by V. F. Mason
ANNABELLA'S OBLIVION
HARD WORLD TOUR - BOOK 1
V.F. MASON
Copyright © 2016 by V.F. MASON
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design and Formatting by
L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations
To Mom and Dad,
Thank you.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Contact Me
Annabella
When you lose someone you love, you want to scream as you fall to your knees, begging for anything to release the pain. People say, once you let it all out, you’re finally able to accept the fact that the person you love is gone and you can proceed with the funeral and the grieving.
They say time heals everything and makes us remember those we lost only with smiles and good memories, and all the bad things fade away.
Well, you know what? It’s all fucking bullshit. Time doesn’t heal shit; it just makes you deal with the painful reality that they’re never coming back.
There is no scream. The minute you get the news, all you hear is a deep buzzing sound in your ears and everything around you is just quiet, as if you were in a vacuum.
Funerals and seeing the body? Makes you loathe it even more and get angry at all those people who think they know better, who give you that pitiful stare and tell you someday everything will be all right. They promise to be there for you and always offer their support.
That was a fucking lie, too. No one’s here with me right now. I lie in bed all alone and the pain doesn’t go away. That, I guess, is the whole point to being in rehab.
“Bella, you are fucking using, and you want me to let you go on with it?”
“Take her to a center. She is a fucking druggie.”
“Have you thought for a second how Nick would react to this?”
I hear all those voices in my head every time I try to relax. There is no getting away from them, or from those people who think they understand.
They think they’re allowed to judge.
Well, they fucking aren’t. They don’t know what it’s like to be me and deal with the pain when you have to smile for the press or perform on stage.
No, they fucking don’t, and I hate them for judging me.
Drugs, they were my friends. For just a moment, they allowed me to see him, to imagine and talk to him. I was able to laugh and experience a slight joy because he was here every time I took another dose. They took it away from me and thought I would deal with the grief.
How can I ever deal with it?
The person I loved most, the one who always believed in me, who was there for me when I wanted to explore my talent and go big, who saved me from the blows of our father, he’s gone.
He is never coming back. He can never hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay, because nothing can be okay for me anymore. I want him here with me, but at the same time, I know he would have been disappointed in me. He would never take drugs or approve of me doing something so bad either. He hated them because they destroyed our parents, and he helped kids like us make a different choice.
There is one vivid memory of him and me, when I was five and he was ten, and we walked around the park with just our sweaters and coats as protection against the biting wind, even though our coats were old and didn’t do much to keep us warm. I had wanted to see the park and he showed me. My teeth chattered from the cold, so he removed his coat with the intention of placing it on me.
“No, Nick! It’s freezing!” He held me close as I tried to get away, because as cold as I was, I didn’t want him to suffer. And if he became sick, there was no medicine to heal him. Our parents spent what little money they had on the alcohol and didn’t give a thought to their kids. Nick ignored my arguments and placed his jacket on me.
“It’s okay. I feel better knowing you are protected.” It made me cry, but he just smiled and hugged me. He was my hero. There wasn’t a time in my life when he didn’t put me and my needs first. He’d attended every one of my concerts and even arranged my music deal.
He will always be my hero. But he’s gone.
He is gone forever.
How can I live in a world where he no longer exists?
How is it possible to breathe in a world where my big brother, the only family I’ve ever had, doesn’t exist?
He is gone, and sometimes, I wish like hell I could have gone with him, that it would have been me who’d died in that car accident all those months ago. It should have been me who laid on the table, my body cold and lifeless.
They say atonement comes one way or another, or the guilt eventually vanishes.
That’s fucking bullshit, too. I’m a coward; I don’t want to live with the guilt. I want to live in my small fantasy-reality, where he’s alive.
I know I’m probably as good as done with the band. There is no way the girls and Jeremy will let me stay after all this; plus, how can they ever trust me?
They shouldn’t, because as much as I love what I do—what we do—if I had the choice again between them and that life, and drugs and my brother, I would choose Nick in a heartbeat.
My name is Annabella Katherine Hastings. I’m the lead singer of one of the most famous girl rock bands in the world, a fan favorite of many—supposedly with the voice of an angel—and I’ve recently become a druggie.
Welcome to my world.
Texas, Moonlight Rose, Summer 1996
The wind gnawing on the window was making me uncomfortable. I was afraid to look. What if it was the monsters coming after me? My mind tried to remember if I’d done something wrong, but nothing came to my mind. I hugged my slightly dirty teddy bear and patted him lightly on his head.
