Illicit Dose Of Scars: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Love Sick #1)

by Regina Ann Faith

  We are previewing the pictures on Phoenix’s camera, and I am impressed. “Fuck. Phoenix, these are incredible,”

  “Look at the way the sun shines at different angles in each picture,” Ezra says.

  “Having us wear all black was a great choice,” Reid says. “It really made the graffiti colors on the wall pop.”

  “I’m so glad you like it,” Phoenix says proudly.

  “Like it? We fucking love it!” I tell him.

  Phoenix takes a few individual pictures of Ezra, Reid, and me before announcing, “That’s a wrap.”

  three

  Journee

  Today is the Supposed Posers concert, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m so ecstatic. The actual concert doesn’t start until later this evening, so I have the whole day to get prepared to go. A few weeks ago, I ordered one of the band’s shirts to wear to the concert, and I have been listening to my Supposed Posers playlist non-stop since then.

  My dad cracks open my door. “Are you excited for the concert tonight?”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you for buying me the ticket,” I tell him.

  “No problem, Jour. I’m just happy to see you smiling again.”

  These past couple of weeks were an adjustment for us. While my mom was still in the hospital, my dad and I had gotten used to not having her around, but we knew she was still there. Now that she is gone . . . she is really gone. So I can see why my dad bought me the ticket to the concert. In some serendipitous way, he knew listening to them brought me comfort, and it was like I was listening to my mom sing through their band.

  “I’m glad to be happy again too,” I tell him honestly.

  “Have fun tonight, okay? I look forward to hearing all about the concert when you get back,” he says as he closes my room door.

  I listen as he walks back to his room and shuts his door. He hasn’t been himself these past few weeks. He’s more withdrawn, less talkative than normal. And while he was never very talkative before, it’s just odd seeing him so depressed.

  The connection between us was never like the one with my mom. I know he cares and loves me, but he’s not very affectionate. Like I need a hug every once in a while. But he tries, so I don’t fault him too much.

  I decide to pull out my laptop and go on the Supposed Posers website, which has new band pictures posted. I love their new look, and I’m surprised to see the infamous graffiti wall my friends in school used to talk about. They told me it was a popular hangout spot, that people liked to take pictures or add to art. I scroll through the rest of the pictures, still not believing I will be seeing them live in a few hours.

  I am going to drive myself to the concert, so I decide to take a nap to be fully awake later. My dad offered to drop me off and pick me up, but I told him he didn’t have to do that. I am more than happy to drive myself. He is probably just worried. Even though he bought me the ticket, he also knows what kinds of things can go on at these concerts. But he doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to do anything foolish. I’m not into drinking, smoking weed, or anything like that. As an aspiring model, I don’t want people stereotyping or labeling me.

  s

  It takes forever to find a parking space, but I rush to get in line after I found one. The line is massively long, and rightfully so. Supposed Posers have been steadily growing their fanbase since they started out a few years ago. I, myself, didn’t start listening to them until my mom got sick.

  Soon we are all able to enter the arena. I get bumped into while trying to make my way to the front. I’ve waited too long to see this band in concert. I’m going to view the whole performance from the front row. The stage is set up with an imitation graffiti wall as the backdrop, similar to the one they used for their website pictures. There are white lights above shining down on the stage, pointing to the microphone, drum set, and guitar. Everyone in the audience is waiting in anticipation.

  “Is this your first time seeing Supposed Posers in concert?” a random girl with jet-black hair and an eyebrow piercing asks, yelling over the noise of the crowd. She must have noticed me admiring the stage.

  “Yes,” I yell back. “What about you?”

  “No, I’ve see them three times before. They’re super good in concert.”

  “Three times? Lucky!”

  “They are that good,” she continues, “and they’re nice, down-to-earth guys too.”

  “You’ve met them before!” I ask.

  “Yes, I have. I think they have a meet and greet afterward.”

  “I have a pass for it. I can’t wait to meet them. They helped me through a tough time in my life.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome. They saved me from taking my own life,” she says honestly.

  I really don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything and just give her a halfsmile. I thought dealing with the death of my mother was a big, but almost attempting suicide? The lights start to flicker. I can only guess that means the band is getting ready to come out on stage. The audience gets louder and rowdier.

  Then Ezra comes out and steps up to the mic. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

  He’s tall, at least six feet from what I can tell, and is wearing a band shirt, with blue jeans and sneakers. His hair is dyed orange, and he has a lip piercing catching a bit of the stage lights.

  Soon after, Reid and Knox come on stage. They also have their band shirts on with blue jeans and sneakers. Reid is tall as well, with bright-yellow hair and a labret piercing. But Knox is the tallest out of the both of them. He has turquoise-blue hair and a sleeve tattoo. I’ve always been curious about how long one took. Is it a gradual process?

  When they start to play “Echoes,” the crowd and I go wild. To be here, standing in the crowd, watching them in the flesh, is surreal. They sound so much better live. After “Echoes,” they play “Memories” and “Chained”—all songs I have in my playlist. But then they play three new songs—“Addiction,” “This Love,” and “Undone,”—which I’m so stoked about.

