Exit Wound

by Alexandra Moore

  “Does your mother drink?”

  “Yes,” Ben answered.

  “How often does she drink?”

  Ben shrugged, and it dawned on the both of us that he didn’t know anymore.

  The doctor went on, and Ben didn’t know the answers to any of the questions.

  “She drinks every day,” I said, barely looking up.

  The doctor looked to me with concern. “You are?”

  “Frances, her daughter.”

  He started directing the questions toward me.

  “How much alcohol does your mother consume daily?”

  “On a good day, a little less than half a bottle.” Silence filled the room; no one wanted to ask how much she drank on a bad day or what constituted a good day.

  “With the information you two gave me, my professional opinion is that your mother has what is called ‘Wernicke-Korsakoff Syndrome. ’”

  Ben asked what it meant.

  “It’s a form of dementia brought on by excessive substance or alcohol abuse,” the doctor explained. He folded his arms over his chest with the clipboard hugging tightly to him. “It’s treatable, but I don’t know what all has been lost or all of what will be returned. I suggest she immediately go into a rehab facility for treatment.”

  He handed Ben a few pamphlets for places that could treat our mom and wished us good luck. Ben looked at me, his eyes filled to the brim with despair. When we got home to the mess we had found ourselves in, I couldn’t cry anymore. There was nothing left to cry about. I was numb, it was breaking on dawn, and the only thing I wanted was sleep.

  Ben hung up his coat on the rack. I stood still until he clamped his hand against my shoulder.

  “Get some sleep, Frances. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go. Just go get some rest. You'll need it.”

  With a tired expression, I gave him a nod and dragged myself back to my room. I barely kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto my bed, falling asleep instantly.

  It wasn’t until I heard the noises of movement and the scent of food being cooked in the kitchen that I woke up. I didn’t leave my bed until Ben knocked on my door and opened it a crack.

  “Breakfast is ready.” he told me. I was sluggish, and I knew that eating something that wasn’t frozen or pre-packaged would do me some good.

  I walked into the kitchen where the boys were all helping to make breakfast. Once I sat down, I was handed a plate with bacon, eggs, roasted potatoes, and a side of sausage. I was halfway through all of it when my brother set a glass of orange juice next to me.

  “I’m glad to know you still have an appetite, Frances,” he said, and the boys laughed.

  “Yeah, we were afraid you’d become one of those girls who only cared about being thin,” Rian said.

  “And what if I had?”

  He stood silent and let me go on to eat my food.

  When I was done eating, I decided to take a shower and style my hair because once I was on the road, showering would become a privilege, and my hair wouldn’t be as controlled as it was now.

  When I was showered and dressed to my liking and my hair was tamed, the boys were already loading the van outside. Ben took my luggage out for me, and after I finished putting on my makeup, I took one last look at the place. The off-white walls that were dingy with time, the very few framed photos that hung from the wall, my room—it was all so distant already. I was leaving, and I wouldn’t be back for six weeks.

  I wondered if it was possible to change in six short weeks. I thought that maybe it was, despite what I thought. I knew I was just going to have to find out like anyone else who went on a great adventure. And in my opinion, this was going to be a damn good adventure.

  ***

  Arriving at the practice studio, I was surprised to see that everyone was already hard at work. I stifled a yawn, trying to find my place in all the organized chaos. Ben pressed a kiss to my cheek then headed up to the main stage to prepare for practice. As each boy passed me, they waved and smiled at me. I leaned against the snack table and found myself conversing with a guy who had a triple nose piercing.

  “I’m Dan,” he said when he passed by me to get some food from the snack table. He later told me he was the guitarist for the band that was going to be opening for Eden Sank during the first leg of the tour. His bandmates were breaking down their set so my brother’s band could go on, and as they came down from the stage, I got to meet them all. They seemed pretty nice despite all the metal in their faces.

  Once Eden Sank went on stage, they played harmoniously. Everything was in sync, and when they came down for a lunch break, while Rian and Grayson were skateboarding in the spacious studio and trying to race one another, I could see someone familiar talking to Everett on stage. He had the same profile and wardrobe choices—the only difference was his hair. It was up in a man-bun, messy, yet well contained. Ben was next to me at the snack table, piling food onto his plate, when I nudged him.

  “You can’t have my food,” he said instantly. I smacked his arm and nodded toward the stage.

  “Who is the kid with the man-bun talking to Everett?” I asked, and he nearly snorted.

  “That’s our summer intern. He goes by Splinter. I can’t remember his actual name.” My heart started pounding in my chest.

  “What’s his last name? Do you know?”

  “Nightingale,” Ben said, and I had to fight the urge to pass out cold. “Why? Do you know him or something? I know you two went to Rosewood together, but—”

  “Yeah, I know him.”

  The way Everett was talking with Splinter, I knew they were getting along.

  “Do you not like him or something? Is he secretly an ass? Does he have weird fetishes?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just—” I looked to the stage again, and this time, they were both looking at me. I could tell I was the subject of conversation, and it didn’t help that they were both pointing toward me. I finally gave in to my weak knees and foggy mind and fell to the ground. Everything around me faded to black.

