by Nora Flite
I was being worshiped.
He was being cursed.
In my soul, I was sure Johnny Muse loathed me.
“Hey.” Brenda flicked her cell shut. “Hey, Lola. Snap out of it. You okay?”
My head moved, neither up or down. I didn't know if I was okay or not. I went with a white lie. “I'll be fine. It's just weird to see him like that. What was... did he get arrested? What happened, when was that?”
We both heard her phone buzzing in her purse; she didn't move to retrieve it. “I'd say you should check the internet for once, but honestly? I'd rather you didn't see what people were saying about you and Drezden.” My mouth twisted at her comment, but she only pressed on with a groan. “This band is going to kill me from stress. Johnny sort of... after he got kicked out so unceremoniously, he tried to get in touch with me. He called me from prison—”
“Prison!?”
She hushed me, looking around at the milling, mostly empty store. “Jesus, not so loud. It's not as bad as it sounds. That time, I mean. They just took him in the night Drez hit him, he was wasted and going insane so the cops just put him in a cell to sober up. He called me around six in the morning the next day. Of course, I already knew about the whole situation by then.”
Everything I'd heard about Johnny and Drezden had been in regards to the fight. The aftermath had escaped my mind. “What did he say to you?”
“Just tried to talk me into overruling Drez.” Those strawberry lips quirked. “I knew better than that. Drez formed this band, keeping Johnny in would have just made it all fall apart permanently.” Her tiny smile melted away. “I sent someone to bail him out after we signed your contract. There was never any clause saying we couldn't kick him—or anyone—out.”
My fingers curled, recalling how the pen had felt when it ran over those crisp white papers. “You waited to bail him out till the bus had left for a reason, didn't you?”
Thin eyebrows flitted over the rims of her glasses. “I knew he was angry. Figured it was safe to get out of there. But honestly, I never thought Johnny would do anything. He's immature, not dangerous.”
“You thought he would cause trouble, though.”
“Trouble as in causing a scene.” Brenda pushed the cart of groceries towards the front of the store. I followed behind, bending in to hear her low grumble. “Which he did last night.”
Last night. Those words didn't give me the same warm thrill they had before. No, now they sent tremors down my spine. “Tell me what he did.”
Her jaw, normally such a elegant curve, hardened. “The idiot got drunk, no surprise there, and caused a brawl trying to get into the club you and Drez were at. Maybe it's lucky that you two left before he arrived.”
I covered my mouth, eyeballs painfully strained. “He what?”
“Got drunk. Punched a security officer.” The cart bumped into the check-out counter. Brenda turned one spiked heel, leaning in so close I could smell her minty breath. “When I told Drezden I could smooth over the gossip about you and him, I meant it. Johnny's insanity will be just as much of a headline. He's probably sitting in jail again right now.”
“Why probably?”
Digging her phone from her purse, Brenda sighed. “Well, because I'm not the one bailing him out this time. He didn't bother to call me. I was trying to get word just now about the mess, if the guard is pressing charges or what.” She waved the phone at me, the screen glowing. “So far, no one can tell me what's up.”
Not knowing where Johnny Muse was... it was as good as a punch to the gut. “Should we call Drezden and warn him?” I was already retrieving my cell phone.
She dropped a bag of apples onto the belt. The fruit made a vivid, heavy sound. “By now, the guys have told him everything. They were both at the club when Johnny showed up.”
I wanted to ask more, but my manager had turned towards the cheerful face of the cashier. They both wore false smiles, chattering away with pointless pleasantries as the numbers on the register stacked up.
Reaching down, I lifted a plastic container of coffee grinds from the cart. My goal was to stay busy, to just move to keep myself from dwelling on the foreboding news.
It was no use, I kept picturing Drez's face.
When telling me about the former guitarist, he'd looked like a bushel of snakes waiting to strike. That had been days ago. What would be his reaction right now? What was he thinking, knowing about the close call between us and a confrontation with Johnny Muse?
