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Walking offstage, you could feel the heat radiating off your body as the exhaustion began to set in. That gig had been one like all your others, but the adrenaline rush after typically never changed. Hadn't changed when you played in small town bars when the band first started performing, nor had it changed when you played packed after packed club. But this particular adrenaline was different, in fact the recent post-gig highs hadn't been feeling strictly euphoric as of recent. There was another emotion tangled in there, and it was loathing. Something akin to what you probably felt as a freshman in high school when your ex-best friend kissed your crush in the hall, it was fueled loathing. This loathing hadn't come out of nowhere, no, it was directed and pointed at one person in particular. Eddie Munson, and partially all of Corroded Coffin for that matter.
Corroded Coffin had been the opener for your gig that night, and this had been their first time opening for your band. While your band's classical rock had been riding a consistent mainstream high, Corroded Coffin's metal rock vibe had been picking up traction rapidly, and your label saw an opportune chance to gain a more widespread audience with them acting as the openers for the rest of your US leg. You hadn't initially thought anything much of the addition to the tour until you had heard from your drummer that a certain frontman had some particular feelings about you. According to your drummer, Rick, who had somehow ended up having drinks with Corroded Coffin in a dive bar the night before your gig as a way to "acquaint himself" with the band, Eddie had made some comments about how you clearly had the rockstar mentality going straight to your head.
Whatever that meant, you weren't exactly sure. Eddie was notoriously prideful in his ability to show off how he was a "real rocker", and you could only assume he thought that whatever show or persona you tried to put on for the fans simply didn't meet his criteria. So, you had decided to amp it up at this gig tonight, show him at his first performance with your band, that you were the real star of the stage. While he did get to open, he got to do whatever he thought was wowing the audience, you got to waltz out and cement the fact that it was your audience. And do that, you have.
You continued down the cramped hallway to the dressing room with the rest of the band, the boys hooting and hollering as they enjoyed the same adrenaline comedown you had washing over yourself. As you made your way into the dressing room with the rest of the band, the entirety of Corroded Coffin, along with your label manager, were already situated in the room. They cheered the four members of your band on, and the manager took you by the hand and swung it high in the air.
"Who would've thought our so-called timid front-woman would become absolutely killer in less than a year!" He laughed as he held your hand up high, "Go celebrate! Drinks on me at The Leopard , just put it on my tab!"
You smiled and cheered as the rest of your bandmates hollered on along with your label manager. Corroded Coffin even joined in, with Eddie clapping in a subpar ecstatic manner.
-
Walking into The Leopard , the neon and slight dingy smoke immediately covered your form. Adrenaline still lined your aura slightly, and you gleamed in a way that was contagious between you and your bandmates as you all walked in, Corroded Coffin en tow. The silver on the buttons of your plunge leather vest twinkled in the light, framing you in all the right ways and complimenting your black much too mini-skirt and torn-up fishnets. You had to fit your persona, both on and off the stage, and luckily you enjoyed dressing like a rockstar on and off the clock. Hell, you were relishing in it right now, the high still not wearing off as you waltzed from your table to the bar, ordering 8 shots, four for your band and four for Corroded Coffin. It was to act as a welcoming, your form of a thank you to them for opening for your set.
As you made your way back to the table, the boys were scattered among the seats and deep in conversation, laughing and pointing at one another without a care in the world. Black Sabbath thumped at you from every angle, the cover band performing tonight drowning out most of the consonants from the conversations being had at the two tables your group had span across.
Your guitarist, Thomas, threw an arm around the back of your seat as you took your place at the table.
"Our leading lady! We were missing your commandeering presence," he teased, bringing attention to you instead of the ransacking conversations currently going on.
"I couldn't leave you alone for too long," you laughed back, turning just in time to notice a waitress bringing over your shots and beckoning her over to you, "I had to make sure our newcomers had a hearty welcome to the tour."
The waitress passed out the shots across the tables, and the boys grew in volume as they each found their own shot in front of them.
Rick grinned at you from across the tables, seated between Eddie and the drummer for Corroded Coffin before grabbing your attention. "Give us a toast!"