  ***

  I gradually came to on a velvety soft couch in what appeared to be the green room, and I had bottles of water, juice, and a plate of cookies near my face when I woke up.

  “You passed out. The medic said it’s a lack of food and a boatload of stress. What do medics know, right?”

  I recognized the voice, and when my vision cleared, I looked toward the voice, and there he was: Splinter Nightingale.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “I’m here because I got a cool summer job. What are you doing here?” He held a cookie in front of my face, and since it was an Oreo, I took it eagerly.

  “I’m the band leader’s sister.”

  “I know.” He smirked. “I just wanted to see if you would come up with some lame excuse.”

  “Since when do I ever have lame responses?”

  He patted his knees and stood. “I was told to watch you until you wake up, and you’re awake. I guess my job is done here.” He dusted off his knees and looked to me again. “Oh, and we’ll be working together throughout the summer, so I hope you can put any high school-ish feelings behind you.”

  I grabbed his wrist; it was warm and bigger than I had realized. “Wait, I have something I need to say.”

  He looked at me questioningly.

  “You look ridiculous with a man-bun.”

  He snatched his wrist out of my grip. “I guess the whole ‘we’re not in high school anymore’ doesn’t apply to you, Bea,” he said and walked out.

  As soon as he left, a medic came in, and I was given the all-clear. With a plate full of food and a bottle of juice in my hand, I went back out to the practice arena. It was darkened and the light show, except the pyrotechnics, was on full blast.

  I was in such pure awe at my brother’s performance and stage presence that I didn’t realize that I had been sitting next to Splinter. We watched them for a while, clapping in delight at how good they were. There was awkwa
rd silence between changes, but Splinter finally spoke up.

  “They’re really good.”

  I glanced at him for a brief moment then looked back to my brother with a smile. “I know.”

  I sensed Splinter staring at me, and when I turned to look at him, I saw a facial expression I had never seen on him before: disappointment. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, then stood up and leaned down to whisper into my ear.

  “That could be you.”

  He slowly moved away from me and walked to the other side of the room. I know I had some musical talent in me. It had to be genetic. I could write decent songs, play piano, and strum a guitar. I was okay on drums and bass, and I even had a decent-sounding voice. But my brother was the star, and the only reason I went to Rosewood was because I had run out of luck with public schools, private schools were becoming too expensive and troublesome, plus Mackynsie and I wanted to be close again. At the time, we had spent a year apart, and it created a huge hole in our friendship. She was going nowhere but up, and I was quickly headed downhill. I knew better, however. She was really sad, and I had a huge problem with punching before thinking. Rosewood accepted me as a student based on my music teacher’s high recommendation. To them, I was deemed talented enough to attend Rosewood. When I got there, apparently everyone else thought the same. It wasn’t hard rising to the top alongside Mackynsie.

  The problem was, on my way to the top, I had somehow lost myself.

  I tried to ignore Splinter’s words and eat my food while minding my own business. If anyone needed anything to be done, I knew they had Splinter to help. Right now, I was feigning sickness, and I needed my rest. Even if I hadn’t passed out, I still needed the rest. We had a lot of places to be within the next six weeks, and being on tour with my brother and the three boys that had seen me grow up was going to be chaotic. Now that Splinter had joined us, things could only be worse.

  This was going to be one of the most stressful things I had ever done in my life. If I survived, it would be worth it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The first day of tour, which had been dubbed the “Femme Fatale Tour,” was finally in full swing. Femme Fatale was a character that had been created by Ben and some of the other members of Eden Sank. It had become a song, then a brand, and now an icon of their band. Femme Fatale meant something different for all of them—though, I didn’t really know what it meant for each person. The morning was what I would soon learn was a typical routine: I waited on five boys to finish in the bathroom and shower only to get a cold shower and a messy bathroom space when it was my turn. Did they not understand my need to maintain these curls on my head? I didn’t wake up with perfect little ringlets every morning.

  When I was done fixing my hair, I attempted to wear minimal makeup: mineral foundation with SPF, as well as regular sunscreen, and my regular dark eyeliner and mascara. I decided to wear a bit of lip balm, and it wasn’t until I saw the soft red color smeared on my lips that I realized it was of the tinted variety, so in the end, I had a full face of makeup.

  I decided to keep my outfit as simple as possible. High-waisted denim cut-off shorts and a partially buttoned-up flannel shirt that had to date back to the prehistoric era over a white tank top. Add some old and well-loved Converse shoes and I was set. When I was done, everyone had pretty much gone through breakfast, and I chastised them about their lack of chivalry.

  “Don’t you know that ladies are always first?” I asked. I sat down and ate the last of the bacon and biscuits that were available, and I even scored some OJ.

  “When did you finally become a lady, Frances? Was it after the bra riots of 2008, or was there an event we were unaware of?” Rian joked.

