Revel

by Shey Stahl

  Cliff, who’d been standing by the door with security, moves between Revel and Hensley who are only feet apart. He motions for Hensley to move to the other couch across from us and no longer sitting on Hardin’s lap. “That’s enough. No talking between you two.” Sighing, he runs his hand through his thick black hair, looking around the bus as if he’s thinking of drawing lines between people. “This is going to be a disaster.”

  “I agree,” Revel announces, lighting a cigarette. He rubs his hand along his stubbly jaw, focusing his weary gaze on everyone but me. “Drop me off in Vegas.”

  Cliff takes Revel’s cigarette and tosses it in the sink. “We’re not going that way.”

  “Bummer.”

  Cliff points to Hensley. “Don’t talk to him. At all.”

  “Yeah, don’t talk to me, whore,” Revel mumbles, holding his cell phone up and placing earbuds in his ears.

  She disregards his anger, or completely ignores it. Crossing her arms over her small chest, Hensley rolls her eyes. I don’t think I ever realized how tiny Hensley is. While I’m about 5’ 7”, I think Hensley’s barely 5’ 2”. No wonder she always looked so tiny compared to Revel and the rest of the band she’s been constantly photographed with over the years.

  Anxiety gnaws at me when I think of her and the rumors that surround her and my dad. I just. . . I can’t even comprehend, to begin to understand, or have the guts to ask her about it.

  SHE’S OFF LIMITS

  REVEL

  Revved just came off a worldwide tour where we hadn’t been in the States for close to a year. In that time, life changed for me. Again. Remember when I said that first tour when I was seventeen changed me? This change was different. It was the end of relationships. My manager, girlfriend, brother. . . all changed in a matter of a year.

  I don’t want to think about it. In fact, I won’t. I’ll do anything not to think about it. I’ll take anything: drugs, alcohol, anything. Somewhere along the way, it became normal to use Adderall, coke, AMBIEN. Anything and everything was at my disposal. As with most people in my industry, they get sick of everything around them, including themselves, and being high and oblivious is the only way to deal with it. I didn’t want to stay awake, yet I feared sleep just as much.

  I don’t want to talk about my brother dying a month ago. I know, just sorta tossed that one in there for you, but to be fair, I didn’t know Grant. Not like I know my other brothers. In fact, I can’t tell you a goddamn thing about Grant other than he had hard blue eyes marred with disapproval, and hardly ever smiled. As a child, I feared him, knowing I was simply a burden for him. An appendage he didn’t want.

  I don’t want to talk about my parents dying when I was four and not having a single memory of them.

  I don’t want to talk about my childhood and being called an orphan. The other kids around town knew I was this crazy fucker who never left music class. Truth is, I knew I was going to be someone someday. There was never a doubt in my mind.

  I don’t want to talk about the sickening feeling I experienced knowing the one person I trusted the most betrayed me. I don’t want to tell you about the ugly details and the better part of me that doesn’t think I can get over it. I know the unrelenting dragon on my back refuses to let her have the last word. As an artist, a man, I want a reaction.

  I also don’t know where I was when negotiations or any talk of this tour was done, but I’m beginning to think maybe I should have paid attention. More than likely, I was in the room. At least, my body was while my mind was somewhere I would rather be. Anywhere but in that room. Probably had something to do with the flask in my pocket, but whatever. I think I’m a highly functional drunk. There are a ton of people who would probably disagree with this, including my liver, but you know, my liver and me have an understanding you know nothing about.

  This tour, to me, it’s bullshit because I’m surrounded by everyone I don’t want to deal with. I can’t fucking stand looking at Hensley. She makes me sick. Breckin, fuck that pitch-correcting motherfucker. And Taylan, or Red as I like to refer to her, she’s related to the one man I’d like to murder.

  I do, however, love performing. It’s an out-of-body experience that no drug can provide, a high I can’t explain accurately, other than it’s damn near as good as sex. Not quite, but a similar satisfaction.

  Liz elbows me. “Are you paying attention to any of this?”