You gave a devious smile back to Rick, who was all keyed into not only your immediate annoyance and dislike of Corroded Coffin, but also to your adrenaline high still in control, and then stood from your seat and cleared your throat in an attempt to get all the boys attention.
"Here's to our new friends on tour! May we teach them how to actually rock themselves into some record deals, maybe even a few hotel rooms too," you laughed out before joining your shotglass to the other 7 that surrounded you.
You threw back the tequila shot with a ferocity that you typically would've never displayed without much more alcohol in your system. When you had brought your head back down and set your glass back on the table, your eyes met with Eddie's, across from you but locked on your sight. He had long finished his shot, and you could tell in the way he held himself that he was clearly irritated by your little toast. While the rest of the band members viewed it as a joke, he had absolutely taken it personally. It had done exactly what you wanted it to do, and you grinned a bit at the realization of your plan working.
From that shot on, you had decided for whatever reason that your alterior motive for the night was to get right under Eddie's skin. To rile him up, irritate, and prove you were not just everything he didn't think you were, but you were everything he wanted to be so desperately. It was written all over him, all over his band, his songs, his everything. You had deemed irritability and outperforming him at a lifestyle he wanted to be perfect punishment for his rude comments on you without ever having met you. So, you flashed a shit-eating grin in response to his eyes locked on you, and then turned to Thomas, joining in on a conversation happening next to you, as if the interaction didn't even happen.
A few hours, and a few drinks in, and you had gotten much more familiar with Corroded Coffin. Whether it was the multiple shots of tequila or the adrenaline still making you giddy, you didn't really care, you were just riding out the high and not wanting it to end. Which had landed you in the current conversation you were in, attempting to convince Gareth, one of the guitarists for Corroded Coffin, to ask the cover band if he could join them for a song.
"20 bucks if they let you even play, but 40 if you play a song and sing," you laughed as you dared him, his eyes going wide a bit at the ending tidbit.
"No way am I singing!" he scoffed off and threw back the rest of his drink.
Keith joined in the laughter as he nudged at Gareth. "C'mon man, it's just one dive bar, no one's gonna even notice you're up there."
"You wouldn't even dare yourself, they wouldn't let you play a girly pop rock cover in this bar anyway," Gareth teased.
Eddie threw back the rest of his drink as well before joining into Gareth's teasing. "I think they only do covers of actual rock music, sweetheart."
"Oh you're so on," you glared daggers at him, laying the sarcasm on thick, "I'll do a cover of a song of your choice, but if I get to play it and I do well, then I get to pick your opening song for our next gig."
"And if they don't let you play?" He questioned, grinning as he matched your glare, "Or you somehow don't wow the crowd with your princess persona?"
You leaned across the table, grabbing ahold of his half full glass, "Then you were right about your comment to my buddy Keith, I guess I really will be a poser, huh," you stated hauntingly before throwing back the rest of Eddie's drink, a strong mix of Jack and Coke.
Sounds of the boys "oohs" and laughter towards Eddie filled the entire area your group had spread out across. You could hear it as you started your path towards the stage, where the cover band had garnered a few drunk stragglers to stand by the edge of the wood stage, but not much attention came to them in the overcrowded bar. They looked young, and you could tell by the way they were performing that they not only were nervous, but were clearly disappointed in the response to their performance. You let a smug smile wash over your face before coming up to the back end of the stage, walking up the steps to plant yourself in the back corner of the stage while they finished their current song.
Once they had finished, the member closest to you noticed your presence and immediately came over. "Hey, how can I help you?" He questioned.
"I was looking for a favor to ask," you quipped, "Let me do just one cover, and I'll make it worth your while."
The bassist talking to you looked at you quizzically before he flashed a look that made it seem like he had just solved some insane math problem. "You're here with the bands, aren't you?"
"Yeah, lead singer, guilty," you laughed a bit at his wide-eyed stare. You have grown used to this kind of response, "I play some electric and bass too on occasion."
"Woah dude, yeah of- of course you can," he quickly responded before making his way over to the rest of the band, you following close behind.
