Page 6 of A Tragic Melody

“I bet it can.” I laugh.

She smiles at me, her dark gray eyes shining with a hint of amusement. Entirely unthreatened by any of my comments. Tuesday beams with a look I can only pinpoint because I’ve seen it in my own reflection countless times.

The girl is high as a fucking kite.

And I know in my gut I’m not going to survive this tour.

After the interview with Tuesday, I beg the guys to drop off the tour. I literally beg them. But they tell me to suck it up, going on about how passing up on a chance to tour with the latest, greatest, new hot piece of ass, Tuesday Blue is not something we can do. Especially if we want to gain our time in the limelight.

It took all my effort to not throw it in their faces how we only got signed because of me. It doesn’t really matter, though. I gave them majority control. Signing a contract while trying to detox will live to be one of my biggest regrets.

I know they aren’t wrong—we can’t afford to drop off this tour. It will be great for our growth. We are bound to pick up tons of fans, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to be around an addict when I was one not so long ago.

Their drinking and pot use is one thing. I’ve been forced to be around it, and survived it, but Tuesday’s eyes the other day let me know she dabbles in far harder substances. I can’t say for sure what she uses, nor do I really want to know, but what I do know is it’s big trouble for me.

To be honest, I’m barely managing to keep myself from breaking and running back into the warm embrace of drugs and alcohol as it is. Heroin isn’t easy to sneak, but I could easily get my hands on some coke or pills. When you want to dull the ache in your brain, you take whatever you can get. And right now that ache is begging to be silenced.

I’ve done a good job the last few months, filling my time with writing new music, practicing guitar, and keeping to myself, but it’s only been a few months. I haven’t been trapped on a tour bus, or surrounded by another user since getting sober. I’m not sure how I’ll do when things to numb my pain are within my reach.

I’m not a strong man. The fact I’ve been sober this long is a miracle, one that I’m only performing for the sake of glory. A shiny road is paved in front of me. The one I’ve been working towards since I was six and found my grandpa’s old electric guitar. A guitar I pawned not once, but twice for a score. That thing showed me I had a gift, and I was willing to part with it for drugs, so who’s to say I wouldn’t toss out this contract for them, too.

Especially when they’ll be dangled in front of me by a pretty blonde with a voice that is far better than most in the scene.

I don’t get off on pretty people alone. Not to say I haven’t fucked around, but it’s only ever been good for me when I felt a connection. Never cared what body type or gender was wrapped around that connection. So long as they were vulnerable with me, I was hooked.

And with Tuesday, that fact remains. I’m not attracted to her in any other way than to admit she is good-looking and has an amazing voice. But the fact she does drugs is a thing that could easily tempt me.

I may never be the greatest guitar player in the world. I know there are plenty out there that can play better than me, but the playing part isn’t where my talent lies. I play well enough, but it’s the tunes I come up with that’s my real gift. My riffs, my ideas, my melodies are amazing. I see music like a machine that I can tweak and pull at. I bend sound in ways others can only dream of. It’s a whole process for me. Took me years to master, but now at twenty-three, I have my chance to really show it off and I’m trying not to wreck it.

Tuesday Blue could easily help me do just that, though. She could easily be my downfall, so I’m not looking forward to the next seven weeks of my life. Being around her is going to be a test, one I’m not sure I can pass.

Will I be tempted by the mind-numbing pleasure of not having to feel a thing, or will I value my gift more? Only time will tell.

CHAPTER THREE

The first show has everyone nervous. Even Tuesday seems to be on edge.

Opening night sets the mood for the rest of the tour. If we all suck out there tonight, word could spread and suddenly people are asking for refunds or not showing up to upcoming shows. Then venues start cancelling, then we are all out a lot of money, and maybe record deals.

It doesn’t help that it’s the start of spring and night one takes place in Florida, so it’s already rather warm. Throw in the fact that all three of our bands are normally openers, it creates a lot of pressure.

Tuesday is headlining, so obviously that makes her the star of this tour. People paid to see her. Honey Hive and Black Cat are just a bonus. But if Tuesday thinks for one second that Honey Hive and my band aren’t going to try to outshine her, she would be insane.

Ladies get protected during war, but unfortunately that stage is not a war, it’s a field of dreams. A piece of a pie we all want. No one is getting a shield or a piece for free. We all want that golden ticket, and are willing to go to great lengths to get it.

Once sound check is done, everyone starts drinking. They probably hope it will calm their nerves—I hope it does, too. I need my band to be at their best tonight. We have one shot to show ourselves to the crowds. If we do well enough, we may even outshine Tuesday.

When Simon, the drummer for my band, starts passing around the bottle, everyone in my band does their best not to stare at me. I know they are waiting for me to crack, and honestly, so am I.

As the group grows to all the bands including Tuesday’s backing band, they stop paying attention. Everyone is laughing, chatting, and having a good time. I find myself feeling small among them. No one talks about how different you feel sober in a world of people who are far from it.

Take Tuesday, for example. She laughs, jokes, flirts, and drinks, but her demeanor lets me know she isn’t just starting to party now. The girl probably hasn’t been sober since she woke up this morning.

She hides it well enough. Not completely fucked up, but it’s the way she moves that gives it away to me. She glides around with a sense of awe that can only be achieved when you can’t feel a fucking thing. Aloof and carefree, like nothing can touch her, because even if it tried, she wouldn’t be able to feel it.

That same vibe is what got me here. My skill got me the attention. My drug-fueled confidence got me the contract. I had the executives eating out of my palm with my cocky charm and can-do attitude.

It’s no secret that they’re disappointed in me now. They didn’t sign up for the sorry sack of shit I’ve become, but the ink had dried, the record was made, and the tour plans were already in the works. Now all they can do is try to get as much of their investment back by putting me on as many stages as possible.