  It’s around five thirty, and we’re set to go on at nine. That’s all I know. “Nope.” With the same nervous energy I experience before going on stage buzzing through my veins, I pat my pockets for my cigarettes. “Not a goddamn word of it.”

  Tucking her cell phone in her back pocket, her eyes lock on Deacon and Hardin in the distance, both standing next to Red and her assistant like they’re fresh meat. “Figures.”

  Looking around the room only reminds me of that stupid radio station interview yesterday, and the universe keeps slapping me in the face with examples of how I have no control over anything anymore. And this tour is only one of many. One Vibe. Even the name of the tour kinda pisses me off. I don’t know why, and I still don’t understand the meaning behind it, but regardless, I’m here for the first show with six other bands and artists at the Moda Center in Portland.

  I look out in the distance. A layered cotton sky stretches over the city. Rain coats the tour buses, beading down blacked-out windows, the air stoic and stuffy. Dozens, if not hundreds of people surround me, making the over-sized conference area feel claustrophobic. From tour managers, artists, band members, road crews. . . they all have something they’re doing. I’ve played here a dozen times I suppose, and faced the prying eyes of the press on more than a few occasions, back when it used to be the Rose Garden, but you know my memory. Can’t exactly tell you much about it.

  What I can tell you is the princess is staring at me. I hate the doe-eyed look she has and the gentle shade of green that holds my attention longer than she deserves. I hate that her innocence makes me feel unclean, tainted by the choices that haven’t always been mine to make. But whatever, I’m Revel Slade, overlord of the depraved, or the prince of darkness, depending on who you ask. The last thing I am is innocent.

  In front of us, front and center in the room, the promoter goes over the lineup for tonight, his voice distinct, projected crisply through the conversations.

  “What’s this about?” I ask Liz, who’s elbowing me to pay attention.

  “Her or this show?”

  You’d probably be interested to know the woman she’s referring to is the wrong one. She thinks I’m focused on Hensley, the one who destroyed me, but you might be interested to know it’s Red controlling my mood today. Beauty bleeds from her veins, completely oblivious to the real problems in the world and the ones able to rip your virtue from your heart and set the motherfucker on fire. I bet she is a virgin. I can’t imagine her lying on her back letting someone shove their cock inside her.

  Clenching my jaw, I scowl in the distance. Annoyance hits me. I don’t want to think of her like that, dirtied and defiled by the likes of Breckin fucking Thomas. If that fucker was any more plastic, he’d be Tupperware. I tell myself I don’t care if she’s a virgin or not.

  Unfortunately, I’m lying. Truth is ever since she stood and watched that groupie deep throat my cock, I haven’t been able to get Red’s perfectly pouty mouth and round innocent green eyes off my mind. The thought of fisting my hands in that wild mess of red hair while she gags on my cum has me bothered in more ways than one.

  Smoothing out my wrinkled and disheveled clothes, I lift my heavy stare to hers. “You know what I’m talking about?” Reaching for the bottle in front of me, I mask my anxiety with indifference and vodka from a water bottle. “Why would fans pay to see rock and country in the same concert?”

  “It’s about mixing genres, crossing boundaries and showing the world that musically, we can come together.”

  She sounds like a politician. I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to come together with
anyone. If anyone comes, it’ll be me.”

  Laughing, Liz gathers her phone from the table. “You’re not afraid of a little risk, are you?”

  Avoiding eye contact, I simply raise my eyebrows. Is she fucking serious? Me worried about risk? I once went on stage completely fucking naked. Clearly I’m not worried about much of anything, especially risk.

  Our eyes lock, but I don’t answer her. “Sound check is in an hour. Breckin goes on first, then Hensley, Revved, then followed by the remainder of the acts.”

  “Who goes on after us?”

  There’s a noticeable pause as Liz contemplates her response. Blowing out a quick breath, she answers in passing with, “Taylan.”

  The princess of pop is going on right after the biggest rock band in the world? I almost feel bad for her.

