Fully Automatic (Bullet)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  When he finally forced himself to enter the apartment, his nose was assaulted with the smells of dinner. It smelled good. Then he saw Val in the kitchen at the stove, working away. He could hear the guys in the big bedroom playing something new too, so that made him happy. They weren’t screwing around—they were starting to see that they had to work hard to get to where they wanted to go.

  Part of him wanted to go straight into the shower, but there were several reasons why he couldn’t. The first would be that it would make him obvious. Brad wasn’t antisocial, for starters, but he also had the problem of needing clean clothes he’d have to get out of the big bedroom. So he mustered up as cheerful a face as he could manage and said, “Smells great.”

  Val turned from the stove, smiling. She looked radiant but tired. “It’s really nothing.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” He started moving toward the hallway.

  “New job start today?”

  “Yeah. Overalls give it away?”

  She laughed. “The powers of deduction.”

  He smiled and walked toward the bedroom. It was too painful. He walked in the door, and Ethan and Zane were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over a sheet of paper, both with their instruments resting in their laps. Nick was sitting in front of a tom and a snare with two sticks, probably just to give them a beat, but without the entire set up, he couldn’t envision the magic percussion Nick could give something. He knew already that they were going to have to push the bed against the wall to set up the entire kit. There was no room for it at the moment.

  For now, he was just going to grab a t-shirt and jeans. He had a couple of pairs of coveralls from the company, but he was going to have to do laundry every three days. There was no way to keep them from getting too filthy. So he figured he’d have to do laundry twice a week. As he walked to the dresser, Zane and Ethan deep in discussion, Nick looked up at him and said in a high-pitched voice, “Honey, I’m home.”

  The other guys looked up. Zane asked, “First day, right?”

  “Yeah.” He walked over to the dresser and opened up his drawer to grab underwear and socks. Then he made his way to the closet. He had folded his t-shirts and jeans into boxes so they didn’t have to fight over space. He pulled out one of each and headed toward the door.

  “That bad?” Nick asked.

  Brad shrugged. Yeah, Ethan’s silence was telling. Something had happened the night before, and considering the guy didn’t look any worse for the wear, Brad concluded it wasn’t drug-related. “I wasn’t holding my guitar, so yeah.” And he headed for the shower, ready to wash the day off himself.

  He had to act normally too, so as he stood under the warm water in the shower, he tried to shove it all down deep. He had, whether he’d wanted to or not, become their leader, and, as such, he needed to let his angst go. He himself had done it and expertly so. He’d told Valerie—and then assured her father later—that nothing would happen between them. What else had he expected when he’d basically let her go?

  So he got out and toweled off, dressing and then throwing his dirty clothes in the box in the closet where he kept his soiled laundry till he could wash it. The guys had already left the bedroom. He forced himself again to take a deep breath and let it all go. Out there, at the kitchen table, were his four best friends, and they were his band, his family. No matter what happened, they were his life, and he had to find a way to get past this. He had to.

  * * *

  After dinner (which wasn’t anything to write home about but edible—and he’d never say that to Val), he wasn’t as convinced that anything had happened between her and Ethan. They hardly even looked at each other. And that night at bedtime, they weren’t together. Brad started to doubt his earlier suspicions. Yeah, they’d been gone for a night together, but he was starting to think maybe they hadn’t consummated anything. They were acting too normal around each other. True, Val no longer acted permanently pissed at Ethan, but she hadn’t acted that way in a while.

  It was like old times—if he could say they had them yet. They were all laughing and joking and having a good time. Val said she had an interview the next day, and everyone asked about Brad’s job. Then they talked about the three shows planned for the weekend, and they all got pumped. The guys started talking about writing new material again.

  The next day, in fact, the three other guys put something together. Brad was glad they were being productive, and it felt different, making it even better. When they were done playing it (raw and unpolished, but Brad could hear the potential), Ethan looked at Val and asked, “Think you can pen some words to it pretty quickly?”

  “How quickly?”

  “By our next show?”

  “Well…probably…but getting it down is another story. We’ll need to practice it together some like we always do.”

  He was glad to see some drive, but what game was Ethan playing? Every once in a while, the guy felt the need to upstage Brad. It was some deep-seated desire in his friend, one he’d never understood. He got why Ethan could so often be self-centered and even cruel, but the need to one up his best friend in the world never made any sense. Still, he didn’t need this to be a source of contention between them. It wasn’t important enough. So, after considering it for a few moments, he said, “I need some time too…unless you’re wanting me out of this one, man.”

  Yeah, and there it was—the flare, the challenge. Either Ethan was pissed that he hadn’t gotten the rise out of Brad he’d wanted or he knew Brad wasn’t responding on purpose, and that was making him doubly desirous of pushing him. But then his features softened as though it was no big deal, and he said, “Nah. I’m just excited to play this one.”

  Brad hoped that was all it was. He wanted his friend to know he wasn’t blowing him off, and he hoped Ethan was sincere. “Me too. It’s fuckin’ awesome. Good stuff. Maybe we could shoot for next weekend.”