“Don’t worry, Teddy. I won’t let them hurt you.” I’d found him in the trash bin at the playground near the sand pit where I sometimes played and pretended to bake delicious food.
None of the kids wanted to play with me and I had no friends. When I was on the way back home, I found him and it was love at first sight. I didn’t have toys; Momma said they were a waste of money when they could buy booze.
I didn’t know what it was, but suspected it was the brown stuff she and Daddy drank every day. It made them be mean to me and Nicky.
I would have preferred toys, but after that one time when I asked for one and almost received a blow to my face, I
knew better than to ask.
Suddenly, the lights went out and a loud crash hit the window. I couldn’t keep myself from screaming and hiding under the covers.
Monsters were coming.
“Shut the fuck up, Annabella!” Oh no, Daddy was mad. He wasn’t in the best of moods today. His friend, Uncle Nolan, drank the whole bottle without him and they had a fight. Mommy wasn’t smiling either, but at least she wasn’t mean about it. I hoped I wouldn’t make any more sounds, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to go to Nicky’s room. Daddy beat him up tonight, hard, and I knew he wouldn’t want me in his bed because I kick when I sleep and it makes his owies hurt more.
The sound of the kitchen door downstairs shutting loudly made me scream again, and I wanted to kick myself. That, for sure, would make Daddy even angrier.
“Annabella, one more fucking sound, and I won’t care how exhausted I am. I’ll come in there and shut your mouth myself!” Daddy never touched me, but with his mood, you could never be sure. I squeezed the blanket between my teeth and prayed that the next time I had the urge to scream, it would be muffled.
I heard the soft pounding of bare feet on the wooden floor, and then my door opened with a slight squeaking sound as someone slipped inside and closed it shut. I was about to scream again when Nicky’s warm hand covered my mouth.
“Shh, Bella, it’s me.” I relaxed and tried to breathe. I felt ashamed that my cries had woken him, too. He pushed me toward the corner of the bed and laid down next to me.
“Sleep, munchkin.” He lightly kissed my cheek.
“Nicky, but your owies!” His chest was full of bruises and his lips had dried blood on them after Daddy’s fist did some damage. I was happy he didn’t have school tomorrow.
He shook his head and tried to relax, but I saw how he winced when he laid down closer to me.
“It doesn’t hurt, munchkin. Now go to sleep, I’m here. There are no monsters.”
I wasn’t convinced, but went to sleep anyway, lulled by the hand gently tracing mine.
The monsters didn’t matter when he was here. I knew he would slay them all.
New York, May 2014
Annabella
“Are you ready for more?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?”
I held the microphone toward the crowd again and they screamed, “Yeah!” The music filled the space, and I counted the notes as I waited for my part to start.
I smiled as the audience went crazy and I looked back to see the girls enjoying themselves too. Playing this song was always the highlight of every concert for us. It was our very first song, which we’d created in the basement of Samantha’s home, and the song that launched our career. Even though it was almost five years and three platinum albums later, the magic of this song stayed with us and people loved it.
I took the standing microphone into my hands, put my lips close, almost kissing it, and started to sing. The power of the song washed through me and I forgot everything around me as I slowly moved to the beat, swaying my hand in the air and closing my eyes. Samantha played a high note on her guitar—that girl knew how to use it well—while Ariel put pressure on the keyboard in a synchronized movement with Jane’s drumsticks. The crowd went crazy and sang along with us as I pointed my microphone toward them.
After so many years on stage, it never ceases to amaze me when someone else knew our song by heart and sang it with all they had for us. My body was sweaty and just wanted to take off my clothes and let go, but it wasn’t the time. Not yet.
The time would be after the show with some hot guy at the after-party, provided I found one. That thought made me hotter and my voice became slightly more husky and sultry. I couldn’t help it. I removed my leather jacket, leaving me in the crop top I was wearing under it. More screams erupted and I just laughed as I threw the jacket to the crowd, causing a fight over who would take it.
I rocked my head in sync with the guitar’s strings. Being the singer, I had more freedom on stage to move around, and I made use of it. I danced around the stage, going to the girls and sharing the mic with them as they sang along.
Finally, my part ended and Jane gave her final piece with the drums, playing so fiercely, sweat covered her face and soaked her shirt.
The girl was on fire! The minute we were done, the crowd exploded, screaming and clapping.
“More! More! More!” they chanted, but we were done for today. We’d extended the show by several songs because they’d already asked for more. They always did, but we couldn’t stay up on stage forever.
“Thank you, New York!” I screamed, and with a final wave, we left the stage and went to our dressing room, where we collapsed on the couch as Sam grabbed water for all of us.
