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Noé

Fuck, what was I thinking? Why didn’t I bail?

I sat on the tram, staring out the window. The images from last night kept flashing back, making me shudder.

The guy definitely fucked me.

Fuck!

And ... he was so good.

No! Get those thoughts out of your head!

But the thoughts kept coming back.

Alex above me, sweaty, with wild hair, a lustful gaze, a greedy sparkle in his eyes, and his soft lips kissing me with tenderness.

“Argh!” I growled and ruffled my hair. I didn’t care that the elderly lady in the seat in front of me turned around. I just shook my head incredulously. And yet, I also felt a bit pathetic.

The last thing burned into my memory of Alex was him, naked, the sheet covering him up to his hips, one hand resting on his stomach, and the sun casting a narrow strip of light through the crack in the curtains onto his chest. His face looked relaxed, and I noticed his long eyelashes. Along with his thick, dark eyebrows, he actually looked a bit like that actor who played Superman. He was incredibly hot, and I wondered why he hid his handsome face behind those glasses.

I had stared at him for too long. But it was my way of saying goodbye to him, or rather, to the most comfortable bed I had slept in for months. I would never keep someone on the list who fucked me. No! With the life I led, it was important to stay in control. And last night, I definitely lost it.

I tiptoed out of the room and freshened up in the bathroom in the hallway; I couldn’t leave that apartment without showering for anything in the world. But there was no time to dawdle, because Alex could have woken up and stood in front of me at any moment. Guys like him were usually up early, and I strictly avoided having breakfast or morning sex with them.

I was okay as long as it was dark. As if the night were my element, I moved in it with ease. I flirted, prevented any unpleasant scenes, and skillfully guided the insecure souls through our date—all for a warm bed. It came naturally to me, and I also benefited from it.

Damn ... Guys like him.

Who am I kidding?

I totally misjudged him.

And then the asthma attack too.

That had given me something to think about when he unexpectedly stumbled out of the room, wheezing.

I got off at the last stop, but I still didn’t feel fully awake. Usually, I would feel relaxed and rested after a night like that. Now, I was just rested. Relaxed was different. My pulse was racing, and I still felt a pain in my lower back.

I was still incredulous.

Did I misjudge him that much?

The guy fucked me. Big time.

Damn!

I don’t let myself get fucked!

On the other hand, it was goo d, a soft voice echoed in the back of my mind.

No! No “on the other hand,” you idiot!

That’s not going to happen again.

I recognized this voice that wanted to give me hope, but it was toxic. If I listened to it just once, it would have complete control over me. Listening to it was pathetic. Just the thought that Alex could be a glimmer of hope made me sick.

If Alex had any idea what a jerk I really was, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me anyway—not even all my bandmates knew this other side of me. In that sense, it was good that we hadn’t exchanged numbers. My task was to stick to things I could control, like music, for example. Everything else was too dangerous.

I reached the rehearsal room and turned on the lights. I then sat on the couch with Tom’s guitar and tuned the strings. This was sort of my second home. And especially in the mornings when it was the most peaceful place on earth. It was my own personal paradise.

I could dive into the music for hours here and work on my songs. Tom had shown me how to use the mixing desk to record my songs. I had been making more and more use of it lately.

I completely immersed myself in the music, switching between guitar and bass, making notes, sitting down at the drums, and then at the keyboard. All the while, I could hear the lyrics and melody in my head. Finally, I stepped back up to the microphone with my guitar and played the song.

It was music that earned me my living, and that’s how it should be in the future. I was eight when my father gave me a guitar and showed me how to play it. After that, I was hooked and couldn’t put it down. By now, I mastered several instruments, all of which I had taught myself. Thanks to YouTube, because I never had the chance to attend music school. Tom kept encouraging me to form my own band, but my answer was always the same. I wasn’t ready yet.

And I really wasn’t. My songs weren’t mature enough yet to be played in front of an audience. I knew that ultimately, it was the audience that decided, but I lacked the band to even try it out.