  “No, man. I’m fucking serious,” Cruz says, dragging my attention his way, his drumsticks in hand playing a beat against the table across from me. “Eat celery. It has water in it and triples your supply.”

  Hardin’s curiosity piques. “Like how much we talking about here?”

  “The whole damn thing.”

  His eyes widen. “What?”

  “The entire bunch. And pineapple juice. An entire bottle.”

  Given his distaste for vegetables, Hardin shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus fuck. I won’t be able to stomach all that.”

  “Then I guess you won’t be painting the bitch creamy, will ya?”

  Part of me wonders if the way he’s looking at Red means he’s planning on painting her with his spunk. I don’t like the idea of it. In fact, it pisses me off to the point where I glance over at her again. I don’t want to look at her, let alone hold any possessiveness over her.

  Distaste clouds my vision as I lock eyes with the princess herself and I catch the trail of pink as it creeps across her ivory skin, adding to the air of purity surrounding her. It pisses me off more, and I tear my eyes away from hers just long enough to flick my still-lit cigarette onto the concrete floor, smashing it with my boot. Predictably, and feeling anxious and wired, I sigh, like I can’t be bothered and look away. “What the fuck are you looking at?” I ask when she refuses to break eye contact. I arch one eyebrow, exhaling smoke through my nose, my eyes hooded with boredom.

  Princess swallows, adjusting the locks of her hair behind her ear. “Why are you so goddamn mean to me?”

  Laughter pushes through my lips, and I exhale a puff of smoke through my nose. “Because I think you could probably suck dick better than you sing.” I know I’m rude, arrogant, and there’s nothing you can say that I haven’t heard before.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  Though I know I shouldn’t have said those things to her, I don’t take them back. Looking around, I can’t understand why so many people need to be on stage with her. Was this a circus? “What’s with all the dancers? You puttin’ on a Broadway musical or some shit?”

  Her wild mane of red curls are shockingly vibrant against her green dress and thick black eyelashes. She looks like a goddamn Christmas ornament. “Why does it matter to you?” Unable to offer me any more of an explanation, she shrugs. “It’s a show.”

  A soft stroke trails down across my neck as Hensley breathes into my ear causing my stomach to roil in disgust. “It’s show business. It’s all about the show, isn’t it, babe?”

  Her voice bleeds through me, seeping into my bones and poisoning my soul like a dead weight I can’t shake. She’s like a burn deep in your skin you can’t get rid of, always there to remind you of how you let your guard down. My jaw clenches. You know, when I told her I never wanted to see her fucking face again, apparently she didn’t listen. Stepping away from her grasp, I growl, “Don’t touch me,” as I scowl, contempt oozing from me.

  Stepping closer to invade Red’s space, I lean in. Seeing her teeth sink into her lower lip makes my cock jolt to life, and I whisper, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Red. You don’t need a show if you have something to say,” before moving around her in passing.

  As you can guess, when I look over my shoulder at her, my presence affecting her, nervousness seems to bleed from her, and she stutters and shifts her stance. The look on her face is somewhere between anger and horror, and here I am casually smiling. Her eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, hell, she’s gonna bite her goddamn lip off. Maybe she hasn’t spent a lot of time having conversations with alcoholic rock stars who have emotional inconsistencies.

  The moment I create distance, heavy footsteps thud behind me. “What’s with you and princess?” Hardin asks, catching up with me.

  I might have mentioned this in passing but, I’m not one to talk about my feelings, or anything really. Fuck that bullshit. And yeah, I’ve known Hardin a while and if by chance I was going to talk to anyone, it’d be him or Cruz, but I’m not, so I deflect. “What are you talking about?”

  Scratching the back of his head, he nods to Red, all eyes on the shiny new toy amongst us. “You’re looking at her like you’re gonna fuck the innocence out of her.”

  Christ, watch her. She’s fidgeting and looks as if she’s going to throw up all over her dancers. She’s completely out of place, and untouchable. She’s half goddess, half hell.

  Turning toward him, I smile, masking my anger with a veneer of boredom. “Let me make this simple. She’s off limits.”