It took a few solid minutes to get the setup situated, but by the time the cover band was done adjusting everything, you were ready. You stood in the center of the wooden stage, the glint of different colored stage lights fluorescing the room below you. You gazed over the packed bar, eyes landing on your table. The boys all were still laughing and drinking, but now focused solely on you up on the stage. Once the cover band was fully ready, the guitarist next to you gave you a thumbs up. You moved towards the mic on its stand before grabbing ahold of it. The guitarist matched you, grabbing his own respective mic out of its stand before speaking to the audience below.
"Okay folks, tonight we've got a very special guest!" he exclaimed, and you gave a little wave in response. This seemed to get a bit more of the crowd's attention, with more people turning their focus from the space around them to the stage as your presence began to be recognized.
"Happy to be here tonight," you started, dragging your eyes across the crowd as more people began to focus on you and the cover band, "I'm so glad the cover band is letting me join them for a song, let's give it up for them!"
The room broke out into applause, and you watched as your table joined in. "But since this is a cover band, I will be needing a suggestion for a song!"
Your eyes scanned across the bar once again before cementing on your table, onto Eddie, who sat with a half full drink in one hand and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
"Dio! Play Dio!" he yelled from across the bar, never breaking his gaze from yours. His smug smile never faltered, it only grew as you took in his response.
Then it hit you, the perfect song to cover from that band. Your expression went from a slight questioning to something akin to Eddie's smug look. He noticed immediately in your stare-off. You turned from your position facing the mic stand to look at the guitarist, asking if they could be ready to do Straight Through The Heart by Dio. The guitarist smiled in response, and gave the instructions to the rest of the band, who quickly readied themselves for the performance.
The drummer opened the song, with the bassist following close behind as the familiar tune filled the bar. It bounced off the walls, shaking the entire stage, giving you the perfect swirl of adrenaline and arrogance that you needed just to prove your point. As quickly as you had found your way onto the stage mere minutes ago, the stage persona you had came amplified by tenfold. You held the mic stand with a feverish ownership as the lyrics started. Your gravelly, charged entrance of the lyrics filled the room, and by this point a good majority of the audience finally realized exactly who you were and what you were doing.
"Hanging from the cobwebs in your mind, looks like a long, long way to fall-"
The lights in the room filtered around the ever-growing smoke. You leaned into this, the grit and tactile feel of the entire bar helping you personify this rockstar fantasy that you could feel the audience ruminating on. The cover band already had begun to feel it too, and you could tell in the way that they were playing that they were already feeding off of your energy. You continued on with the song, unhooking the mic from its stand to give yourself the opportunity to walk around the stage. You began to find yourself walking closer to the edge of the wooden stage, leaning over the lip to give a teasing laugh to the crowd of people gathered there.
"Living in a world of make believe, I can hide behind what's real-"
You moved from the edge of the stage to find yourself coming up to the lead guitarist on your left. You leaned into him, and he matched your energy, playing a riff even more dramatically as you leaned into his side, letting your touch become glaringly obvious to the audience. Your manager would hate you for starting a tabloid romance rumor about someone in a cover band you had never even spoken to, but you didn't exactly care about the consequences right now. The concoction of adrenaline and alcohol was enough to make you forget for just a second that you had a brand to uphold. Right now, all that mattered to you was that this was your audience, your band, your voice, and that you had been right.
"Oh, never tell a secret with your eyes, it's the eyes that let you down-"
You found your way back to center stage, and began grazing over the audience again before finding your table. You skimmed your eyes over the 7 of them, never landing eyes with one, but feeling their stares. You could feel Eddie's gaze burning daggers into you. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, almost pouting as you gleamed on the stage. Unlike Eddie, his bandmates were joining yours in a tipsy tirade of cheering, laughing, and singing along. So, to add to the flames, you pointed over to your group, letting your lyrics fill the air like bullets.
