Page 11 of A Tragic Melody

I’m tempted to pay the sound guy to turn up Wyatt’s amp. There is no way I’m the only one who would rather listen to just him play. I could listen to him by himself for hours. The band lessens his talent, almost ruins him, but I’m not sure if that’s possible. It would take a great deal to make Wyatt’s guitar work sound bad.

I’m still bitter that he picked them over me. Knowing he is a recovering addict makes me overly aware that we could’ve gotten into some really deep shit.

It is supposedly a big secret that he is in recovery, but I know people who tell me things when I ask. If we had been thrown together, I’m not sure he could’ve stayed sober. I use drugs like they’re candy, but I have some hard limits like no needles. From what I heard, that was how deep he was. No doubt if we had been put together one of us would have destroyed the other.

He may have brought utter chaos to my structured chaos, and that’s not something either of us could afford.

Quinn side-eyes me as I watch Wyatt. He is like my older brother, the bassist I plucked off the stage of a bar in LA after getting signed. I’ve refused to let him leave me. He’s been here with me since the beginning, and the only guy I know who hasn’t made a pass on me, yet still bends to my whims.

He is older by five years, so perhaps that’s why he didn’t go after me in the beginning. Now, I assume he just knows better. I’ve replaced every other touring member who I’ve slept with. Didn’t need that drama, not that Hendricks would let them stay, either.

Quinn sticks to protecting me like an older brother. He takes his job very seriously, too, making sure I don’t overdose or get raped. I’ve had a few scares over the years, but he has always swooped in to save me.

It's obvious he isn’t happy that I’m watching Wyatt. Perhaps he also knows about Wyatt’s past. I bet he is worried Wyatt will relapse and bring me down with him.

My obsession with Wyatt’s talent is not a big secret to him—Quinn sat there as I drooled over his work. He knows how hard I pushed for Wyatt, pretty much offering myself on a silver platter if that’s what it took to get him to join us. For Quinn, all that equals is a big red flag. I know he will watch over me carefully. Anything to protect me.

Little does he know I’m only going to try to get close to Wyatt to destroy him. As the crowd cheers when Black Cat finishes their set, I fear that won’t be easy.

But nothing in life ever is. I don’t mind a challenge.

The worst thing that happens is I die, and I can only die once.

Guess that means I have no choice but to fuck Wyatt. Then fuck him over.

Poor me.

Wyatt hangs his guitar up before using a towel to mop the sweat that drips down his forehead. Little strands of hair stick to his skin, damp from stage lights. He sips from a water bottle while his band mates chug beer, walking off stage.

His eyes sweep to me, and I flash him a smile. I need him to think I’m impressed. I am impressed, but I need him to be able to tell. To find it endearing.

I watch as his lips curve up into a smile, but then he quickly glances away from me. What happened in the bathroom may actually make my task harder, but with just enough pressure, I’m sure Wyatt will crack. Enough time together, and he will want me too much to deny himself.

Pity. If things were different, we could be making great music together. But now we are going to make a big mess, one that only stains him.

CHAPTER FIVE

When our set ends, I’m covered in sweat and high on the roar of the crowd. My body feels like it’s floating, but all that stops when I see Tuesday standing there. She has a big doped-up smile on her face, as her eyes stick to me like glue.

I want to believe it’s my talent that has her looking at me like I’m the second coming of Jesus, but I doubt that. I don’t trust that girl. Even if she is impressed, her admiration is lessened considering she’s high as a kite and drunk off her ass.

I wonder if Derrick made her come or not. I highly doubt he could bring her any pleasure in the state she is in, but maybe he is capable of miracles. Who knows. Who cares.

Sex on drugs is a mess to begin with. Any bodily pleasure is diluted by the drugs, but the mind is flooded with euphoria, regardless. For me, that means very little.

Emotions are all fake when you’re high. You either feel nothing or too much. The word vomit that falls from your lips is some false reality or too sad to get you hard. I tried to avoid sex when I was high as often as possible, but sometimes sex got you the drugs.

Tuesday grins at me like the fucking Cheshire cat. It takes all my fucking willpower to flash a smile back at her before looking literally anywhere else.

I want to avoid her. It is in my best interest to stay far away from her. She will only bring me down. Clearly, she is interested. I sniffed that out at the interview. The way she looks at me is terrifying. The boldness of her looking at me like she wants to devour my soul after fooling around with Derrick is scary. I can only assume she is trying to create tension between him and me.

Others might assume Tuesday is just a pretty girl with a nice voice, but I see the evilness that lurks behind that pretty face. She is in the spotlight now, and intends to stay there. I have no doubt that she will try to pit Derrick and me against each other. Her staring is her way of painting a target on my back. One I really can’t afford.

I have two choices in this situation, neither of which I like: ignore it and risk her hurting her pride with my rejection, or I could wield it as a weapon. Mess around with her and use her attention to spearhead my way to the top.

If I play my cards wrong here, all I get is Derrick’s rage, another trip to rehab, and the end of my career. If I make my moves correctly, I get to headline my own tour, hopefully far away from her.

Going forward, I’ll have to do better when I feel her eyes on me. I have to smile and nod. Let her think I enjoy having her looking at me. Tonight, I can pretend nerves have me anxious, but if this goes on, I’ll have to play it up. I can’t let her think I don’t want her—not yet. I’m afraid of what happens if I hurt her ego too bad. I highly doubt she is used to guys not wanting her.