Pushing back my hair, I inhaled until my stomach swelled. Brenda is right. It's good we weren't there when everything went down.
Drezden said he'd ruin Johnny if he ever saw him again.
I believed it for the oath it was.
Chapter Two.
Drezden
Coffee dripped on my shoes. It stained my jeans, burned where it had soaked through to my skin. Everything screamed for me to find cold water, a towel, anything.
I didn't fucking care.
“Whoa, Drez!” Porter stammered, hands raised while he stood nervously in the middle of the aisle. “Holy shit! Calm down man, let me get you a rag or—or something.”
“Tell me again.” There was a quiet threat on my tongue. Porter and Colt had heard it before; the wary look in both their faces said enough.
The drummer remained in his seat. I could tell from the tightness around his eyes that he was doing his best to control the adrenaline flooding his veins. “I said you missed the action last night. Yeah, you fucking heard me. Johnny came around looking for you.”
Johnny. Johnny Johnny Johnny. The crushed Styrofoam cup fell from my fist. The noise it made when it landed was hollow. “That's what I thought you said.” That piece of shit actually dared to show his face. Did he want to fight, to get back at me for kicking him out? Wiping my palms on my shirt, I debated reaching for my cigarettes.
It wouldn't have done any good if I had.
After Lola, last night, I hadn't bothered to replace my empty pack. Lola. Imagining her face was enough to turn my rage into something just as heated, yet different. Johnny thinks he can just waltz in after a show as good as last night and—what? Try and change my mind?
The idea was ridiculous.
Lola is the best replacement I could have dreamed of. I dug my nails into my shoulder. I wanted to pretend they were hers, that she was clawing at me desperately like she had this morning. Knowing the girl wasn't here, on my bus, was a stab of rust in my blood. And Johnny would dare fucking show up and interrupt— A sudden wave of anxiety dropped my jaw.
“Drez?” Porter risked coming closer, approaching like I was a time bomb. “Hey, you alright? Don't worry about anything. They arrested Johnny, he's probably sitting drunk in some cell, his usual motif. You know that.”
I heard him, but I was too busy working through my nugget of worry. Johnny might not have been there to see me. Cramps wormed into my guts. There's a chance he was looking...
Looking for Lola.
“Drez, man, snap out of it!” My bassist squeezed my shoulder. The touch sent me reeling, eyes focusing on his furrowed brow. If it weren't for the familiar worry in Porter's eyes, I would have pushed him off of me.
My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose. “I'm fine. Just pissed that Johnny would have the balls to show up like that.”
“It's not about balls,” Colt snorted. “He's always been a little nuts. I figured that was why you picked him originally.”
The reminder of choosing Johnny for the band didn't make me feel any better. I'd been sure he'd work out, he played better than anyone else who'd auditioned. That day, listening to the people who'd shown up in Colt's garage... We'd had so few people. Especially compared to the line fighting for a chance at the gas station on this tour.
If only Lola had shown up years ago.
Instead, her brother did. Pursing my lips, I brushed Porter off of me. Gripping a handful of napkins from a cupboard, I mopped at the coffee on my skin and clothes. “I was too optimistic back the
n.”
That had both of the boys laughing. “You think you were in a better mood then?” Porter shared a meaningful look with Colt, their grins baring their teeth. “Man, your memory is broken or something.”
“Yeah?” Throwing the wet paper at the bassist, I crossed my arms. “You think I'd bring on Johnny today with how he is?”
“I'm talking less about Johnny, and more about a certain someone bringing out a side of you I've never seen you show before,” Porter said.
With careful patience, I lowered my hands to my hips. “You want to lecture me like Brenda did?”
“You could use a lecture.” Colt rose up with a grunt. In a smooth motion, he swayed my way without a hint of fear in his eyes. If anything, he looked like he was judging me. “Maybe a few, now that I think about it.”
In that small corner of the bus, I felt the scrutinizing stares of my band mates. We'd spent so much time together, even before forming Four and a Half Headstones. Rarely did they come together or become so intense with me.