As the song continued, you found yourself getting lost in the ambience you had created. Sure, you found yourself feeling this way during your own performances, but it had been a very long time since you had felt this kind of rocker high. You hadn't had this kind of malevolent passion since you were performing in college bars and doing garage shows, and the metal grit was an all new mouth-feel for you. It almost hypnotized you, like if the soul of some damned rockstar had possessed you and was angry that you hadn't let him perform sooner. A guitar solo began, and you continued with your chemistry with the cover band. You danced along with the lead guitarist and bassist, their energy more and more matching yours. It all was infectious, the crowd beginning to feed off of it all and cheer louder and louder as the performance drew on.
By the time the song had finally finished, you found yourself back at the mic stand, hair thrown around and your chest slightly heaving. You could feel the full air filling your lungs again, and the spell you had been put under slightly broke. You scanned the crowd again before setting your sights back on Eddie, the glinting smile you had at the start of the performance returning to your face.
"Let's hear it for the cover band!" you yelled out, and the audience broke out into an eruption of cheers that you hadn't heard at all since you stepped into the dive bar.
The cover band seemed ecstatic. They revelled in the applause as it spurred on while you began to find your way offstage and back to your table. By the time you had made it back, another shot had been prepared for you, this time a much larger one than your first. You never lost your smug smile when finding your seat next to Thomas.
"Was that enough rock and roll for you, Munson?" you questioned, "Or should I go back up there and perform like a pop singer again?"
Your pointed comments clearly dug under his skin. He glared daggers at you from across the table, huffing in response to your comments, but clearly at a loss of words. It was as if he was trying to completely read you, but just couldn't get through even the first chapter of the book. Continuing to relish in your apparent win, you threw back the hefty shot, doing your best to not give any facial reaction as you slammed the glass back down on the table.
This arms race had just begun, and you felt nothing short of a politician high with your apparent win of the first battle.
Hours passed again and what you initially thought would be a more calm bar night turned into a ravenous one. It was as if your rockstar possession from your performance with the cover band had infected the rest of the seven individuals you were with, Eddie included. More and more drinks were passed around, fans came by often and asked for autographs, and many more songs were shouted around the table. The high still hadn't completely worn down, adrenaline sizzling under your skin as it mingled with more and more alcohol. It was sweetly sickening, almost to the point of making you nauseated. So, you decided to take a breather, getting up from your seat and letting Thomas know that you were stepping out of the bar for a quick smoke break.
The side alley of The Leopard was dimly lit, with the exception of the gleam of the neon sign on the front of the building buzzing softly. It was as expected, and would work perfectly fine for you to have a chance to fully breathe. You leaned your back against the chipped brick wall on the side of the building before reaching into the top section of your boots, fishing out a carton of Camels. You pulled out a singular cigarette before replacing the carton, only to find yourself without a way to even light it.
"Need a light?"
You whipped your head to where the sound had come from, only to find Eddie next to you with a zippo in hand. A sly smirk etched across his face as he looked you up and down.
You nodded wordlessly, the air feeling thick between the two of you. You couldn't exactly place why, but between the irritability, the pride, and the passion for your own respective performance, the ambience between you two being alone felt thick enough to cut with a knife. You closed the space between the two of you by bringing your unlit cigarette to the open flame of the zippo lighter before pulling back. Without breaking eye contact, you took a long drag before blowing the smoke out, the tips of the cloud swirling around the two of you.
"You know," Eddie started, shoving the zippo into the pocket of his leather jacket and leaning back into the space of the brick wall next to you, "You didn't have to try so hard to show me up in there."
"Oh but I did, Munson," you teased, "I've got to get you used to hearing the applause for the performance after yours."
You held out the lit cigarette for him, and he scoffed as he took it from you. Taking a long drag of it, he blew out the smoke much faster and harsher than you did initially.
"I still think you're a poser," he quipped.
"So, I'm a poser who sells out every performance she plays, huh," you laughed a little, "I knew they didn't hire you for brains."
"No," he continued, passing back the cigarette and turning towards you, leaving minimal space between the two of you as he never broke his gaze from yours, "You're good. It's just not actually you."
Silence fell between the two of you for a second. Smoke enveloped you, but even through it you could smell his faint cologne and worn leather. The familiar adrenaline-loathing mix pumped under your skin again, making you itch with fevered anticipation.