  He snorts, rolling his eyes. “To everyone except you.”

  “Especially me.”

  Taylan Ash is the last person I need to get involved with.

  Intent on heading to the dressing room, hoping that bottle of vodka I requested is there, Hensley follows me. “Wait up!”

  I don’t.

  “Revel. Wait. Up!”

  I whirl to face her outside the dressing room. “Why?” I snap, unleashing another scowl her way.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem?” As much as I want to hide my insecurities under a mask of indifference from her, she knows me better than anyone, and I can’t hide anything.

  “Yes.” She stands before me, looking me in the eye this time. She’s stage ready, I suppose, caked in thick makeup with thick lashes plastered to her eyes. “Your problem. I’m trying to be nice to you.”

  Shoving my hands in my pockets—because if I don’t, I might strangle her—I lay my head back against the wall behind me and look down at her. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you trying to be nice to me?”

  Her eyes dart to the wall behind me. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because you fucked another man and got pregnant.”

  “You act like you were faithful the entire time we were together.”

  This is where she’s wrong. I met Hensley when I was eighteen and she was sixteen. We started fucking soon after, but we weren’t together exclusively until she was over eighteen and living with me. For the past two goddamn years, I only fucked her. Did you hear me?

  Do you understand the significance of that?

  She clearly didn’t because I had women throwing their cunts at me and for two motherfucking years I denied them because of this slut in front of me.

  Clenching my jaw, the anger inside me builds. “Leave me alone.” I turn, attempting to get away, but she takes hold of my jacket.

  I don’t budge. I never do.

  “Are you talking to her to get back at me?” she asks, her voice wavering.

  I don’t turn around because I know what she’s referring to, but then I think to myself, she needs to hear exactly what I’m thinking. Spinning to face her, I prop my shoulder against the doorframe, folding my arms over my chest. “So by me telling her she probably sucks cock better than she sings, which, if we’re honest here, I can and probably will find out whenever the fuck I want to.” I pause, each one of my words filling her heart with a lost love she had, but never will again. “But you think because of that, I’m doing it to hurt you because after all, it’s her dad who went and ruined us, am I right?” She do
esn’t nod, fuck, she doesn’t even breathe, but her eyes flood with tears. “Is that even an accurate thing to say though? Did he really have anything to do with it? You’re the one who spread your legs and fucked him, so really, it’s all on you, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t understand why you’re being so mean to me all the time. I was honest with you when I said I was sorry. I meant it.” She swallows, her voice shaking. “We used to be friends.”

  “Had you come to me and said ‘hey, I wanna see other people,’ I wouldn’t have cared. Yet you purposely went behind my back with the one person I can’t fucking stand.”

  Hensley shakes her head, like she can’t believe what I’m saying. “You can’t stand anyone these days, Revel.”

  “Yeah, and you’re pretty high on that list now.”

  “But she’s not?”

  I know exactly what she’s getting at. “Go away.”

  “I’m serious. You used to fucking hate her. I don’t get it.”

  “And I used to love you. Feelings change.”

  I don’t wait for her response and instead slam the door in her face. Same thing I did to her when she told me she slept with Jory and managed to get pregnant with his kid when I was touring Europe. Fuck this bitch. If I want to get back at her, and him, I will, but it won’t be because of them, or in spite of them.

  Here’s some truth for you though. If you ever want to start a war, kidnap the princess. The king will start one for you.

  Let me tell you one other important piece of advice, or warning. I’m fucking manic and can flip that switch on fast.

  Dressing rooms come in all different sizes and styles, depending on the venue. Rugs laid over concrete floors and walls draped with material. Tables laid out with drinks and food, and dozens of bodies occupying a space. They’re all the same in the matter of their purpose. A place where the band can relax before the show and prepare.

  Though I’m always prepared, I don’t relax. I’m not sure I’m capable of it any longer. Even after the bottle of vodka in my hand is half empty, I’m not relaxed. I’m on edge and unsure.