Whatever they wanted to say, I owed them my ear. “Say what's on your mind.” I shot a look from Colt to Porter. “Both of you. Just get it all off your fucking chests.”
Palming his skull, Colt grit his teeth in preparation. Porter's hand came down, landing on the drummer's shoulder and silencing him before he could make a noise. “Drez,” the bigger man said, “just tell us the truth. Is this thing—you and Lola—going to mess up the tour?”
“Not just the tour.” Colt jutted his chin at me. “Everything. You and her, you going to turn us into some shit show? Tear us apart and leave us as just another forgotten group with nothing to show for all of this?”
“Of course not!” I straightened, curls of electricity rushing up my spine. I wanted to do something with this energy, this angry flood of emotion, but there was no place to channel it. It left me on edge, molars creaking from clenching them. “You're actually worried I'd do something like that?”
Colt hunched his shoulders, reminding me of a vulture. “I don't know. Maybe not intentionally, but come on. She's been with us a few days, one single god damn show!” His voice rose, skin around his mouth going pale. “You couldn't keep your dick in your pants long enough for her to integrate with us better? What is it about her that's turned you so—so...”
“What?” I didn't remember stepping forward. My nose was mere inches from Colt's, blood thrumming in my temples. “Turned me so fucking what? Say it.”
He stared me down. I knew Porter was still beside us, but he didn't exist. It was just me and Colt, horns locked on the fringe of a fight. One beat, two beats; my heart counted as I waited for him to answer me. Unblinking, he finally did. “Selfish. You kicked Johnny out because he was putting this band at risk. Now you're willing to be the one who breaks us apart. Why? What changed?”
Even with all my built up rage, I had no answer. I sensed their surprise when I turned away, effectively walking from the challenge. He's right. When did I start caring more about getting what I want—no. I always chased what I wanted.
But when did that turn into Lola Cooper?
Like my bones had melted, I fell into a leather seat. “I don't know what changed. You're right,” I said, watching them both in resignation, “something has. But it doesn't matter. Call it selfish all you want, you'd be spot on. I want to have Lola and I want this band to succeed.”
Colt's fingers twitched at his sides. It was Porter who split the silence, his tone low and swimming with sadness. “Can you have both?”
It was the question I hadn't wanted to hear. “Yeah. I can.” There was a certainty in my response that didn't reflect my internal struggle.
Was it possible to have both Lola and my band?
If I had to choose between them—No. I don't need to choose.
I don't need to pick one or the other.
I fucking refuse to.
Exhaling loudly, Colt's skinny arms folded behind his head. “As long as I don't need to hear you and her banging at night on this bus, I'll zip my lips.”
It was as close to acceptance as I could expect from him right then. Grinning sideways, I helped break the tension. “No promises there.”
Porter laughed first. It was contagious, all of us letting the sound escape while discord evaporated from our bodies. It was a reminder that we were all friends. It was a reminder that I needed.
The drive was quiet, peaceful. With their worries spoken and the air cleared, we hung out on the bus and reveled in the comfortable quiet. The world rolled past, Colorado looking especially beautiful that sunny day.
Though I smiled at Colt's jokes, or shared eye-rolls with Porter when the drummer fell flat, my mind roamed. The cell phone in my pocket began to feel like a throbbing tumor. I touched it, ran my fingers over the shape and waited.
We were two hours out from Aspen, the location of our next show that very night, and I still hadn't heard from Lola. An itch of worry grew, similar to my craving for tobacco. She hasn't messaged me. Are her and Brenda that busy shopping for food?
What the hell are they talking about?
Imagining Brenda trying to talk Lola into hiding what had happened, like she'd tried with me that morning, curdled my blood. Lola won't agree to that. She couldn't. Honestly, I wouldn't let her try. If she buckled out of fear or shyness, tried to bury our experience under some pretense or avoidance... if she did that, I'd just step up to the plate.