You scoffed in response, "Enlighten me, Eddie. What exactly is 'me' then?"
"You've got the voice, the stage presence, the talent," he begins, closing the space between the two of you even more, to the point that your chests are almost touching, "But you're playing a part, it's not real."
You squinted a bit in response to his statement, looking up at him with your jaw tightly gritted. A beat passed before you let out a low chuckle, one laced with thick pride and arrogance.
"Says the frontman of a glorified Metallica cover band who insults his boss's precious little "princess" just to feel like a big man," you remarked.
It was clear that comment tipped him over an edge. All of your comments before this had been jaded banter, but between the alcohol and the adrenaline, that comment caused this to shift into something more sinister, something darker.
"You think you've got me pegged, huh," he snarked out, taking a step towards you as you followed by taking one backwards towards the corner of the alley, "You don't know shit about me."
"You don't know shit about me, Munson," you replied, "But every time you open your loud-mouth, you seem to think you do."
At this point, you had made your way to find your back against the corner of the alleyway, the space between you and Eddie closing slowly. The cigarette you held had long been dropped, lost in your trance of loathing and resentment. His eyes matched yours, never breaking sight of yours and gleaming with dark intimidation. It was a pissing game, and neither one of you was going to back down. He took another step forward, close enough that you could feel his whiskey coated breath hit your face as he leaned in close enough to find himself hovering over your ear.
"Careful now," he whispered gravely, "You keep talking like that, people might think you're threatened by me."
A slight laugh, one caked in sarcasm and slight confusion, escaped you. He remained close as he pulled away from beside your ear to face you again, foreheads mere inches apart. You locked eyes with him again, and it felt like you could see a bonfire behind his eyes. It was as if time stopped, and the world was just the two of you in that dingy side alley at each other's throats.
Something mixed in with the lowering of your inhibitions from the alcohol took over. You knew it was against your better judgement, against every feeling of loathing and annoyance you had felt with him that night. It was as if he was daring you, continuing to show you that you may have won the bet he placed earlier, but you would lose this one. And you simply couldn't have that.
You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the muffled beat coming from the bar, but it was almost impossible with the heat coming from between the two of you. Deep down, you knew doing it would admit not just defeat, but would spur so many other issues to come with it.
Everything was screaming inside you to push him away, to slap him or shove him or scream at him. But yet, some little voice in you was screaming at you, you just let go, to entertain the idea of plunging straight into the high that you had been chasing all night.
So you did. You pulled him into you by the collar of his worn leather jacket, enveloping the two of you in heat once you made contact. It was rough and gritty, like you were both trying to rip off pieces of each other. A clashing of teeth and tongues, your hands still firmly grasping onto his collar while he found their way to making nail sized indents into your hips. Whatever modesty your miniskirt had provided you was long gone as he dragged one hand to your thigh, raising your skirt up to plan a firm grasp on one of your legs and lift it around his waist.Your hands found your way to his face and hair, tangling your deep red nails into his mess of long dark curls. This tirade continued, the thump of the cover band through the walls feeling louder and louder as the two of you pushed the envelope more and more.
Until it ended just as quickly as it started. The dare was over, you had lost. You pulled away for air, one hand still on his throat and one in his hair. He still rested on your hip and leg, pressing you into the brick wall. Neither of you dared to move, both heaving slightly from the adrenaline and the shock of what you had just done.
You kept your eyes locked on his before leaning in to whisper in his ear, just as he had done minutes earlier to you.
"Maybe I am threatened by you Munson," you bit out, "But not for the reasons you think."
"What's that princess?" he gawked back, "Please enlighten me on how I threaten you."
"You're a disaster waiting to happen, and I'm not going to sit here and let it ruin my tour," you said slowly, moving a hand from his hair to his jawline, tracing a thumb across his cheek.
He let out a sarcastic chuckle before meeting your eyes again, something playful and daring flashing behind his.
"Sweetheart, you already have."
