by Trudy Stiles
“No. Forget I said that. It’s your birthday, so we do what you want. But first, tequila.”
This is a bad idea, but I need a diversion to help me relax. I jump up from the couch and make a beeline for the liquor cabinet. I don’t usually keep much alcohol in my apartment, but I have a bottle left over from Mexican night that I had here a while back. And tonight, I need to numb myself in more ways than one.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Kirsten asks with concern in her voice.
“One or two shots will be fine. We need to toast your birthday.” I reach for the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. The souvenirs from my day trips with Seth to the Liberty Bell museum and the Franklin Institute make me pause and remember. Seth. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
I need to focus. I place the shot glasses on the counter and pour a generous helping of tequila into each one. I hesitate for a moment before I turn around to face Kirsten.
“Happy Birthday!” I hand her a shot and throw mine back. It burns as it travels down my throat, warming the inside of my stomach. I wipe my tingling lips with the back of my hand and pour a second shot.
“Tabby…” Kirsten’s brows furrow and she looks more concerned.
“Cheers.” I reach out to clink our shot glasses together and toss back the next shot, feeling the familiar burning sensation and warmth.
Kirsten slowly lifts her first drink to her lips and tentatively swallows some of the tequila. She winces the entire time, and I can tell she isn’t enjoying her birthday shot.
“I’m sorry. I thought you would like it,” I say softly.
“Ick! I didn’t realize how much I disliked tequila without yummy margarita mix.” She giggles and places her half-empty shot on the counter. I quickly grab it, down it, and grab my keys and bag.
“Let’s go celebrate!” I am laying it on thick right now and I’m sure she can read me like an open book. But I’m already starting to feel numb from the tequila and I’m ready to go. My cheeks feel flush and my heart races.
“Okay.” She smiles and grabs my hand. She seems a little unsure that this is a good idea. I can’t say I disagree with that.
I glance over my shoulder as we walk out the door. I see the letter on the floor and shudder. I’m terrified of that crumbled piece of paper and what it could mean.
What the fuck does Marta Constantino want with me?
I hope she didn’t lead him directly to me.
Past
Age 22
I WAKE up with a pulsating pain invading my temples and forehead. And Jesus, I’m hot. I’m pinned into the corner of my tiny bunk with a heavy weight draped across my chest.
I slowly open my eyes to see a mess of dark hair.
Stacy.
Crap. I try to shift her off of me, and she rolls toward the edge.
I raise my head as much as I can and see that I’m still fully clothed. Thank fuck.
I need to take a piss.
Wincing, I turn over and straddle her to work my way out. Thankfully, my bunk is on the bottom, so I’m able to place my foot on the floor, balance myself, and maneuver over her. She sighs deeply and rolls into the corner where I was a few seconds ago.
I stand up slowly to fight my dizziness. The slow rocking and humming noise tells me the bus is heading to our next gig.
I place one hand on the wall and swipe the other over my stubbly face. What is wrong with me, and why the fuck is Stacy in my bunk? I walk into the small bathroom to take a leak. As I wash up, I see my reflection in the mirror. Dark, sunken, bloodshot eyes look back at me with disgust. These same eyes have been looking back at me since I left Philly. Since I left her.
I bend down and drink directly from the faucet. Cottonmouth sucks. On top of drinking too much whiskey last night, I got stoned. Stacy had some medicinal shit that she was calling ‘Holland’s Hope’ or something like that. It took the edge off the nerves brought on by my performance and relaxed me enough so I could sleep.
I finish drinking. This water is disgusting; it tastes almost like rust. God, I hope it helps my pounding headache. Now I need aspirin. I hear a low ringing and buzzing. It sounds like my cell phone ringtone coming from my bunk just outside the bathroom. Then again, we have the same damn ringtones, so it could be one of the other guys. It drives me nuts. I think Dax does it on purpose. I pat my jeans to confirm that it’s not in my pockets.
