Page 30 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)
Brody
“Okay, B, try it again, it didn’t sound that good,” Aria speaks into the recording booth.
Her and Ivory sit on the other side of the glass, recording my vocals.
Our usual process involves me coming up with the base beats, Aria and Ivory building on that with Aria’s guitar and Ivory’s bass, and then Aria and Ivory writing vocals, and then me recording said vocals.
Usually, I don’t have to record more than five times max.
Today is different however, because Aria and Ivory must be playing some kind of sick prank on me.
This is the tenth time I’ve recorded the first verse.
I ball my hands into fists at my side as my nostrils flare and my brows pull together, “That’s bullshit!
It sounded fine that time. You guys are fucking with me,” I argue, screaming at them from inside the booth.
My voice comes out louder than usual because of these damn noise canceling headphones.
Everything about today is annoying me. We’re in Texas now and just had the second show of the tour last night.
We have two more days here to work in the studio Selene rented and I don’t know if it’s my lingering irritation and anger towards Harvey that has me so on edge or if it’s my stress from being on this tour, but I’m not having any of this today.
Since you’ve asked so nicely, I’ll let you know that Harvey has gone right back to ignoring me the same way he did after our stint in the studio at my house.
If you ask me, this is bullshit. He’s obviously attracted to me if he lost control twice, right?
I mean, he put his job and reputation on the line to make me come twice, that has to mean something.
I wouldn’t know if it does because he won’t even look at me.
He just follows me around silently and refuses to make eye contact with me.
The bastard has made me so insecure about myself for the second time now and he’s humiliated me for the second time.
There will be no third time. Harvey Taylor will never ever humiliate or embarrass me ever again because I simply will not let him. I refuse.
Aria tries to keep her expression neutral, but I can see the wicked smile forming on her lips. “One more time, come on. You’re almost there.” Bitch.
“Aria, I swear to God this is the last time I’m recording this fucking verse and if you have the balls to tell me it doesn’t sound good when we both know it does, I’m gonna come out there and smash that fucking guitar,” I threaten her, my voice darkening.
Her eyes go wide, “You wouldn’t dare.”
I seethe, “Oh, I would. Fuck around and find out.”
Ivory interrupts, “Just record. I’m pressing play on the track,” she changes the topic as she does as she says. In seconds, the song starts playing and I read the lyrics off the sheet, perfectly I may add, all while flipping them both the bird.
What is all of the trouble about?
I’m happy in my position
The blow that I found ain’t gonna bring me down
I’m a junkie, the song my addiction
I won’t lie, I just wanna get high
Playing with the media’s leers
Everybody’s watching but nobody’s knocking
I can hear the fans cheers from here
I sing the first verse and execute it exactly the way it should be executed. I make no mistakes and we all know it. If any of these two knuckleheads have anything to say about that, I’m seriously sticking by my word and fucking up Aria’s guitar.
When the music cuts out, I remove my headphones and exit the booth with an angry stride and an equally angry expression on my face.
I blatantly ignore the very frustrating and beautiful man sitting on the couch in the corner, typing away on his phone.
My anger rises when the realization sinks in that he still hasn’t glanced at me once.
It’s like I don’t even exist to him and for a second, I wonder which is worse, having to put a mask on to make sure I stay relevant or not even existing to someone at all.
I think I’d take the mask. They don’t really know me, but at least everyone who knows Sticks acknowledges that I fucking exist. This bastard won’t acknowledge that I exist or that he had me writhing beneath him, coming completely undone and begging for more.
More of his lips, more of his fingers, more of his touch, and just more of him .
I turn my frustrated expression on my friends, “How was that? Because that’s all you’re getting.”
They both laugh. “I thought it was good. Could use some minor improvement though,” Ivory feigns wandering off in though.
Aria picks up on her teasing and chimes in, looking at Ivory as if she just said something thought provoking. “You know what, Iv? You’re right. I think we may need to record it again.”
Now I know they’re fucking with me, so I fuck with them back. “Where’s your guitar?” I make my voice a warning.