And with that, he was on you again like an animal. And you let him, matching his level of ferocity and pride. Your lipstick had been smudged beyond belief. Every pull for breath allowed both of you to see your respective blow-out eyes and bruised lips, hungry for something more. At this point, you were both trapped by one another. He had done so to you by pinning you harshly into the corner of the alleyway, and you did so by trapping him with the leg that he had been grasping onto like a lifeline. You knew that if anyone saw this, saw the two of you, it was over. First night of the tour and the frontman of Corroded Coffin had already drunkenly made out with the frontwoman of the band he was opening for, now that was a story the tabloids would love. Something in you yelled at you to stop, to use logic and realize that even if you didn't get caught, this would still be a problem not just for the rest of the tour, but the rest of your career. But that animalistic view in you took over. The adrenaline rush, the same one you had felt onstage with the cover band, came rushing in and swallowing you whole. It was like you were seventeen again, playing covers of The Rolling Stones in Keith's garage while his parents were out of town. It was rebellious, it was screaming and shouting and smashing your old Beatles vinyls out of defiance because why the hell not? It felt like deciding to just pack up and move out one day instead of telling your parents you had landed a record deal and were going on your first tour at nineteen. It was invigorating, it was stupid, but it was yours. Just like that audience that you had at your gig tonight, like the audience in The Leopard, he was your audience right now. You didn't care if it was perfect or pleasant or proper, it was you, and he could either take it or fuck off.
You had made your way up Eddie's neck, practically gnawing at him, longing to chase the high you were feeling. He gave a low growl in response, pressing bruises into your leg with his calloused fingers. You could tell the feeling of fleeting was mutual, with the speed and intensity in his actions and yours showing just how stupid this whole choice was. But you didn't care at the moment, and clearly he didn't either.
But unfortunately, both you and Eddie were right. He was a disaster waiting to happen, and you had already let him in. In fact, you had let him in the moment you allowed the knowledge of his comment about you to Keith bother you. You had practically swung the doors wide open by proving you had something he didn't with your little performance stunt in the bar. You were not only proving that you were right, but that he was too. If you were notorious for anything in the tabloids that you and your bandmates wouldn't deny, it was that you were too focused on the band to even begin to think about entertaining something or someone besides it. And you had kept true to that, since the day the band was formed at seventeen in Keith's mom's garage, to tonight's gig at the age of twenty-three. Not once since the formation of the group had you let anything distract you. You had dumped numerous people who threatened to take time away from the band, skipped classes and even doctors' appointments just to show up to rehearsals, much to your manager's dismay. You weren't just a rockstar, you were practically in a toxic relationship with the music.
You suppose this is probably where Eddie got the idea that you were some label polished rock sweet girl, trimmed perfectly around the edges to not push the boundary but to engage the fans. He deemed you more Blondie than Joan Jett, more like a Wham! version of a Megadeth album. Or he did, until this very moment, when he could practically feel the grittiness of your energy with every kiss.
Through the chaos, the mess unraveling right in your palms, you realized exactly why this couldn't happen. Sure, it couldn't because your label manager would say no, or the band would, or it would cause problems for the tour, or the fans could hate it. But selfishly, it ultimately couldn't happen because you couldn't, you wouldn't let him in. No one had been let in before, into the soul that you had learned to iron out and smooth across to garner to your ever growing audience. All eyes would always and forever be on you, and there was no way in hell that you could let someone, let anyone in. It would jeopardize too much. You could lose yourself, and most of all, lose the music. And who would you be without the music?
Eddie was the opposite. He was burnt edges and wrinkles and loud and commandeering. He didn't care about the press, the rules, or the labels. He just cared about passion, music, and talent. That factor had been working out in Corroded Coffin's favor ever since their initial kickoff. Their metal rock entrance and sheer lack of care ignited the fans and honestly, it reminded you a lot of your band when you had first started performing. Except now, you couldn't afford to not care. It all had to be put together, the thrill of the performance only came when you played the cards right and toned the talent properly. It couldn't come from sheer fate, it was a practiced art.
