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The red body gleams back, catching the lights that flash across the stage as Mac pounds out a beat behind us, and right as the he changes the tempo, I raise two middle fingers to the crowd in the biggestfuck youto the world.
Afuck youto those that forwarded my picture, to the ones that spread that shit across the internet. To the media outlets that reported it, all for a few clicks.
Afuck youto the industry that allows the behavior. A culture that promotes the sharing of misinformation or shit that doesn’t belong to them.
And an even biggerfuck youto the garbage that led to Cedar jumping every time I go to touch her and damaged her enough that she had to run from me.
Again.
Camera flashes catch me, document my statement to spread the narrative and say they were the ones that saw it firsthand.
But this time I want that.
I want the world to know that I don’t give a fuck what they think.
Slamming the cords, I make the instrument against my hips sing along with Rex as the brand new lyrics come off his lips.
“Wringing our angels so tight, the devil comes out.
“Dragging behind me the bodies of my mistakes,
“Bury the cadavers before I can be tainted again.”
The vocals burst out through the speakers, the amplifiers pushing the sounds farther out across the masses of stunned patrons prepped and ready to take on this packed venue just to see us.
“Swimming through the ages of who I used to be,
“Finding my way, crawling through the darkness,”
The crowd cheers from beyond the broiling stage lights, a sea of bobbing heads throbbing along with the beat in waves.
“Clawing through the end.
“I’m coming home to you, the light.”
Rex stalks across the stage, his arm out wide, the grill of the mic to his lips.
“Wipe away the decay, sing me your songs of praise.
“For the man you know I’m not.”
The words seep into my bones and leave goosebumps in their wake, the fucking truth of them, and pulls a wicked tip to the corner of my lips.
“Wipe away the decay.
“Sing me your songs of praise.”
Traveling fingers and strumming hands, I step up to the edge of the stage with a sweat slicked brow and nod along to the fresh song with a renewed ache in my chest.
And that’s when I see it.
The lights change from a green glow that blends everything together to a blanket of soft white that illuminates the first several rows of people watching with rapt attention.
The highlight of glowing orange hair manning the crowd control between me and them comes into view as he’s pulling in surfers and pushing back people who press too close to the fence that protects them from us.
But it’s not Peach that has my head cocking to the side as I strum.
No.