As long as we had the gig at Hyde with the Lighteners secured, everything was fine as it was. However, winter was approaching, which already worried me. Over Christmas and New Year’s, the club changed the program, so our concerts were canceled for a whole seven weeks. This year, I had to plan ahead because I couldn’t survive another winter like last year. The memories alone sent chills down my spine.

I quickly dismissed my thoughts and focused back on the song. I had mastered various singing techniques that allowed me to sing everything from soft rock to death metal. My own songs were mainly in the metal genre, but since I was alone on stage with the guitar, it was more of an acoustic session.

As soon as I finished the song, applause filled the room, and Marco, the bassist of Nightrain, the band we shared the rehearsal room with, emerged from the shadows at the entrance.

“Damn! I thought you were just the bassist of that other band! But you can sing! And like a pro!”

I stood frozen on stage, clutching the guitar tightly and staring at the broad-shouldered giant as if petrified. Why didn’t I notice him? I knew the whole band, and I had developed a pretty good relationship with Chris, the drummer. But with Marco, I never knew what to say to him.

What the hell is he doing here? It’s Saturday afternoon!

Marco stopped six feet in front of the stage and scrutinized me like a damn groupie.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You sound like Corey Taylor. Damn! Why didn’t you say you could sing so well?”

I was taken aback by his almost aggressive way of praising me. Apart from my bandmates from the Lighteners, no one knew I sang. Maybe because I wanted to preserve it that way. It was something no one could take away from me. But I knew this was the wrong answer. One nobody wanted to hear. And yet, it was the truest.

“You guys have a singer,” I said dryly, shrugging.

“That bastard bailed on us!” Marco ranted. “And just when things were really getting started! We’re screwed! Please save us!”

That was just a bit too much information for me to process, so I didn’t pay much attention. I knew Marco well enough to know that when he was passionate about something, he could be relentless until you gave in. I always wondered how Chris put up with him in the band.

“What are you talking about?” I asked casually, placing the guitar on the stand and turning off the amp.

“You know our sound, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah?” My response this time was more of a question as I stepped off the stage and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s your point?”

“Join us! As a singer!”

That was all happening a bit too fast for me. “Shit, man, what are you even doing here? Today isn’t even your...”

“Crisis meeting! We’re really desperate.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion as Chris, Ramon, and Lukas entered the room. Marco turned to them, spreading his muscular arms, and exclaimed, “The crisis is over!”

Speechless, I covered my face and shook my head. He can’t be serious, can he?

“Hey, Noé!” Chris said, and we shook hands.

The other two greeted me with a nod. It was obvious that the mood in this band was completely down.

“What do you mean the crisis is over?” Lukas grumbled, plopping down on the couch. “We’re so screwed. That asshole, Manuel … I don’t wish death on anyone, but that would at least make our misery somewhat bearable.”

“Noé sings like a pro!” Marco exclaimed to everyone.

I nearly choked on my water. As I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, everyone stared at me.

“Okay, let’s jam together. You’ll see—I mean, hear,” Marco said eagerly, turning back to me. “We love Stone Sour. Do you know the song A Rumor Of Skin?”

I looked incredulously at everyone and caught Ramon’s indifferent shrug. Chris was already behind the drum kit, twirling the sticks and nodding confidently.

I knew the song well, as I often played it for myself, but it was hard to believe that Marco had turned their crisis meeting into an impromptu audition. My pulse quickened, and the water in my mouth tasted flat. A twitch went through my fingers, and the desire for alcohol surged within me. A shot would be handy right now. I quelled the thought and took a sip from the water bottle. Lukas, Ramon, and Marco climbed onto the stage and strapped on their instruments. It didn’t look like they were giving me a choice, so I followed them back onto the stage and stood behind the microphone.

“All right,” I consented and placed the water on the floor. Before I knew it, Lukas started with the guitar riff.

Okay, here we go.