That was exactly why it could never work. You two were opposite forces. It would be a bomb waiting to happen upon the bands. But yet, the two of you continued. Or you did, until you couldn't anymore.
You pulled away for a moment before bringing your gaze back to Eddie's. "We can't do this."
He looked at you quizzically before giving a sarcastic smirk in response.
"Sweetheart, you're the one doing this."
You let his words linger in the air for a beat longer than you normally would. The stiff air was almost suffocating around you.
"This," you gestured to his grip on you, and yours on him, "Doesn't happen anymore. You're not going to mess this tour up with your lack of PR training and rockstar wet dreams."
He laughed at you a bit, breaking his stare from you. But as quickly as his laughter had started, it stopped abruptly. He leaned in closer, your foreheads touching in an almost vulnerable fashion, before he ruined it with another jab.
"Don't act like you're not just like me," he whispered out, almost as if he was afraid that what he said would cause you to disappear into thin air.
That hit. It festered under your skin like a disease waiting to be spread like wildfire across your body. It grew and grew in temperature until you felt like you were practically boiling under your skin. If you thought your resentment for Eddie Munson earlier was bad, seeing him now uttering those words, eyes blazen, lips covered in smears of your lipstick and neck beginning to grow dark bruises, your irritation had grown into full blown anger.
"I'm nothing like you Munson," you snarled out as you shoved him off of you in an attempt to regain soundness in your thoughts, "Unlike you, this tour is for me and my band. The only reason you're here is because I allow you to be."
"Well, I'm thankful the sell-out deemed me and my band profitable enough for your dying rock image," he quipped back.
Suddenly the wall that had been blown to oblivion a matter of mere seconds ago was completely rebuilt. Except this time, it was fortified, rigid and glooming. Standing feet away from him in the alleyway, the long forgotten cigarette from earlier crushed underneath your boots from where you stood. You could still feel the buzz of his hands on you, of his presence enveloping you. It mingled sickeningly with the itching anger underneath your skin, like a feverish encore.
"I know you have some decided conception of whatever you think I am, but just so you know, not all of us can afford to keep living in naive dreams of what this lifestyle really looks like," you barked out, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Just because you got some fame doesn't mean you have to completely lose your actual talent!"
"I didn't lose it! I just can't exactly do whatever I want with my talent and say fuck-all if the fans don't like it! This is my job!"
"This is my job too," he retorted, "I'm just not completely focused on what the fans and label wants because I'm actually good at what I do."
You stared him up and down, letting silence ring out over his last response. It seemed like he almost instantly regretted letting it speak out. His harsh expression faltered for a second, almost looking apologetic before regaining composure.
"Fuck you Munson," you spoke in a gravelly, straight tone before beginning to walk away from the alley and back to the door for the bar. Your face flushed from the wave of frustration and shocking amount of hurt that you were experiencing. For whatever reason, his words stung more than any stupid tabloid cover story about you that you had read. For whatever reason, what he said actually mattered to you.
You didn't bother to look back to see if he was following you or not. You figured you'd either see him at the table in the bar in a few minutes or you'd see him on the tour bus in the morning, otherwise you were dreading it. So you had decided to forget about that entire interaction, or at least attempt to get it, get him off your mind. Drinking excessively in one night wasn't entirely new for you, but you typically didn't do so with a gig the next day. Special circumstances require special accommodations, you thought.
That mindset is what led you to find yourself five more drinks deep by the time Eddie had rejoined the group inside the bar. Most of the band had already been pretty well indulged into their drinks when you had come back, but with your efforts to get them to match your energy, it seemed as though the entire group was racing one another to see who could drink more. Shots kept getting sent to your table. Fans filtered back and forth between members begging for photographs and autographs. Songs were requested by the cover band. Drinks kept and kept coming.
Eddie slipped into the group's energy silently. Thankfully, no one was really attentive or sober enough to notice how long he had been gone, nor had they noticed with you. It wasn't immediately noticed when he had returned, except for by you. Even through the thick mask of drunkenness and smoke, your eyes landed on him once he returned to his seat. You gave him a sloppy look over, glaringly obvious to him, noticing the dark bruises beginning to bloom across his neck. Your lipstick still stained not just his neck, but his lips, and he only really took notice of it once he realized this was exactly what you were staring at. He wiped his lips and threw back his drink, never breaking eye contact until his glass was empty. He then joined in conversation with Gareth, as if you had never existed.