  While I am rocking out to “Undone,” I glance up to the stage and noticed Knox staring at me while playing his guitar. I look away, not knowing why he is staring. It feels awkward. When I look back up toward the stage again, he flashes me a shy smile. I decide to smile back. The meet and greet is inside a nearby store, and, again, the line is extensive, wrapping around the building. I have to wait for a while to finally reach where the band is. The people in front of me have signs with the band’s name and the names of the individual members. The band members seem to be in awe of their fans’ enthusiasm. Soon, it’s my turn to speak to the band members, though I don’t have anything for them to sign. I really just want to tell them how they helped me deal with my mom’s situation.

  Ezra is the first one I’m able to talk to. “Hi, do you have anything you want signed?” he asks.

  “Umm . . . no. I just wanted to tell you that your band’s lyrics helped me a great deal when my mother was diagnosed with cancer,” I say. “She ultimately succumbed to it, but I just wanted to let you guys know how much your songs helped me.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say. I’m glad that our songs helped you during that difficult time.” He paused. “What’s your name?”

  “Journee.”

  Ezra grabs something from under the table and sets it on the table, in front of me. “Here’s our newest EP,” he explains as he signs the CD jacket. “It’s not released yet, so you’ll be the first to hear it.” He passes it to Reid, then adds “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reid automatically takes the EP and signs it before passing it Knox without a word. Knox signs it as well before handing it back to me. He gives me another shy smile, and I leave the store.

  I come back home, and, sure enough, my dad is waiting for me.

  “Dad, it’s late. Why are you still up?” I say, concerned.

  “Oh, it’s not that late,” he says. “I couldn’t wait until morning to hear about how the co
ncert went.”

  “The concert was everything and more. Thank you again.”

  “It was the least I could do. I’m so glad you had a great time, Jour.”

  I bid him a goodnight and slowly make my way up the stairs to my room, dragging my feet on each step. I’m so sleepy. As soon as I see my bed, I plop down and get under my covers. I don’t even change out of my clothes. I’m too focused on the idea of sleep. But as I’m settling in, I remember the EP Ezra gave me. I get up and grab it out of my bag and open it. Not only did I get to watch their concert live, I got to tell them how much their music means to me. I run my fingers over each signature. Each of their signatures are different. I wonder how long it took them to perfect them.

  Knox’s is the last one. I stare at it and notice numbers underneath his signature. What the hell? It takes me a while to register that it’s his cell number. Smooth move. I have to give that to him, but I am still a little hesitant to call it—even though I’m curious as to why he would give me his number. He did flash me a couple smiles. Does he like me?

  I close the CD case and put it on my dresser. Knox is just going to have to wait to see if I call him or not.

  s

  The next morning, I’m staring at the EP, debating whether or not I should call Knox.

  What does he see in me? I’m no slut, so if he thinks for one second I’d easily sleep with him . . .

  But what if he’s genuinely interested?

  I decide to just go for it. I grab both the EP and my cell phone. My hands shake as I punch in his number. I take one more deep breath before taking the plunge. It keeps ringing, and just as I think it’s going to voicemail, he picks up.

  “Hello?” he says in a deep, husky voice.

  “Hi. My name is Journee, and I . . . and I was at your concert last night,” I manage to say, stammering though my words.

  “Oh, yes. Journee. I’m surprised you called me, but I was secretly wishing you would.

  Truthfully, that was the first time I put my number in one of our CDs. How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. How are you doing?”

  “I’m great. I’m getting ready to do some press about last night’s concert with the band.”

  He pauses. “Journee, this is so unlike me, but would you consider going on a date with me?”

  “A . . . date?” My head is spinning at this point, and I don’t know how to answer, but his boldness is very attractive. Oh hell, what do I have to lose? “All right, I’ll go out on a date with you,” I finally answer.

  “Great, how’s later today sound? I’m free after this press event. You up for that?” “Yes, I am,” I say, shocked at my boldness at this point. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to go out on a date with him.

  “Okay, I will text you when I’m finished with the press event. I have to go get ready now.

  Talk to you later,” he says eagerly before we end the call.

  Holy Shit! What the hell did I just do? This is unreal. I seriously don’t have a date with the Supposed Posers guitarist, do I? I do. Oh my god, I do. This is not a drill. What will I wear?

  I immediately trash my closet to find an outfit. Then I pause to wonder where we are going. He didn’t say. So I don’t really know how I should dress. I guess I’ll go the safe route—a simple top, a pair jeans, and my flats. So I pull out my light-wash jeans and black ruffle top. I rinse my hair in the shower to make my two-day-old curls look fresh again.

  After I wash it, I apply Cantu to define my curly red hair, a trait I got from my greatgreat-grandmother, who was half Irish. Even though I got my hair color from her, I’m the spitting image of my father, who has dark-brown skin. I am just a light-skinned version of him. I put a layer of black mascara on my long lashes, making my hazel eyes pop. I stare at my reflection and start to tear up.