  After everyone was done talking about the “sick burn” that Rian had doled out, Dean, Eden Sank’s tour manager, was going over the schedule for the day. He was only about halfway through when I realized it was jam-packed. When he finished talking with the band, he took Splinter and me aside to talk about our duties as the on-the-road interns. We were on roadie duty, and on retainer for everything else. Splinter’s main responsibility was the drums, and I was fetching towels and water bottles for the rock stars all day. Simple enough, right?

  “Frances, you guys about ready?” Rian asked impatiently.

  “Yeah!” I shouted back into the bus.

  First stop on the itinerary was a radio station. They would be playing their mid-afternoon hour show, and the radio station was giving away a select amount of last-minute tickets to the sold-out show in Jersey City.

  The boys mainly joked around and hung out like real friends until they were called back into the recording station. Splinter and I were allowed back there with them, and once they were announced over the radio waves, they played their song, “Femme Fatale.” After they were done, the radio hosts, L. Tinsley and Big Poppa, asked a lot of different questions about the tour and about the songs they chose for this particular album.

  “What influenced the Femme Fatale character that eventually led to a Top 100 single, ten million copies of your album sold, and a big tour to boot?” L. Tinsley asked, and the boys laughed.

  “You could say Femme Fatale is a woman that combines our worst fears, our insecurities, and even a few of our worst nightmares combined into a character,” Ben explained. “What started out as a way to vent brought out a song, and then an entire album, and now this tour. It’s amazing what you can do when you use your fears for positive means.”

  I smiled proudly at my brother—though, he didn’t see it, focused as he was on the interview, which I understood.

  ““Femme Fatale” has been such a big hit. What’s next? What will Eden Sank do after this tour is over?” Big Poppa asked.

  “Right now we’re all doing a bit of writing and brainstorming. I can’t say whether or not there will be a new album right off the bat, but I can say we will be working behind the scenes,” Ben said.

  “We will be working to find the next best thing,” Rian chimed in.

  “Hopefully I’ll finally marry my girlfriend,” Grayson joked, and we all laughed.

  After a few more questions, they played another song, and we were off the air for at least three minutes. Ben looked over to me with a soft smile, and I smiled back. We took photos with L. Tinsley and Big Poppa for the radio’s social media sites, and once the photos were posted, I had to turn the notifications off on my phone. Every few seconds, the photos I was tagged in were getting likes and comments.

  I could tell my brother was acting as if this was the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t bothered by the constant notifications or the fact that he was never really left alone. He appeared to enjoy the never-ending attention. All I could think of was a time when he barely wanted to be looked at. Now he was the center of attention, and he was loving it. Was it because he had come out of his shell? He seemed more confident now than he had been the last time I had seen him.

  As the day went on and we went from place to place, I kept bumping into Splinter. Literally. We were always in the other’s way or annoying each other. I could probably rip his head off if he made one more snarky comment, and I think he felt the same about me.

  When it was time for the show to start, we were in our places.

  “You’re really annoying,” he said, standing next to me.

  “I could say the same about you,” I retorted.

  “Yeah, but like, you really don’t care about anyone except yourself.”

  I glanced at him curiously. I didn’t question what he meant. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to know.

  ***

  Each opening band blazed through their sets, and when it came time to join Eden Sank for their prayer circle, I felt even closer to my brother than I ever had growing up. I hadn’t thought that was possible. Seeing him in his circle of trust right before his big opening number and being able to witness it made me feel a part of his life again. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and went rushing off to go on st
age with the wild, screaming fans behind barricades. Watching my brother and his friends perform, I was filled with awe. Everyone else was excited—though, they seemed okay with it as if this spectacular performance I had witnessed was nothing more than a mundane turnout or an everyday occurrence.

  Passing each boy a towel and a bottle of water, I watched their rituals unfold. Rian threw the towel over his left shoulder and immediately guzzled the entire bottle of water. Grayson wiped his face gently with the towel and used his water bottle to cool off. Ben doused himself in cold water then proceeded to wipe himself dry. Everett did neither. He looked at me with stunned eyes as if he hadn’t really seen me until that moment.

  “Take your stuff and go, rock star,” I said, handing him the towel and water bottle. He took them with a smile and passed me by. He didn’t need to say another word to me; I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  I went back into the green room to see a huge party setting up. Alcohol, obvious drug paraphernalia, and scantily clad girls everywhere…I felt more and more out of place, and the way Everett and all the other boys took to it, it made me wonder if this was what it was all about for them.

  ***

  The party was in full swing, and I had been moved around more than a hot potato. Splinter appeared as uncomfortable as I was—although, he was being moved between various women—I had a feeling that he didn’t mind that part so much. I wanted something to drink, so I got up to go to the drink table and found myself facing one of the band groupies. I had never really imagined my brother had groupies. Things had changed since the last time I saw him. He was lusted after by a lot of women (and men), so he probably had sex with whomever he wanted and whenever he wanted. I really had to accept that he was grown up; he wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Who are you?” asked a badly bleached blonde woman sipping on a cocktail of some sort.