Page 107 of Toxic Kiss

twenty-eight

“I didn’t keep singing because the pain stopped. I kept singing because it didn’t.” – Cyrus

CYRUS

The guys are already on the stage by the time Haven and I arrive. They’re busy testing chords, adjusting mics, and perfecting our sound. I make it out there to meet them like a ghost in my own skin.

“Damn, you look like shit,” Vex mutters, walking over with a bottle of water.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.”

My fingers curl around it as I bite back the pain.

“Don’t fucking collapse on stage again. I just got the last PR nightmare to calm down. Everyone is all about Ria’s wardrobe malfunction at the Oscars. Hopefully that will keep them at bay for awhile,” Declan says, strolling in.

I roll my eyes, not expecting anything less from him.

“Let’s not test that theory,” Ledger grumbles, stepping closer. “Seriously, are you good? You look like you’re barely holding yourself upright.”

“No, but I will be.”

It feels weird to have them all concerned rather than looking at me like I’m the bane of their existence.

I stumble to the middle of the stage, and Ash hands me my guitar.

“Are you even going to be able to play this thing? You’re moving like you’re eighty.”

“Of course,” I lie, not really sure.

Eren squeezes my shoulder and walks to the other side of the stage without saying anything.

Haven appears like magic. She sets a stool down and lowers the mic. Our eyes meet for just a moment, and the world stops. Then she walks away.

“Alright, let’s do sound check, and then I need to rest until tonight.”

“You could take tonight off, and cancel the show,” Haven calls from the front row.

I shake my head.

“No. I won’t do that to the fans. They paid a lot of money to come, and there’s nowhere in the schedule to do a makeup show,” I say, slipping the leather strap over my head, while my shoulders scream.

“Being stubborn doesn’t make you tough, Cy,” she grumbles.

I ignore the comment. Haven may be right, but battling through whatever these moments are is all I have to prove that I can continue fighting. I’m not giving that up.

SEVEN HOURS LATER

The crowd roars like wolves starving for blood, and I give it to them.

Every ounce of rage, lust, pain…it all bleeds out of me through the mic. The lyrics aren’t just words. They are my confessions. The stage my altar and my mind the battlefield.

I march across the stage while the crowd sings the chorus back to me. The vibration from their stomping feet and clapping hands flows through me, keeping me vertical.

Haven stands offstage, arms crossed, pretending not to hover or care. And fuck me, I live for it. The way her eyes are still drawn to me, the dark look of passion she works hard to mask.

I raise my arms to the ceiling, soaking in the crowd’s energy, letting it fill me for the last few notes. My hands tremble slightly, just enough to catch my attention.

Shit.