  It’s difficult to look at myself in the mirror some days. My eyes—I have the same hazel eyes my mom had. Seeing them in my reflection is like staring into her eyes . . . Eyes that I miss so much.

  After lingering for a minute longer, I go back into my room and get dressed. I don’t know when Knox will text me, but I am super excited for our date. I decide to play the EP to pass the time. There are four songs. “Wordplay,” the first one, is upbeat and has a solo guitar riff, which Knox kills. “Freedom” is mid-tempo and showcases Ezra’s haunting vocals, while “Sacrifice” has a drum solo to go with the up-tempo beat. The last and final song, “Muse,” which is my favorite, is a rock ballad that each band member sings on. I didn’t know Knox could sing. I am so used to him playing his guitar, I never paid that much attention to who was actually singing on the songs. The last song is coming to an end when my cell starts to vibrate.

  Knox: Hey, Journee, I just finished the press event. Do you still want to go out?

  Of course I do. What did you have in mind?

  Knox: Do you like flowers? There’s a botanical garden we can go to.

  Yes, I like flowers. That sounds peaceful and serene. I would love to go.

  Knox: Okay, cool. Text me your address, and I will swing by and pick you up.

  I am in total shock. Am I really about to text him my address? Whose life is this? I send him my address, and he tells me that he’ll come pick me up. I’m so glad my dad isn’t home right now, not that I wouldn’t tell him about Knox. I just don’t want to have to tell my dad about him today.

  I decide to look for more modeling gigs while I wait for Knox, so I pull out my laptop. I definitely have to start making some money. I”m hoping that I can get signed to a modeling agency, but in order to do that, I have to build a portfolio. I’m in the process of applying to a gig when the doorbell rings. I quickly save the application to finish later, and shut down my laptop. I make sure I look at myself in the mirror one more time before heading to get the door.

  As soon as I open the door, I feel so giddy inside. Knox is smiling at me, wearing a gray button-down shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearm, partially exposing his black tribal sleeve tattoo. He is also wearing black jeans and black-red-and-gray sneakers, and his turquoise-blue hair has the bed-head look, which I don’t mind one bit. It looks kind of sexy that way.

  “Are you ready?” he asks me as I stand there, looking like an idiot.

  “Uhh . . . yes.”

  I close the door behind me, and we walk to his car as he says, “You look very pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  We’re already on the road when he asks, “Have you ever been to the botanical gardens before?”

  “When I was younger, I think. My mom might have taken me there. But I really don’t remember,” I say honestly.

  “It’s very peaceful and serene. I go there every once in a while to clear my head.”

  “I figured it would be. I need some peace and serenity in my life.”

  “You’re stressed? You could have fooled me,” Knox says with a slight chuckle.

  “I’m trying to find some modeling jobs, and it’s a tough industry.”

  “Modeling jobs? You’re a model?”

  “Aspiring model, I would say. I’ve booked a few gigs since I graduated high school.”

  He looked at me, puzzled. “How old are you, by the way?”

  “Eighteen.” I look back at him, trying to gauge his thoughts. “Does that bother you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m twenty-two. Does that bother you?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Good,” he says. “Because I would like to get to know you more.”

  “Oh.”

  “If that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s okay with me,” I assure him. “I would love to get to know you more as well.”

  When we reach the botanical garden, Knox comes around to open the door for me. To our surprise, Fridays are free admission, so Knox and I walk on in and stay for a few hours, admiring all the flowers and foliage. It is definitely peaceful and serene. The smell of the whole garden has such a calming effect, reminding me to relax and let things be.
I needed this view to remind me that I need to relax and let things flow the way they are supposed to.

  “What are you thinking about?” Knox asks me after a little while.

  “Just how grateful I am that you brought me here to experience this,” I say, smiling at him.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad to be here with you,” he says, reaching out his hand for mine.

  I almost pull away, but something tells me to let him take my hand in his. His hand feels warm, and he starts to play with my fingers as he holds my hand. It tickles and sends a rush through my body.

  “I want to see you again. I don’t want this to be the only date. But I have to get ready to play some shows,” he says somberly.

  “I can wait for you.”

  “Being with me is going to require sacrifice. A lot of my exes couldn’t handle it, and I don’t fault them. I just wanted to let you know what you are getting into dating me.”

  “I understand. I’m willing to wait . . . if you are willing to stay faithful to me while you’re touring.”

  He pulls me to his side and hugs me. “You’ve got it.”

  I’m a little tired after a while, so I ask Knox to take me back home. During the drive, we discuss what the next date will be.

  “I would love for you to meet Ezra, Reid and their girlfriends,” Knox states.

  “Oh, I would love to meet them,” I say

  “They’re like brothers to me, and I don’t want you to think that you’re the only girl.”

  “I don’t mind being the only girl. But since you mentioned the other guys had girlfriends, that’s even better.”

  “Do you like rock climbing or zip lining?” Knox asks.

  “I haven’t done either of those things,” I confess.