We knew we only had five minutes of peace and quiet before Jeremy would come in and command us to smile and sign autographs for the fans. Only then would we be able to move to the after-party. Some would probably be annoyed with all this, but we never were. Maybe because it took us so much time to get here, we cherished those moments and valued everyone who made an effort to come see us.
Though Jeremy was a pain in the ass, he was the one who made us an us, rounding out our little band of four.
Well, five, technically, because Nicky was there all the way. Actually, we wouldn’t be where we were without his influence and belief that we could make it. He was the one who made Jer actually listen to our shit when we were scared shitless.
Speaking of him, he was supposed to be here, like, right now; he never missed my concerts. I frowned because he was never this late, and although the traffic could be really bad at this hour, it was never an issue before.
I took out my phone to see several messages and a voice mail. I laid my head back and dialed to listen.
“Hey, baby girl. I know you’re going to kill me, but I most probably won’t make it to the concert on time. I was stuck at work until several minutes ago, and you know the traffic here. I’ll catch up with you after the show. Love you, munchkin, rock the fuck out of that concert!”
I smiled at those words, because that was so typical of him. He didn’t usually say much to me before my concerts, other than those words, and somehow they were effective. Thank God I got the message.
Although I was really tired, I also had a rush of adrenalin that went through me, making me restless. I needed to do something to let it out.
Like have sex.
There would be plenty of guys out there to choose from at the after-party. I loved sex; the more the better but I didn’t have boyfriends. I didn’t sleep around or anything like that, just sometimes after concerts I wanted to let go. Plus, what was wrong with that? I’m sick and tired of the double standard that male rockers were allowed to have fun while females had to stick around and preserve some kind of halo.
No shit like that in my life.
My girls and me were open about our sexuality and owned the hell out of it.
“Hope like fuck there is a hot piece of ass at the party tonight,” Samantha said, groaning with pleasure when she put her long legs on the table.
She was what you’d call a typical American beauty. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, which looked brighter than the sun sometimes, ocean-blue eyes, and naturally tanned skin. Her body was fit and her legs went on for miles. She could easily have been a model if she wanted to---she would have made the perfect Victoria’s Secret angel. Her smile was sultry, and guys went crazy for her. She was the one most magazines wanted to feature on their cover. She even had a naked photo shoot once, well, with a guitar.
I chuckled when I remembered it. Her parents had almost died of humiliation, and I suppose it was the whole reason why she did it. Out of us all, she came from money and high society. Her parents never supported her career choice, or as they called it, “trashy music.” She didn’t give a damn about it, even when they cut her off financially. Why would she? She had us. Actually, I was glad every day of our lives that she chose us and believed we could make it.
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“Knowing you, there is always a hottie.” Ariel smirked while she tried to pin her red hair up. It was long, thick, and to add to it, wavy, so she really looked like the mermaid she was named after.
She had emerald-green, cat-shaped eyes, which made them appear smoky even without makeup on, and her skin was pale with lots of freckles, which somehow made her even hotter. She had a curvy body, and when I say curvy, I mean she had D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, and a nice ass. Guys went crazy for a body like that, and she took advantage of it every time she wanted. Unlike Sam, she didn’t agree to a naked photo shoot---she preferred to use her body as art. In this case, I mean some modern artist painted her as the subject and hung her likeness in galleries. That was fucking weird to me, but to each their own. She had the most easygoing parents---they lived for art and supported her all the way. Thanks to them, we had our first equipment, which was old but useable, and that was all that mattered.
“Well, I sure as hell hope there is more than one.” I couldn’t stay quiet. I didn’t want any of them to take my kind of guy. Which meant blond, bulky, and pretty.
Sue me, but I liked my men pretty.
Because they are safe and nothing like him.
I ignored the voice in my head like I always did when guys were concerned.
Against Sam and Ariel, I stood no chance. I wasn’t ugly or anything, but I knew what my assets were, and they weren’t exactly what most guys were begging for. My body was slim and fit, but I was rather flat in the important departments, and I had pale skin. I had shoulder-length, black, wavy hair, and probably the most vivid part of my looks were my violet eyes, which were considered rare. Well, I also had my voice, which I wasn’t afraid to use when I wanted to seduce someone.
All in all, I was pretty, like girl-next-door pretty, but not drop-dead gorgeous like my friends.
“Don’t worry, your pretty boys aren’t our thing.” Ariel laughed and rolled her eyes; she preferred them masculine and rough.
“I can’t believe you guys! Can’t you give it a break or something?” Though Jane acted pissed, she really wasn’t.
