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Chapter Seven

Ashton

I t’s day three of this tour and I have nothing.

I’m curled up on the couch, the bus on the move towards Little Rock for the show in a few hours.

I’ve wasted an entire day thinking of what to write and actively avoiding the band.

Khaos hasn’t looked at me since the barn and the others occasionally ask me questions about random things they’re arguing about like are blow jobs really that bad and what’s an appropriate number of people to sleep with in one’s lifetime?

I shut my laptop and catch Khaos stealing a glimpse at me before reverting his gaze elsewhere.

It’s driving me insane, everything about this assignment has been a living nightmare, literally.

Even if I were to tell someone what’s happened in the last couple days, no one would even believe me. I don’t even believe it.

“Ash, how many boyfriends have you had?” Hypnos asks.

I slip my computer into its bag and join the guys in the booth. I shrug my shoulders, smiling, but not answering.

“You?” I deflect.

“Awe come on, don’t be like that.” Than goads.

I roll my eyes, “How many do you think?”

“More than anyone can count.” Khaos grumbles.

I can feel his spite, always so harsh and bitter. “Why do you say that?”

“Look at you.” He gestures with his hand.

I look down at myself as if I can see me from his eyes, but I’m not sure what he means by that.

“Thanks?”

“Are you admitting I’m right?” He challenges.

“I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Oh, come on! How do you expect us to open up to you if we know nothing about you?” Kokytos reasons.

I nod, understanding where they're coming from. I didn’t anticipate having to open up like this, the whole reason I’m here is to get them to confide in me and not the other way around.

“Answer the question.” Khaos orders.

I feel backed into a corner, my palms clamming up. I rub them down my yellow sundress and clear my throat, unsure how to respond. Do I lie or do I just tell them the embarrassing truth?

They can see how uneasy I am, but all it does is make them press even harder. They’re all chanting “tell us,” everyone except Khaos. He’s just burning a hole through my head with his angsty glare.

“Okay!” I shout, my voice cracking slightly. “I’ve actually never had a boyfriend.”

The chanting stops and it’s dead silent until Hypnos speaks, “No way. I don’t believe it.”

I bite my thumb nail, not ready for this conversation again. I have it every single time I tell people this. They don’t believe me, or they tell me that I’ll eventually find the right person. It’s always the same.

“Believe it.” I clip.

“But you’ve at least had sex.” He states as if it’s the truth.

I steal a glance at Khaos, and his eyes haven’t moved from my face since this conversation began. I’m not sure if he’s trying to decipher if I’m lying or telling the truth, but it causes an itch under my skin. I squirm in my seat, all eyes on me, waiting for my response.

When one doesn’t come, Khaos answers for me. “She hasn’t.”

“No way, man. Look at her!” Hypnos deposes.

“Exactly, look at her. No one is this uncomfortable talking about sex unless they’ve never had it or they’re a prude. In this case, I’m guessing it’s both.” He jabs.

“Okay first of all, whether I’ve had sex or not is none of anyone’s business. Second of all, I’m comfortable talking about sex, but not about if I’ve had it or not!” My voice rises in slight hysteria.

“Definitely never had sex. Definitely a prude.” Khaos provokes.

“Definitely none of your damn business!” I shout.

“Woah, chill. It’s not that serious.” Than chuckles, awkwardly looking between me and Khaos.

I’m just as confused as to how this topic became heated, but I’m ready for it to be over. Before anyone else can say anything, the driver peers out from behind the front to let us know we’ve arrived at the venue.

Khaos storms out of the bus immediately before anyone can even say another word.

“What’s his deal?” I grumble.

“There’s a lot going on inside that head of his.” Than answers my rhetorical question.

I hate to admit it, but I know exactly how that can be.

We’ve all been through things that others might not understand and sometimes it has a bigger impact on who we are than we would like to admit.

With Khaos, I can see that there is something inside of him that’s eating him alive, but he’s too much of a coward to say it out loud.