  And, maybe by then, everything would feel right again, because the only time it did anymore was when he was onstage. That was the only time everything in his world was perfect.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  BURY HIMSELF IN the music—that’s what Brad had always done when things in real life weren’t going the way they were supposed to. And that’s what he’d do now. Unlike back at home, he had to drive longer to get to and from work and the traffic took some getting used to, so those things took away from the time he could sink into music. Fortunately, he could spend the drive thinking. That was sometimes also a downfall, though, and today had turned out that way.

  He needed time. He didn’t understand why not having Val was bothering him more now than it had all summer long.

  That wasn’t true. He knew why when he admitted it to himself. It was because she was now fully on Ethan’s radar, and Brad didn’t know if Ethan cared enough about her to treat her right. Still, it was what Val wanted, and he needed to stay out of it.

  He was going to try. He wasn’t going to look for significant glances between Ethan and Val or try to determine anything. It was better if he didn’t know. If they would both go off somewhere, he’d try not to think about it. He had to let it all go and just give the music his undivided attention.

  So that night, while he was trying to drift off to sleep in spite of the guys watching yet another horror movie on his laptop with the sound turned halfway down, he didn’t force himself to sit up when he heard…what sounded like a woman having an orgasm.

  It could’ve been across the hall, right? It might not have even been what he thought it was. And, the next morning, he tried to convince himself it was something on the movie the guys were watching the night before. He wouldn’t ask, because he didn’t want to know. It didn’t help that Ethan wasn’t in Val’s room the next morning, leaving Brad full of more doubt.

  God, this was bad, and he had to find a way to let it go. He was making himself miserable.

  What made it worse was he wasn’t able to book many more shows per week than he had living farther away. One or
two more, maybe, but not like he’d wanted. One plus was they were finally running a decent merch table, and he made the rest of the band run it. No one complained about it, but it was the one thing he didn’t want to be responsible for. He put Zane in charge of purchasing t-shirts and other items. The guy had found a company that would make them bulk buttons, but they were going to wait to buy them. Nick, their artist, was designing a better logo for them, so they didn’t want to buy all the buttons they’d have to purchase to make it a good deal if it wasn’t with their final logo. Zane had also had bumper stickers and smaller stickers made, but the bumper stickers weren’t selling for shit and the little stickers they’d just decided to give away. Zane thought they might want to make a poster too, but they were still discussing that one. Val was going to sit at their table for the first time that weekend, and then all of them would have done it at least once. But he told them it was their responsibility, their baby, and they swore they wouldn’t let him down.

  It was important, though, because Brad had to deal with the money and contract issues. He was the one finishing things up, but more than that, he was also networking. He was the one befriending new bands and introducing himself to the people who made things happen. He was a naturally friendly guy, and he was convinced that was why they had regular shows. Not every band could claim that.

  It was a magical night that night, the kind of crowd and show Brad wished they could always play. He could feel the energy in the air, and—looking at his bandmates—he could tell they were feeling it too. By the time they took the stage, they were pumped, and the first part of the show was incredible. By the end, though, Ethan had dissolved into a puddle. He was on something, probably too much of something, and he wasn’t fully with them, wasn’t even aware how fucked up his playing was. If the audience would have noticed, Brad would have shooed him offstage. As it was, the audience was loving them and didn’t seem to be aware of Ethan’s continual fuck ups. Brad hoped his playing was covering up some of the worst ones. It made sense, though, because a lot of people didn’t know their songs really well, so it would be apparent to the band but not the new folks listening.

  When their set was over, they needed to clear the stage for the next band, a group of guys Fully Automatic had played with before, a band called Last Five Seconds. They were a few years older than Brad’s band, but they were solid and hardcore. Brad loved their music and was looking forward to watching their show.

  First, though, he needed to talk to Ethan. So they said their thank yous to the audience and relished the applause for a little bit, and then Zane, Nick, and Val started packing up. Brad walked Ethan offstage, though, and hoped his bandmates would understand why he wasn’t there for a few minutes. “Ethan, what the fuck are you taking, man?” His friend raised his eyebrows and started to talk, but Brad suspected it was going to be bullshit right off the bat. “Never mind. Here’s the rule. Fine if you gotta take something before a show. I get that. But take a little. If you gotta get blitzed, save it for after the show.”

  Ethan scowled. “The show was fine.”

  “The hell it was. You were fucking up left and right, hitting wrong notes and chords…when you bothered to hit them at all. Val had a hell of a time up there tonight, and that was thanks to you. You pull that shit again, I’m turning down your goddamn amps.” Ethan just stared at him and blinked through his long lashes. God, yes, the guy was hammered out of his mind. Then he shrugged as if to concede that Brad was right. “Go find a place to sit this shit out and be ready to go when the show’s over. We’ll pack up.” Ethan nodded and turned, stumbling off toward the crowd. Well, that wasn’t exactly what Brad had had in mind, but he hadn’t told his friend he had to sleep it off in the van.