The two bands spent hours in the bar, something you typically would have ended a lot sooner considering you all had a gig the next day. But at this point in the night, you couldn't feel anything but dread for closing time and returning to your hotel room. It meant you had to be alone with your thoughts, your questions, your anger, your loathing. Filling it with lowered inhibitions and meaningless laughter was just a way to dull the adrenaline that no longer felt good, it felt like a curse.
-
Once The Leopard had officially begun closing, you knew the moments would become blur after blur with the way the room spun. You weren't quite completely gone from the drinking, but you were certainly a lot drunker than you had intended to be. In fact, everyone was, and that was cemented even more when you found yourself holding back Keith's hair in the bushes outside of the bar.
"M'good," Keith slurred out from his kneeled spot on the ground, "I don't need h-help."
You giggled out as he tried desperately to stand, only to stumble and be caught by Thomas. He slung one of Keith's arms over his shoulder, and you attempted to join him by putting Keith's other arm on your shoulder.
The walk back to the hotel was filled with drunken laughter and singing. Even though you were helping Keith, your side step and tripping on your own feet only worsened as the 8 of you all walked. This was most likely due to the 3 shots you took before leaving the bar, you thought, but what's the harm? All the drinks did exactly as you wanted them to, they helped you distract yourself. Mission accomplished.
Or at least, you thought it was successful until you made it to the hotel. While the majority of the members were all shuffling off to bed, finding themselves to the elevator as quick as possible to avoid Keith vomiting all over the hotel lobby, you made your way to the still open bar. You planned to only have a drink or two, then shuffle off to bed in an attempt to avoid any clarity of mind that night. You knew you couldn't afford that, if you went to bed now you'd still be sober enough to stay up all night and let the anger fester. You found yourself waltzing very ungracefully into the dimly lit hotel bar, flagging the bartender down for a whiskey sour, and planting yourself in one of the pristine stools.
The drink and the silence were a deafening mix. Or they were, until an even more deafening voice broke the spell of silence you had fallen under.
"Still drinking this late?"
You gritted your teeth upon realization of who it was. Eddie planted himself in the stool next to you, setting his drink on the bartop next to yours.
You didn't even turn to him, just picked up your half finished drink and swirled the ice around in the glass. "Not exactly tired."
"That so?" he grinned a bit, and you could feel his smugness without even having to see it etched on his face.
You finally turned towards him. He was undeniably close, and the thick air had returned from its fleeting state it occupied earlier. The same itch under your skin heightened, and you could tell he felt it too. The energy from the alleyway was once again upon you, scratching at the two of you like feral cats. The shit-eating grin from earlier bloomed across his face. Instead of grimacing at it this time, you just matched it, laying that out as your response to his question.
You woke up to orangey sunlight filtering through the split in the hotel curtains. It must've still been early, you assumed. A pounding headache instantly began pestering you, thumping behind your eyes and temples. You moved to sit up a bit, to check the time on the alarm clock, but not only was there some sort of weight on you that kept you from moving, but the alarm clock clearly wasn't on this side of the bed. In your half awake, half hungover daze, you lifted the blanket to find the source of the weight, only to realize it was an arm clung tightly around your waist. To top it off, you realized you weren't even on the side of the bed you always slept on, the one nearest to the alarm clock, you were on the other side.
You sat up precariously but quickly, bringing the arm off of you. That's when you noticed your outfit from last night strewn across the floor. You could already see a giant tear in your fishnet tights. If you weren't already upset about one of your favorite pairs of fishnets being ruined, the realization of your situation absolutely ruined your mood. The leather jacket and Motley Crue tee thrown on top of your clothing confirmed it. The arm draped across your waist minutes ago should've confirmed it. His still asleep form next to you in your hotel bed completely made it undeniable. But god, did you wish there was a way to deny it.