Something isn't right about that girl, never was. For the first time in my life, I feel wrong inside for sleeping with someone, like something inside has gotten tweaked in a bad way. Thank fucking God I don't remember that shit.
I stand with my arms crossed and my gaze focused on the stage at Ice and Glass. I don't know much about their music, barely even remember that they exist. They've been opening our shows since we left Seattle and yet, I've never bothered to download a single track. They're alright, but they're not star worthy, not by a long shot. I light up a cigarette and turn away, focusing my gaze on Milo who's speaking with one of the roadies. To be honest, I don't know how any of this works. Milo tells me what to do and where to go, and I follow along. Who does what here, who's in charge, none of that matters to me. It should, maybe, but it doesn't.
I pull out my phone, check for messages, scan my Facebook page, my blog. Nothing. Nobody has anything helpful to fucking say. Bunch of damn trolls. I tuck it back in my pocket and nearly drop my cig when the power flickers off and on. To their credit, Ice and Glass keeps going, not skipping a single beat. The crowd, lukewarm previously, starts to titter and get excited. Good. I need a lively show tonight, something to fuel my blood so I can keep on keepin' on.
The power goes off again, and the emergency lights wink on, bathing both rooms in a red glow that reminds me of dark rooms and perverted serial killers. I don't like it at all. Makes me sick to my stomach. The singer, a guy in his early twenties with a cocky fuck face and an attitude to match, belts out the lyrics to his song, screaming them at the crowd with a music fueled rage. They love the shit out of that and start to bounce, bathed in the bloody glow of the lights and the distant pounding of drums. When the electricity explodes back into action, they shriek like wailing demons and rush the stage. It's a bit lower than usual, an improvised arena made from an old church dais. Kind of creeps me the fuck out. Either side of the platform is draped in these heavy, red curtains that dangle from the vaulted ceiling like ghosts.
I turn away and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of sweat and pot, wishing like hell I was high. But I know I'm less than useless that way. If I'm not making any headway now, how the fuck do I expect to get shit done with a bunch of screaming voices in my head? Drugs are not an option right now.
“Turner.” Just my name, short and clipped. I open my eyes to find Blair dressed in a form fitting red dress, tight and ruched. It looks like it's got a mind of its own as it inches its way up her pale thighs. Her black and blonde hair hangs over her shoulders and teases the edges of her fingers where they're pressed against her chest. Beneath them, I can see something peeking out. A picture maybe?
“What's up?” I ask as I watch her watching me carefully. She's making a lot of judgments right now, and I've got to make sure I'm on the right side of them. There's conflict burning in her eyes, warning me that something's happened. I don't know what it is, but it's serious. Otherwise, why the hell else would she be here talking to me? Blair closes her eyes and rests her long lashes on her cheeks for a moment.
“You asked me if there was anything of Naomi's that might help you figure things out. Well, I
Similar Books