  He and the other three decided to watch the show together right at the foot of the stage. He was glad, because he really liked these guys. Midway through the show, he was regretting it, though, because—if he wasn’t mistaken—their guitarist, a guy who went by the stage name Jet, was making eyes at Val the entire time. What the hell?

  He wondered if Val was even picking up on it, so he looked over at her. Yeah, she was. She smiled at Brad, but he could tell Jet had her under his spell. Chicks dug the guy. But Val? God, between Ethan and now Jet, he’d never have a chance. And seeing the way she looked at this guy made him start doubting she and Ethan were together, because they were definitely flirting through eye contact.

  Last Five Seconds finished their set and there was one more band that would play, but Brad was starting to worry about Ethan. He hadn’t seen him since he’d told him to go chill somewhere, and now he was starting to feel concerned. Chances were Ethan had found some girl to fuck around with for a while, but he had to know, because he had a bad feeling.

  He looked around inside the venue and couldn’t see him. It was cursory and he’d have the others help if he had to check again, but he wanted to look quickly first. Then he checked the men’s restroom—nothing. He was going to check the van last and then have the band assist if Ethan wasn’t there. But Ethan was sitting on a step outside, not far from the band exit area. Brad walked over to him, wanting to make sure it was him. There were lights outside but it was hard to see. As he got closer, he could tell it was Ethan, and he knelt over. “Ethan, how’s it goin’, man?” Ethan looked up at him, and the way his head wobbled, it looked like his neck was unable to support it. His eyes were glassy—Ethan was fucked up. Goddammit. “Did you take something else?” Ethan stared at him as though his brain wasn’t even processing his friend’s question. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”

  Brad was sure Ethan wasn’t going anywhere, but this time he was scared. Ethan was fucked up beyond belief. He needed to find his friends and have them help decide what their next move was—did they rush their friend to the ER?

  He walked backstage. He saw Nick first and said, “We’re leaving now.” Nick excused himself from the girl he was with and said, “I’ve got other plans. I’ll find my own way home.”

  Brad nodded. “Okay. Show tomorrow night.” He wasn’t even going to worry Nick with whatever was going on with Ethan. The guy was going to get lucky tonight, and he didn’t want to interfere.

  So he made his way out front, hoping to find his other two band members. He spotted Zane talking to two girls. He was glad his friend was tall, because he was easier to spot. He caught his eye and Zane asked, “What’s up?”

  He didn’t want to make a big scene, but he wanted out of there. He got close. “Meet me by the exit in a minute. Ethan’s messed up and we gotta get him out of here.” He could tell Zane wasn’t happy about it either. The guy was making serious headway with these girls, but he wasn’t doing as well as Nick. He didn’t blame the guy for taking an extra minute to give them his number.

  Then he saw Val close by and she was talking with Jet. Yep, had he nailed that or what? Well, he was probably going to seem like a major dick to her too, but it couldn’t be helped. He walked over and said, “Val, we gotta go.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t noticed. “Hey, Jet. How’s it goin’, man? Great show, by the way.”

  “Thanks. You too. Nice addition to your band.”

  In spite of his overwhelming emotions—with Ethan and with Val—Brad couldn’t help but smile at her. “Yeah. We thought so too.”

  Jet said, “By the way, I really like my shirt on you.”

  Brad looked at Val and, for the first time that night, realized she was wearing a Last Five Seconds shirt that she’d altered. “Cool. Didn’t even notice.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true—he’d noticed the ripped-up shirt; he just hadn’t noticed it was a Last Five Seconds shirt. To Jet, he said, “See you around.” Val waved at him, flirting without words, but followed Brad, and as they got to the exit, Zane joined them.

  Zane asked, “What’s going on?”

  Brad answered. “Ethan. What else?” He pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Zane. “Can you open the van? I�
��ll be right there.” He started walking toward Ethan. Val followed. Jesus, the guy was fucked up. “Wrap your arm around my neck, buddy.” Ethan didn’t respond. Brad wrapped his arms around Ethan and pulled him up, and Val wrapped Ethan’s arm around Brad and then got on the other side to help Brad lead him. He wasn’t completely out of it. Brad had at first thought he was going to have to drag Ethan, but his friend was moving his feet. He was grateful for that.

  By the time they got to the van, Ethan was mumbling, and it took a moment, but Brad realized what he was saying. “Back off, Val,” he said, and she didn’t appreciate it much until she saw Ethan lean over and vomit. It wasn’t pretty.

  Ethan said, “Thanks, man.” Brad was glad to hear his friend was coherent. He threw up again. Then, when he was done, Brad helped him up in the van, and he passed out on the long middle seat. But, a good sign—he’d mostly pulled himself inside. Brad slid the door closed behind Ethan.

  Brad needed their input. His voice was low when he said, “I don’t know if I should take him to the ER or not.”

  Val’s voice was accusatory. “What’d he take, Brad?”

  “No fuckin’ idea.”

  “Why the hell does he do this?”

  Brad looked at her. They’d had this conversation before, and he wasn’t going to explain in detail all the ways Ethan was fucked in the head. Zane asked, “Nick coming?”

  “Nope. He’s got a ride.”