Whatever. Whoever it is will leave a message. I grab the towel hanging by the door and press my face into it to dry myself off.
After our show last night, I didn’t want to be anywhere near the rest of the band or groupies. I came back here hoping for solitude. It’s been a little over two months since I left Philly. Since Tabitha ruined us. More and more, I crave the peace and quiet of this bus when the rest of the guys aren’t around. They were at an after party that I decided to skip.
I was on my sixth shot of Jameson when the bus door flew open. Stacy giggled as she stumbled up the stairs with her pink bong in one hand and a bottle of her trademark sangria in the other.
She’s the lead singer of our opening act, Bitter Pill and she brings a bottle of sangria on stage with her every night. Every show is the same. She sings, drinks an entire bottle, and has a second one waiting for her when she’s done. Then she seeks me out.
Stacy has been relentless. She constantly throws herself at me and it’s beyond annoying. She doesn’t get it. I’m totally not into her. I’m not even ready for a quick fuck. She’s been trying since we rolled out of Philadelphia and it’s getting old.
I barely remember our conversation from last night, not because I have hangover amnesia, but because I stopped listening. Useless. A waste of time. I know I’m being a dick, but she honestly can’t take a hint. The worse I treat her, the more she comes at me wanting more. She’s so fucked up.
Stacy blabbered on about how she scored some medicinal grade pot and how it would help me relax. The Jameson was helping just fine but to shut her up, I took some hits from her bong.
I distinctly remember going to bed very much alone. I open the door and see that she’s just getting out of the bunk. She’s fully clothed, too, so that proves to me that nothing happened. Again. Thank fuck.
“Hey sweetie,” she purrs.
“Stacy,” I state coldly. It doesn’t matter how I talk to this chick, she’s constantly clueless.
“Where were you? You left me alone in your bed.” Then she pouts. Seriously, enough of this shit. She’s playing the sex kitten and it’s not doing it for me.
I shake my head, turning to go back to the lounge. I just don’t want to deal with her right now.
“Alex, baby, what’s wrong?” Her whining makes my skin crawl. Jesus.
I can’t handle this or her. She’s a fucking disaster. And it’s not lost on me how ironic this situation actually is. Before we left, Tabby had a meltdown over the fact that Bitter Pill was selected to be our opening act. I told her that she had nothing to worry about, and then showed her how much I only wanted her. I never saw what Tabby saw. But she was just so insecure about Stacy.
I chuckle to myself. Boy, was Tabby right. She was so right. Stacy is sex on a stick and tries to get me in bed every chance that she gets. This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up with her in my bunk. It’s usually after a night like last night where I get plastered and pass out. Three weeks ago, I woke up with her trying to unzip my jeans with her teeth.
She’s a slut and she just doesn’t get it. I’m not touching her. I wish I could just to spite Tabby, but I just won’t. I haven’t and I have absolutely no intention of laying a hand on her in the future.
“Stacy, just stop this shit. I went to bed last night. Alone. What made you think that you could join me? There was no invitation. There won’t ever be an invitation.” I’m harsh and I don’t give a shit. She’s dumb and has a thick skull.
Anger flashes through her eyes and she raises her finger to point at me. “Trust me, Alex. You won’t be able to resist me for much l
onger. No one can.”
Um. Nope. Still not going to happen.
I laugh and she winces. Not the response she was hoping for, but it’s suddenly funny to me that she is so dense. I chuckle one more time as I try to get our driver’s attention. “Hey Mick! Can you signal the buses that we need to hit a rest stop soon?” I glance at Stacy. “We need to make a trade.”
Garrett has been a routine fixture on the Bitter Pill bus. Stacy’s sister, Bella, is their manager, and Garrett got a hard on for her as soon as we stopped at the first rest area after leaving Philly.
“Fine, Alex. Whatever.” She huffs and walks toward the front of the bus.
Mick makes the radio call, and I go back into the lounge.