My mind ran with the idea. I pictured Lola attempting to slink into the shadows. Or worse, turning away as I got close. But that would be all she could manage, I thought fiercely. My hands squeezed the tops of my thighs. I'd chase her down, steal her lips, her tongue, in front of every single pair of eyes watching. I burrowed my nails in further. If she dared to try and turn herself, us, invisible, I'd just have to bare our relationship to the fucking world.
Relationship. Mountains rolled by, but I didn't see them. That's the word for this, isn't it? I want her—need her—to the point of insanity.
What else could this be but a relationship?
A smile played at the corner of my lips. So that makes me her boyfriend. I like the sound of that. Again, I fondled the silent cell phone. I'd like the sound of her voice just as much, right now.
Porter dropped down across from me, his dark eyes focusing. “You're worried. What's wrong?”
“Why do you think I'm worried?” My hands loosened on my legs.
Rolling a palm over his fauxhawk, Porter's chuckle was gentle. “It's like you forget how well I know you, man. I know that face you're making.”
I glanced at my reflection in the window. No use arguing. “Fine, you win.” He lifted an eyebrow, silently prompting me to keep talking. “We'll be at the venue in two hours. Show starts at seven.”
“You're wondering where Brenda and Lola are.”
“Yeah. Guess I am.” I checked my phone, making sure it wasn't dead.
He fanned his fingers on the table. “Here's an idea. You look like shit, why not go take a shower and take your mind off things?”
“For someone who knows me so well, you're naive to expect some hot water to wash away my thoughts.” The edge of my mouth lifted, some of my teeth revealed. “It's a good idea. I should clean up before tonight, anyway.”
“It's a genius idea,” Colt added, kicking his feet up where he was lounging. “I've been smelling you all day. I was employing the polite thing and not mentioning it.”
“Always so kind,” the bassist snorted.
Digging a pinky in his ear, Colt knotted his eyebrows. “Just doing my part.”
Leaving the pair behind, I strolled down the aisle. Passing by Lola's bunk, my feet stuck on the rug. The curtain hung limp, hiding what I knew was her empty bed. Even with that knowledge, I brushed the cloth aside, confirming the vision of the messy blankets, bare of the woman's lithe body. Closing my eyes, I let the curtain fall.
The shower couldn't get hot enough.
I'd turned it on full blast, wishing it would rip
the skin from my bones.
The thoughts from my brain.
Lola is fine, everything is fine. Spreading my hands on the wall, I hung my chin low. The drain, swirling with water, was my focus. She'll be back soon. Then, I can have her to myself. It was what I was hanging on for.
Wet lashes touched my cheeks, mind wandering with images of the girl from last night... from this morning. She'd been fucking perfect. A vision of carnal purity that had left me panting, left me groaning for more.
I touched my chest, felt the dip between my muscles. It was easy to imagine Lola against me. Those pert breasts, tips hard as nails and burying into my skin. No, I reminded myself sullenly, I didn't feel her like that. I kept my shirt on like some shy kid at his first public swimming pool.
Whipping my hair back, I grabbed for the sponge hanging from the shower spout. It ground on my flesh, over my stomach and down my thighs. Did she wonder about that? Reaching behind, the sodden sponge rolled over the dip of my lower back. Did she think I was being bashful? The idea was laughable.
Gingerly at first, than with snarling gusto, I scrubbed at the scar.
I wasn't ready to let her see.
I didn't want her questions to ruin the moment.
Turning in place, I looked back at the old wound. It had been over six years, yet still, the injury haunted me. I hated everything about it; what it represented.
Closing my eyes, I thought about the dream—the nightmare—that had ripped me from sleep this morning. Will I ever escape that chunk of my life? Escape him?
Inhaling, choking on wetness, I thrilled at how amazing my time with Lola had been. Any prying about my scar would have ruined it.
Dropping the sponge, I begged for more scalding water. Something to blind me, my memories, everything I didn't want.
The shower handle brought nothing.
Chapter Three.
Lola