Even though Marco had told me what was going on, and I was fully aware that this one song here would determine my fate, I focused entirely on the lyrics, the vocals, and the music. It felt so good to have a band behind me, forming a perfect unit with every note they played, carrying me through the song so that by the end, I dared to do a little more and raise my voice. I felt flooded with positive energy and knew this was what I wanted. Nothing else. Just music.

The realization left me stunned after the last note was sung. The band finished the song, and as Ramon let the guitar fade out, Chris shouted from behind the drum kit, breaking me out of my stupor.

“Join us!”

I tried to smile but my mind was preoccupied. “But what if Manu ...?”

Just hearing his name made the guys groan in unison.

“No,” Lukas stated. “The idiot suddenly changed his mind, and we had just finished recording the second album. He has no right to make demands.”

“Besides, you’re way better than him,” Chris chimed in again. “If you join us, we’ll tell everyone that we kicked Manuel out after we ran into you.”

A flurry of thoughts began racing through my head. Nightrain had never done things by halves when it came to music. At the last band room party, they had announced big plans to take things seriously and had since found a label. It was clear to me that refusing this offer would make me the biggest fool.

Ramon retrieved a few sheets from his guitar case and handed them to me. “These are the lyrics to our songs.”

The writing wasn’t particularly legible, but as Ramon sang the first song, it became easier for me to decipher them. I memorized the melody and noted where I could ramp up. And then the moment had arrived, and the band started playing. Ramon helped me out repeatedly and got me through the first song.

“Could it be ... I don’t hear any accent from you,” Lukas said.

“I grew up bilingual for a while,” I replied.

“Are you American?”

“No, my father was ... is Canadian.” I had no idea why, but I assumed he was still alive.

“Cool!”

What was cool about it, I didn’t know. The man had bailed, and I could have done without that. For years, my mother claimed he had gone back to Vancouver. All he had left me with was his last name.

The afternoon flew by, and we had worked through fifteen songs in no time.

“These are all tracks from our new album,” Chris explained as we chilled together on the couch and I went through the sheets again. “I’ll send you a link later, so you can access rehearsal recordings and learn the songs.”

I nodded and took a big gulp of my water. By now, I felt downright drained, especially since I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I wouldn’t be able to hang around here much longer.

“So,” Marco asked again seriously. “Are you in?”

“I thought I already was,” I answered, confused.

“Yeah! Welcome to Nightrain! And just to let you know upfront, we’ve got big plans!” Marco grabbed beers from the fridge and distributed them around. I declined gratefully.

“This is our second album,” Ramon continued. “Next year, we’ve got a three-month tour planned. We’re kicking off on February 18th with a gig in Zurich, then we’re touring all over Europe. The dates are already set. You need to get into the studio as soon as possible and re-record the vocal track, so we don’t have to cancel the planned release party. Everything’s already scheduled. Manuel dropping out caught us completely off guard. So I need to know from you now: How serious are you about this?”

“I make a living from music,” I replied. “What more proof do you need?”

“Good, we rehearse on Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes Fridays too.”

“I can’t do Fridays. I’m playing with the Lighteners at Hyde. That’s how I make my money. I’m the bassist.”

“That’s right,” Chris said. “The warm-up party is on a Thursday. That’s already set. It’s a kind of dress rehearsal before the album release. That’s on a Saturday. So it all fits.”

“I have one more question,” I said hesitantly. “Um, what’s this going to cost me? I mean ... a tour means expenses. How much? I can only come if the job pays better than my Friday gigs at Hyde.”

“I understand,” Lukas said, raising his glass with a wink. “Luckily, we’re signed to a label. They’ve organized the whole tour. No costs fall on you. It’s all covered. And you’ll get a fee on top. I’ll call Robert first thing Monday and tell him to redraw the contract. He’ll be so happy to hear we’ve got an even better singer now.”

Three months. And even with a label.

Fuck ...

Am I ready for this?

I really need to talk to Tom.