Page 12 of A Tragic Melody

It wasn’t my plan to go to war with another band, but if I have to, I will. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to get in the way of my dreams. Even if that’s Tuesday.

I worked too hard to get here. Lost too much along the way. But I’ll be damned if I let someone take it from me. Even if she is a hot blonde with incredible talent.

Honey Hive’s set is longer than ours by two songs, but the crowd doesn’t roar quite the same as they did for our band. It’s clear the crowd doesn’t like their music the same way they liked ours. They’re generic. There’s twenty bands that sound just like them. It’s nothing like the music I write.

My bandmates might not be as skilled as me, so I have to make my notes match their skill level, but still, our sound is unique. I know the fans love our music for my guitar work, but the rest of the band holds their own just as well. They play what I write to the best of their ability, and in return get to bask in the glory I bring them.

Our climb to the top was slow. It took a lot of work on my part to get us the attention we needed to get noticed, including paying a lot of people to record our local shows in our hometown. We made clips of our shows and marketed them across social media. It got us a lot of attention once I got the hang of things.

We’ve done some small tours throughout the country, but nothing with any big stars until now. Yet, in one night, we outshined Honey Hive. We’ve proven we can play better than a bigger name.

As I stand watching Derrick move across the stage, trying to get the crowd into his set, I can’t help but notice that Tuesday isn’t watching their set. Instead she sits on a couch, sipping vodka from a bottle.

Quinn, her long-time bassist, watches her like a hawk from the corner of the room. I wonder if they pay him to be her baby-sitter. She clearly doesn’t seem concerned about her alcohol consumption or intake of drugs.

I’m curious to see how she performs in the state she is in. I’ve heard great things about her stage performance. From the few videos I saw online, she looks amazing out there. Sounds amazing, too. So as I watch her drink like a fucking fish, I’m surprised she is able to pull it off.

She doesn’t come across as fucked up, but I see it in her—mainly because I’ve felt it before myself. It’s easy to fool the world into thinking you aren’t as bad off as you are, when you spend most of your day being a mess.

It will be interesting to see how well she does tonight. By the time she takes the stage, I’ll be back on the tour bus the label let us borrow. I have no plans on staying to watch her for myself.

They say nothing hurts worse than a woman scorned. I guess I’ll find out if that’s true at the next show.

Hopefully, my lack of interest will give me the upper hand. She will have to start working harder for my attention. Then when I give it, it will make her feel even more invested. When she is attached and distracted, I’ll pull back. Shattering the idea she has any power over me. It’s the only way to ensure she can’t destroy me before I get to destroy her.

Two days on a bus is better than two days trapped in a crappy van—by far. I’m not fully capable of a comparison, though. Every other time I’ve been on tour and trapped in tight quarters, I was high and nodding off in the backseat.

This time we have bunks and a kitchen area, but I feel more trapped than ever. It’s boring being on the road. There’s too much time to think and dwell on things. I try to focus on how I plan on outshining Tuesday, but from what Simon says, that’s going to be rather hard to do.

He filled me in on what happened during Tuesday’s set, and after. She sang flawlessly from his point of view. Commanding the stage with so much energy, the crowd went wild. Her voice sounds even better live, if his recounting of things is true. The crowd sang along with her, but it didn’t lessen how good she sounded. Everyone backstage was overly impressed and half hard by the time her set ended. His words, not mine.

After is when the trouble began. Judging by the wicked hangover everyone in my band is still nursing two days later, I’m glad I wasn’t around to see it.

Derrick kept to her side all night. She pumped him and herself full of enough liquor to kill a horse. Everyone drank themselves stupid, besides Quinn. Apparently, Quinn had to carry her back onto her own bus by the end of the night.

It’s sad to hear, honestly. I know my plan is to be better than her, but I still hate to see it. She has the world at her fingertips, and is willing to piss it all away because she lacks self-control. I have little room to judge, given my past, but at least now I’m getting my shit together.

It’s a constant process. Every day is a struggle to stay sober and sane, but at least I’m trying. I’m not willing to fuck the one shot I’ve been given. I’ll get my time to shine, and get this band headlining shows in no time.

I have big dreams to fulfill, a whole five-year plan. Can’t let the temptation of drugs get in the way. And most of all, I won’t let Tuesday get in my way.

CHAPTER SIX

My head hurts. My bloodstream is probably more vodka than anything right now. The last of my Percocet is gone, and aspirin is doing nothing to ease the throbbing in my temples. I have the smallest amount of coke left in my case, but after two days on a bus, that’s to be expected.

I had to do something to keep myself entertained. My band is only so much fun. In fact, most of them are boring. Quinn seems to have warned them on the last tour to not sleep with me. I’m glad, because that means we had to do less practicing before tours this time. It leaves me feeling rather alone, though.

So, I dipped into my drug stash. A little too much, honestly. Now I’m left hoping my guy’s guy can deliver me more before my demons consume me whole. I’m desperate to keep them at bay.

If I let my demons out, they bring out the bad thoughts. The insecurities. The memories. All things I really need to avoid right now. I can’t have them distracting me. I have to remain focused and on top of my game, or these men will outperform me.

Well, only Wyatt could. Honey Hive has been on a lot of tours and has yet to score a headlining spot. That’s not for no reason—they are so boring. Lame. Derrick wins over the female fans with his good looks, but he lacks a personality. I didn’t even bother to watch their set.

It’s not lost on me that Wyatt-fucking-James chose to watch their set but not mine. It stung more than I cared to admit. How could he find them more interesting than me? My pride was shattered, and nursing that wound took an amount of alcohol that few have ever encountered and lived to tell the tale. I can still feel the bile mixture of Derrick’s second load and the alcohol.

Derrick is utterly impressed with me. After watching my set, he was singing my praises better than he sang on the stage for fans. Now he won’t stop texting me. I reply from time to time, whenever I get bored enough to care. Hopefully he will see how little I actually care about him and back off.

He is pathetic—they all are.