I flop onto the soft couch and rest my head back against the wall. A few months ago, my life was perfect. I finally had Tabby. All of her. Her demons were finally starting to retreat. Seth was lurking but I was convinced that Tabs could fend him off. I was starting to give her the benefit of the doubt and trust that she would keep him at bay. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I will never trust like that again.
My head still pounds. I’ve been hung over more on this tour than I have in my whole life. I hadn’t had a drink in a long time until that first night on tour. I don’t even remember the binge, but I woke up on the bathroom floor of the bus covered in puke. I guess I started this tour off with a bang, in true rock star fashion.
The bus slows down as we pull into a rest stop. I look out the window. What state are we in?
I stand up when we stop and watch Stacy jump down the stairs. She turns and blows me a kiss before she disappears. What. The. Fuck.
“Dude. Really?” I hear a familiar voice from behind me.
“Dax, nothing happened with her. Let it go.”
I’m not getting into this with him right now. He’s been up my ass about her this whole tour. He doesn’t want to see me mixed up with her, and it’s been hard to convince him that I want nothing to do with her.
“Seriously, Alex, you’re playing Russian roulette with some serious STD’s. Stay away from her. I know that you are upset about Tabby, but Jesus, Stacy is bad news.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” I raise my voice. I know that Dax means well. He’s like a brother to me. But shit, he can’t think I’m that stupid. “Relax. Nothing happened and nothing will happen. She is persistent, but I know how to fend her off.” I stalk toward the front of the bus so I can go out and get some fresh air.
“Sharing a bunk is fending her off? C’mon, Alex, I’m not a moron,” he says with sarcasm ripping through his voice.
I ignore his comment and walk down the stairs. I’m immediately hit in the face with hot, sticky air. Florida. We’ve been averaging four shows a week. When we left home, we headed west, and now we’re already back on the east coast. The tour promoter booked as many shows as she could, and we’ve snaked across the country haphazardly. We’re due to play in Arizona in ten days, and I wonder if we’ll make it.
Garrett saunters toward the bus with a smirk on his face. “Hey, lover-boy,” he says. “Hot night with Stacy?”
Jesus what’s with these guys?
“Dude, I just told Dax and I’ll tell you for the last time. There. Is. Nothing. Going. On. With. Stacy.”
I walk past him toward the public restrooms.
“Keep telling yourself that, bro. You can only say no for so long. That chick knows what she wants, and that’s you.” He snickers as I walk away from him.
I am sick of having this conversation with every fucking person on this tour, including Stacy. I need to make some rules for the bus, effective immediately.
No chicks.
~
We arrive in Ft. Lauderdale just in time to get the set ready for our show tonight. The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful. I spent most of my time in the back lounge, listening to my iPod while reading a book on my iPad. I’ve been reading books about adult children of abusive parents. Yeah, heavy shit.
I need to sort myself out since I beat the crap out of Seth and raised my hand toward Tabby. At least I think I raised my hand toward her. I felt so much rage over their hookup that I scared myself. I’m worried that it might get out of control, so I’m trying to understand what it all means. Am I capable of the same violence that he was?
Someone plops down next to me on the couch.
“Hey, Dax.” I remove my ear buds and hurry to close my iPad so he can’t see what I’m reading.
He pats me on the shoulder and says, “Hey, I didn’t mean to be an asshole this morning. Its just … Stacy is so skanky. We never should have picked Bitter Pill to join our tour. We rushed into that decision and, well, we shouldn’t have.” His regret is tangible and I know he feels bad for helping push us into this hasty decision.
He’s right. The other two bands that we auditioned weren’t a good fit either, but we should have spent more time searching. Who knew that Stacy and Bitter Pill would be such a cluster fuck? They’re talented, but right now it’s not worth the aggravation.
“Whatever, dude. There’s nothing we can do to change it right now. They’re only on the first leg of the tour anyway because their manager double booked them.”