He would rather deny his demons than deal with them.

Though, I’d be a hypocrite if I say I didn’t do the same.

Than and Kokytos follow after Khaos while I grab my computer bag and camcorder. Hypnos waits by the kitchen table for me, and we walk out together.

“Just between us, have you had sex?” He presses one last time.

I contemplate telling him. He’s been nothing but nice to me so far, but he’s also best friends with the devil .

“Everyone has, right?” I smile up at him reassuringly, or at least that’s what I’m going for.

“Sure.” He says, unconvinced, but at least he drops it.

He opens the back door to the Revolution Music Room, and I follow him inside.

We walk down the long hallway to get to the green room where the rest of the band is.

I drop my equipment onto the leather couch along the wall and pull my camcorder out.

This is the stuff I want to capture, the candid moments before a show.

I want to know how each member gets into character before walking out onto the stage in front of hundreds of people.

I switch the camera on, taking in the room. I spot a long table in the center covered in food ranging from doughnuts to veggies and suddenly I’m starving. I keep filming, but sneak a few bites of a bagel, chewing away from the mic.

I try to make myself invisible, but I know the presence of a video camera puts Khaos on high alert.

He doesn’t notice me though; his back is turned toward the black wall by the body length mirrors.

I see a plume of smoke surrounding him and realize it’s weed from the smell of it.

Next to him are the others, they’re sitting on another leather couch, pouring white powder onto the coffee table in front of them.

I zoom in, getting Hypnos taking the first hit.

He wipes his nose and jumps up from the couch with a loud “Woo!” He’s swinging his arms back and forth, jumping from foot to foot.

He’s amped and the others are soon to follow.

I watch each one of them get high, their adrenaline through the roof and I wonder to myself if it’s something they always do before a show.

Khaos stays in the corner, face turned towards the wall, finishing his blunt.

It’s another hour before the guys start to get ready.

I’m too afraid at this point to ask questions because it seems like they don’t notice me.

Even the lead singer has ignored the fact that I’m filming, he certainly looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t told me to stop.

I watch as the guys rip their shirts off, Hypnos tossing his in my direction, landing on my head. I giggle, throwing it right back, earning a red eyed glare from Khaos. He seems perpetually pissed, but I refuse to let it get in the way.

They slip their black cloaks on, the same ones that they wore the first night I was with them. It brings back a sense of fear in me and my smile drops. They put their outfits on like they’re getting ready for a sacrifice, it’s ritualistic.

I bring the camera over to Khaos who’s yet to get dressed.

Some small, petite woman is brushing his bare torso with black paint, coating him from the neck down to his waist. As she gets lower, he pushes down against his belt, his muscles contracting as she paints even lower.

My breath hitches and I forget I'm even filming because I’m in such a trance.

He turns his head briefly and our eyes meet, like he knew I was watching.

I don’t look away this time, the camera my buffer.

“Why the black paint?” I call out to him.

Khaos shrugs, “I wear my soul on my skin.”

“Cringe.” I scrunch my face and am met with a small smirk.

It’s the first time I really take note of the lower half of his face now that he has his stage mask on and the smirk he gives me lights a fire in my belly.

I’ve gone all this time wondering what it would look like since he does it so often – I can tell by his eyes – and all I can say is that it doesn’t help my fight.

Entranced, I come a little closer, inspecting him completely.

He looks nothing like I expected a God to look and everything like the demon he is.

His white mask is harsh against his black painted face, red smeared like bloody fingers dragged against the floor.

He’s the embodiment of darkness... of oblivion, a black abyss.

My eyes finally fall to his full lips, his strikingly white teeth blinding against the black paint just like his mask.

It’s a mouth that can do so much more than spit hate, it’s a mouth that every woman dreams of.

My gaze trails from his lips to his sharp chin, coated in a light scruff.

In this moment, he’s suffocatingly powerful, even if he doesn’t mean to be.