Aria grabs me, holding me in place so that I can’t find or touch her precious guitar. “We’re kidding,” she laughs as she yanks me into her lap and pulls me into a hug. I’m not in the mood for affection, but I let her hold me and smother me.
“You better be,” I huff.
Ivory chuckles from her seat. “Seriously, B, you sounded perfect . This album is gonna be finished in no time and then we can tell the lawyers and prosecutors to stick it.”
Aria releases me and I rise to find Harvey watching me for the first time in days.
When I catch him studying me, he quickly looks back down at his phone with a sour expression on his face like he was just sucking on a lemon.
I roll my eyes and ignore thoughts of him and his presence, instead focusing on my friends.
We actually have a good shot of finishing this album on time considering the progress we’ve made so far on the tour.
It’s amazing what can be accomplished when we’re all sober.
Our dynamic isn’t as chaotic, but we still seem to be getting along well and laughing, so I’m pleased with that.
I’ve taken some time to myself after the girls leave the studio to work on the song I started in the home studio before the tour started and before Harvey and I crossed that line.
I haven’t told the girls about the song yet, nor have I played any parts of it for them, because I’m not finished, and it doesn’t feel ready for others to listen to just yet.
I want to wait until the right moment, whenever that may be.
Besides, the feeling of having something musical to myself comforts me in a way.
It feels like coming home after sleeping in different hotel beds for months.
Things actually seem to be okay between me and the girls and I couldn’t be happier.
I worry that soon, they’ll get sick of the sober act and resort to getting high again and that our progress will dwindle until we fail, but I have faith that they won’t.
As for Harvey, I have no faith in him warming up to me again at all.
He’s made his feelings clear and never gave me the chance to make mine clear.
Fuck him. If he wants to be an asshole, I don’t care.
Besides, I’ll be rid of him in a couple months anyway.
––––––––
SO REMEMBER HOW I said I had faith in the girls not derailing? Apparently, fuck my faith because the two of them are just days and minutes away from snorting or smoking something. We left Texas a week ago and now we’re in Colorado after performing in Oklahoma and staying there for a few extra days.
Our show is tomorrow, and we sit in the hotel lobby, just to get out of our rooms. My shadow sits in the corner a few tables away, as you guessed it, on his phone.
He still barely utters more than one or two words to me and still refuses to look at me.
Everytime my eyes land on him, my chest deflates, and my mood drops at the reminder of how good things were and how quickly they turned bitter.
The memory brings a sour taste to my mouth, one that this large bottle of water can’t wash away.
We sit in silence, and I take a sip of my water to have something to do with my hands.
Selene is around somewhere, most likely bitching someone around or suing someone.
Aria and Ivory sit with me at the table and I notice their eyes wandering over to the bar, particularly on the rum shelf for Ivory and the vodka shelf for Aria.
I’m content with my water for now. I don’t know if I’ve just been so distracted or if I genuinely haven’t craved a drop of liquor, but the temptation I once knew no longer exists to me.
I’m okay being sober physically, mentally I still worry the world will turn on me.
“Can I get you guys some drinks?” The perky waitress strolls over to our table and asks, a wide, toothy smile on her freckled face.
I raise my water bottle in answer, “I’m good with this, thanks.”
“I’d like a mai tai,” Ivory asserts and my eyes widen.
The waitress begins to write her drink order and I interrupt her, waving a hand in front of her notepad. “She’s kidding. She’s good with a water please. No mai tai.”
The waitress gives me a confused look but nods and walks away to fetch Ivory a glass of water.
I feel eyes boring holes into the back of my head the entire time and heat begins to scorch the surface of my skin.
I turn to find Harvey’s black eyes on me with a neutral expression.
I notice the very faint hint of pride that flashes in his eyes before he breaks eye contact and looks back down.
Ivory drops a fist onto the table, “What the fuck, B?”
I frown, “Did you forget we’re all sober for the tour?” I scold her.
Aria rolls her eyes, but inevitably gets involved. “Right. The ‘Better in Hell’ tour continued. Might as well call it the ‘No Fucking Fun’ tour. I mean seriously, this is already miserable, and the tour ends in two months.”
The waitress comes back with Ivory’s water and asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”