Page 27 of Dark Verse

@kian_ria I’m having Cash’s twins!

@ms.gill.pill We’d absolutely DESTROY that couch.

They range from light innuendo to outright sexual. The bulk of the sexual comments seem to be directed at me, but there are some about Cash and Zeke. But I also see some weirdo dudes making gross comments about Via, too. I can’t delete their comments about her or us, but I can start with hiding them. I immediately begin blocking all those commentators from our account. I learned the hard way that letting those kinds of comments be seen by everyone always led to uncomfortable situations, from fights in the comment section to weird, aggressive DMs directed at us.

A few people have brought that same energy into the real world. The worst incident was just a few weeks after Via officially joined the band. We were playing at a local bar when some drunk idiot tried to jump onto the stage and grab Via. He succeeded at getting onto the stage, but he wasn’t counting on the fistful of drumsticks he got. I’ve never seen Cash move like lightning before that night, nor had I ever seen a man’s feet literally leave the ground and seemingly sail off the stage back into the crowd like a kite caught in the wind. After that night, we got more serious about the kinds of gigs we were willing to take.

I haven’t had to deal with our most enthusiastic fans in a long time, one of the few unexpected upsides to the chaos that’s consumed my life for years. I’ve missed being part of the band more than I can put into words, but I can’t say I’ve missed everything that came with our growing popularity.

Success had a way of attracting people who forgot where admiration ends, and entitlement begins.

Most fans are incredible. They show up to multiple concerts over the years, shout-sing every lyric (sometimes better than me), and remind me why I love being on stage in the first place. But there is always a small group who take things too far. They demand endless attention, convincing themselves they know me because they follow us for a while on social media or heard a personal story through an interview. If I didn’t respond online on their timetable, it became a personal insult. If I acknowledged someone else first, a betrayal. Every interaction—or lack of one—was treated like the smoking gun evidence in a case I didn’t know I was standing trial for.

The attention could turn unsettling in a heartbeat. What started as admiration sometimes curdled into obsession, and once someone convinced themselves they deserved access to my life, setting boundaries only seemed to make them push further into the rabbit hole of infatuation.

I spent the entirety of my 20s and my early 30s navigating that minefield. I know how quickly an innocent interaction can spiral. I’ve learned that sometimes the only way to protect my sanity was to hit the block button and walk away, no matter how much outrage it sparked.

I missed my friends.

I missed the music.

I haven’t missed wondering which stranger has decided they are entitled to a piece of me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

RAVEN

THE SOUNDS of people arriving pull me from my computer screen and train of thought at the same time. I glance over to check the time, smiling when I see it’s 8:25 AM. I’ve already been staring at the screen for an hour and a half and am glad to switch tasks.

I know it’s that permanent overachiever in me that always notices when other people decide to arrive at an appointment. But I can’t help it. Every Dexter has had it drilled into our heads from an early age. Early is on time, and on time is late after all.

“Good morning, Miss Ray,” Wayne, the bass player for the Heirs of Disillusion, says, his voice chipper. His floppy red hair falls into his eyes as he leans all the way into the office.

“Good morning, Wayne. How are you today?”

“Really excited to be here, Miss Ray. We’re looking forward to getting to play for some real crowds.”

“And we’re excited to have you. And please. Ray or Raven is okay, Wayne. ”

“Oh, got it. Sorry.”

“Hi, Miss Raven,” Davis says, his face popping up next to Wayne’s.

He looks just like Wayne, red hair falling over his features as well.

“It’s Ray or Raven. She doesn’t like the Miss,” Wayne tells Davis, his tone and expression admonishing.

“Oh, sorry,” Davis says.

His expression reminds me of every hapless character from my childhood.

“Not to worry,” I assure him.

I stand quickly and close my laptop, joining Wayne and Davis in the main space. Hendrix and Danica are chatting with the third member of the Heirs, Natalie. We put out coffee and donuts for everyone since it’s their first day, so I cross over and grab myself another coffee and the donut with the most chocolate sprinkles. A minute later, I hear more people coming in.

I only glance up at the Nightshades and, seeing a woman and two men, don’t think further. But as I near them, I realize the second man isn’t Knox. He’s tall like Knox, but lankier in his frame, his dark locks long and his facial hair a little scrappy-looking. His whole face has a slightly sunken quality, his cheeks noticeably hollow even with the wisps of hair he has there.

“Hello, good morning,” I say to the three of them, my eyes still on this new face.