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me.” He says directly to the camera.

As soon as he speaks, my mind comes plummeting back to reality. I lower the camera, shutting it off, reminding myself to edit that part out.

“I don’t kiss.” I tell him.

“That’s right, you’re a prude.” He taunts.

“What is with you? Why do you care so much?” I push.

“I don’t. Seems fitting actually. Even your boss knows that you don’t take risks.” He goads.

I shake my head in disbelief, “For your information, I do take risks. I’m here, aren’t I? Risking my sanity to do your band a favor!”

“A favor? We are paying you...”

“Well, there you go, then. Another reason we shouldn’t be discussing our sex lives!” I add.

He laughs, the fight in him dwindling. “Oh Ash. Humor me for a second.” Khaos grabs the front of my dress and pulls me closer to him. The smell of weed mixed with wet paint makes my knees weak. “Have you really never kissed a guy?”

I shake my head, my limbs numb. His fist tightens in the fabric of my dress like he expects I’ll push him away again.

“Not one?” He whispers in my ear.

“Only one, but I don’t count it.” I admit.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t a kiss. It was the big red button that says do not push and someone was dumb enough to push it, detonating a bomb that left my life in shambles. ”

Khaos’ brows dip in contemplation, trying to decipher my analogy.

It’s not that I didn’t want the kiss to count, it’s that if I let it, then the small, tedious steps I’ve taken to rebuild my glass heart will shatter into a million pieces and I’ll be left devastated.

He doesn’t need to know that my lips are the kiss of death.

Before Khaos can open his mouth to presumably argue, a balding man in his mid-forty's storms through the green room, snapping his fingers. Then I hear it, the sudden roar of the crowd, chanting for the band to come out on stage.

The manager doesn’t introduce himself, but rather directs me exactly where he wants me to stand backstage for the best view. I thank him, my appreciation wasted on deaf ears telling me he’s already onto more important things.

As they walk out onto the stage, the crowd goes absolutely wild.

I zoom in, filming the front row of fans, their faces all painted white with red symbols, similar to Khaos’ mask.

They’re crying, hands raised, desperate for his attention.

Little do they know, once they have it, it’s nothing but a black hole.

I’ve heard every song on every album, but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

The guitar and bass are heavy, so heavy that it weighs your soul down, drowning you in a despair that bleeds from their fingertips and out into the world.

Khaos’ voice fills the venue, light and graceful, the complete opposite of the chords greeting him.

It’s entrancing, hypnotic, just like the man himself.

It’s a show that embodies a sacrifice, making you feel like a goat being prepared for slaughter.

You’re spelled, worshiping at their feet, begging for more of them.

For more of their stories, their fear, their hatred, their love.

They start by coaxing you to them, luring you in with beauty and gentle words, only to slit your throat and rip you to pieces with guttural screams.

Khaos hunches over as a low growl echos through the room, hitting each and every person here. There’s so much pain in the mixture of instruments and song, it makes my heart ache.

He’s on his knees now, pleading to the crowd.

He’s begging for peace, for a happiness he wishes he had.

His hand is raised, his eyes follow, and everyone is a mirror image.

They pray with him, they beg with him. It’s haunting the way he moves a crowd and these people, they believe.

They believe in every word he says, every feeling he gives them. He is their God.

The strums of guitar and the beating of the drums die down to a slow rhythm. Their last song of the night. The guys are sweating, Khaos’ body paint smeared all over his abs, his skin peeking through behind his open cloak.

This one, I know by heart because it happens to be my favorite. You can only assume it’s about a love lost. At least the way I interpret it, but getting to know Khaos these last few days, it could be about anything.

“And I blee-ee-eed all over this floor for you-u-u. I blee-ee-eed all over, all over this floor.” I look up from the camera and Khaos is facing me.

The music dies and the crowd goes insane again, begging for more. But a true fan would know, they don’t do more. There are no meet and greets, no merch signing, no encores. You get what you get with them.