Page 2 of More Than Scars
Rage. That’s what fueled me by the time I hit the chorus. All the pissed-offness I held inside came pouring out in a tidal wave that I’d have loved to use to smash my former bandmates to bits. The only solace I’d received from the whole ordeal was in seeing them implode and completely fall apart. That whole plan of theirs to replace me so they could push forward had blown upin their fucking faces, and it couldn’t have happened to a worthier bunch of assholes.
I hit the bridge like a beast, just tearing into it and shredding away, leaving everything I had on that stage before I drifted into the final, echoing chords, drawing out each one, then finally letting the last one fade away.
The echo of it hung in the air around me as I opened my eyes, nodded to them, and turned, striding off the stage past the next guitarist on deck and the stage manager, whose expression looked almost stunned.
Well, at the very least it seemed like I’d blown someone away. Now to wait for the results and food, because damn it all, I was fuckin’ hungry, though not hungry enough to regret passing on breakfast sandwiches potentially ridden with rodent fecal matter. That was way too disgusting a thought.
“Dude,” Tony said when I slunk past the others waiting to audition to take the seat I’d abandoned in the shadows, grateful that he hadn’t given up the spot. “That was fucking sick!”
“You’ve heard it before.”
“Never like that.”
“Meh,” I muttered as my stomach growled again. “Guess I just play a little more aggressively when I’m fuckin’ hangry.”
“I should starve you before you play more often then.”
“Have I mentioned that I hate you right now?”
“Several times.”
“Gonna hate you harder if they don’t break out the food soon.”
“Amen to that,” the redhead in front of us said, turning around once more and casting another glance back at me.
“Is there a reason you keep staring back here?” I snapped.
“Just tryin’ to join the conversation to keep the nerves at bay,” he admitted.
“Well, don’t,” I replied, glaring until he turned back around.
He had pretty sea-green eyes that reminded me of one of my former band brothers, our rhythm guitarist, Axis, who’d kept me at arm’s length after I’d beaten him out for lead guitarist in the band. To me, it hadn’t really mattered which of us played which role, we could have rotated for fuck’s sake, depending on the song, but our drummer and singer had really pushed for it,and it had really crushed something in Axis. The relationship between us was never the same after that.
It had always left me wondering if he’d been the one to spearhead the push to replace me, maybe in the hopes that he’d land the lead spot. Unlike me, he didn’t have support from his family, not a single one of them ever showed up to hear him play, just his two best friends, who he also happened to be dating. I’d envied him that. It was clear, even back in high school, that they truly loved him.
“Dude, relax,” Tony hissed, keeping his voice low as he chastised me. “You can’t go around biting everyone’s heads off just for looking at you. You’re calling attention to yourself when you do that, which I know is the last thing you want.”
“If a certain asshole had warned me about what he had in store for me when he told me to hurry up and shower, get dressed, and grab my axe, I’d have taken the time to put stage makeup on.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t warn you,” he said smugly. “That shit’s not you, and it’s probably why you have a hard time getting gigs at certain places.”
“Too bad for them if they don’t want a bit of darkness around since drowning the crowd in fog is generally frowned upon.”
“You don’t need makeup or a fog machine,” Tony grumbled. “You’ve more than proved that time and time again. When are you going to let the music speak for you and stop looking for reasons why you shouldn’t achieve your dreams?”
“When chasing it doesn’t get me kicked in the teeth time and time again.”
“Have you ever wondered if expecting to get kicked in the teeth is why it happens?” he asked. “There’s something to be said for self-fulfilling prophecies, you know.”
I was saved from having to answer when the door to the catering room opened and an apron-wearing man stepped out with a smile and an invitation to come grab food and beverages if we were hungry. I’d passed hungry about an hour ago, so no further invitation was needed, and honestly, I needed a break from my friend so I could sort myself out, especially after hearing the latestsecond-round guitarist play. I didn’t know if there would be a third round, but if there was, I knew I’d make it there over him.
Holy shit, was I actually letting my competitive streak override reason and common sense? Was I really trying to win the guitarist slot in a band that didn’t even exist yet?
I think I was.
I pondered that while I selected a turkey club sandwich, slathered on some mayo, snagged a Dr. Pepper, two chocolate chunk cookies, and a bag of chips, then looked around for a place to sit. Fortunately, the only ones who followed me into the room were Tony and Eric, meaning there were plenty of empty chairs to choose from, not that they stayed empty long. I’d known Tony would join me. I didn’t expect Eric to. Great. Now I was presented with the wonderful challenge of eating while keeping my hair out of my food, instead of tying it back the way I’d intended to when I’d deliberately sat with my back to the rest of the room.
Fortunately for me, he was as interested in what was on his plate as I was, as was Tony, which made for a blissfully silent meal as guys trickled in one by one, a few joining us at our table, but none very talkative, which suited me just fine. Let’s just say that I was not the outgoing motormouth that I’d been back in high school. These days the bulk of the talking I did was to the cactus on my kitchen windowsill, which happened to be thriving for all the attention I gave it. And if we happened to share a personality, at least according to Tony, then I’d happily proclaim myself to be in good company and go on about my fuckin’ day.