I realize that means that Garrett will lose his hookup for this tour and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. It’s good because he finally has a steady hookup, but bad because his hookup will be gone and he’ll start whoring around again. I like the one-girl hookup Garrett, not the man-whore.
“Well, that’s one way to look at it, but the first leg of our tour lasts almost six months. A lot can happen in six months.” Dax has a way with making me feel more dread.
“Seriously, Dax. Enough of the doom and gloom. And from now on, please give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to Stacy. You’re like my brother, and well, your lack of faith in me just sucks.”
He pats me on the back and shakes his head. “Sorry, bro. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m going to sound like a chick when I say this, but I’ve been watching you get the shit beat out of you since you were a kid. I don’t want to see anyone hurt you again, physically, or mentally, you know?”
“Yeah. But, just lay off for a while, okay? You have my permission to say ‘I told you so,’ if I do something stupid.” I stand and stretch my back. My cramped sleeping quarters last night really did a number on me.
I walk over to my bunk and stash my gadgets just as Tristan emerges from the shower. “Hey, bud, heard Stacy spent the night last night.” His grin is enormous and I want to punch him.
I look over to Dax who just shrugs his shoulders.
I shake my head and walk past him toward the lounge as Tristan chuckles. I’m really trying to keep my composure, but I’m fed up with all of these accusations and innuendos. I get it. My situation looked compromising. Fuck.
I grab my bottle of whiskey, slug back a few shots, feeling the warmth of the booze over my lips, swipe my hand across my mouth, and leave the bus. I’m done with this conversation and all of this shit surrounding Stacy. The opening acts should be finished, and we need to be on stage in a few minutes.
I take a few more swigs of whiskey and enter the stage area. Dax, Garrett, and Tristan are a few minutes behind me.
Dax catches up to me, looking concerned. “Alex, don’t you think you should slow down with that stuff? Our set is over an hour and a half tonight, and I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to make it through.”
“Fuck off,” I reply and grab my guitar from my tech, Josh. I don’t need a lecture from him or anyone.
Throughout the entire set, I’m woozy and a bit out of it, but I make it through. I’m just not feeling it tonight. I want to get the hell out of here. I don’t address the crowd after the last song and just stalk off the stage. Stacy is nowhere around, and I’m relieved. I walk through the backstage area to the exit. I need to get out of here and be alone.
The warm air hits me in the face, but I welcome it this tim
e. I need to feel something, because right now, I’m numb. I finish off what’s left of the bottle of Jameson as I walk back to the bus.
“Great show tonight, douchebag!”
I turn around and see a group of fans near the exit. Did I just get heckled? What the fuck? I am in no mood for this shit, and these fuckers just pushed me over the edge.
“What did you just say to me?” I realize I’m slurring and drunker than I thought.
“Oooh, the brooding lead singer is having a bad night? No one to go home to?” One of the fans continues the bullshit.
I toss my bottle toward a garbage bin and miss. Glass shatters all over the pavement.
I’m going to pummel this fucker. I rush toward him, swinging my fist at his head. He ducks, and I miss and fall to the ground.
“Loser!” the douchebag yells and I notice that a crowd is now gathering. I push myself up and lunge for him again. I’m not going to miss this time.
My fist connects with his ribs, and he buckles around my arm. I’m suddenly pulled away from him and I hear Garrett’s voice.
“C’mon, Alex. You’re done here.” He pulls me toward the bus as three security guards address the crowd.
I can see the guy that I punched being ushered out of the backstage area with his friends. He’s yelling something, but I can’t hear him.
I push away from Garrett. “Let me go,” I grunt.
He releases me and I stumble toward the bus.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re lucky that guy is drunker than you are and probably won’t even remember what just happened. Jesus, Alex, you’re out of control.” Garrett is concerned and shakes his head.
I leave him standing in the parking lot and enter the bus. Our driver, Mick, is asleep in the front lounge, and I walk past him to go to the bathroom. Garrett doesn’t follow me. I’m glad. I don’t want to have another blow out conversation with anyone right now.
