by S. J. Blaze
While lying in bed, I hunt the internet for Coen news. It has become my nightly ritual, especially since I haven’t heard a word from him. I glance down and look at the ring. I shouldn’t wear it. I should have returned it as I had intended to. I switched the ring to the middle finger, as it doesn’t attract as much attention that way. I wish I could just stick it in a drawer and be done with it. Be done with him. But I can’t. And the more difficult life feels here, the more tension that builds on this bus like a shaken soda can ready to burst, the more I feel that I no longer belong here.
My Coen stalking is interrupted when I hear giggling coming through my door. The bus is set up so that when you walk in, you hit the living area, dining area, and kitchen area. Then there’s a small door dividing the sleeping area that houses six sets of bunk beds, three on each side. In the back of the bus there’s a small bedroom with a tiny bathroom, which is mine since it has a lock on it. That’s a necessary feature when dealing with rowdy, usually intoxicated men.
Rule number two on the road is that no chicks or partners are allowed on the bus ever! I hear the high pitched laughter again, this time followed by a deep rumble. I climb off my bed and inch towards the door, my cell still in my hand. I listen to the intruder to see if I can pick up on who it is. All I can hear are moans.
I’m so creeped out. What if someone stumbled on our bus accidentally? What if it’s fans being sinister? I decide to muster my courage and get closer to the door. I need to know if I should alert anyone to this.
As quietly as possible, I slowly pull the door open. Only a tiny crack of light can be seen at first. Then as the door reveals more of the images in front of me I gasp and slam it shut.
I should’ve known better. I knew he’d take things too far. He’s upset and trying to hurt me. But after roughly six weeks of dealing with this shit, I don’t see why I’m here anymore.
Bullet knows the rules.
I’m a rule person…I live by the rules.
I need the rules.
The rules exist for a reason.
You break the rules, there are consequences.
The next morning, I wake up before everyone. Grabbing Malice and my Black Penguin, we journey to the stage where we’ll be performing later today. I hang out backstage and talk with the performers as they exit. They’re all in the same boat as Loaded. We’re starting to get some notoriety but still have dues to pay. There aren’t many females on our stage, except for the waiting girlfriends or wives or the fuck-of-the-moment groupie. But I hang out and chat with them and their partners when they get off stage.
Stryker comes over while I’m waiting for the group to arrive.
“Where’s the rest of the gun patrol?” He smiles coyly at me. His band is performing on the main stage tonight. They get prime time air and love to throw it in everyone else’s faces.
“Stryker, don’t you have women to roofie? That’s how you get laid, is it not?” I’m in no mood to play nice. After Bullet and his twat finally settled, I couldn’t seem to sleep.
The jerk eyes me up and down while licking his lips. “I’d love to show you how I get my women, delicious Shooter.” Gross, I think I just threw up in my mouth. I roll my eyes and attempt to walk away when he chases after me.
“Seriously, sexy, why haven’t we been fornicating all over this tour?” he asks sounding surprised.
“Because I have standards.”
“You know they’re just using you.” He throws and I willingly turn to catch.
“What do you mean?” I feel myself heating up.
“I know about your double life. They use you for your talent, your money, and your connections.”
What? How does he know any of this?
He must be able to read the confused look on my face. He walks over and cups my chin then softly whispers, “Come on, baby. I know you aren’t this dumb. I wouldn’t know any of this if they didn’t tell me, right? They don’t deserve you…” He knows exactly where to stick the knife.
Stryker is a manipulator, but how does he know about me?
He continues his torturous ripping of my soul. “I’d take care of you. I wouldn’t leave you alone all night and fuck away with tramps. Not if I had you waiting for me.”
This is just another way of him trying to get in my pants. He’s been dying for a taste of me for over a year.
But, as I always say, the best lies have some truth.
I look over and see Malice watching with wide eyes. He heard everything.
“Savez-vous ce dont il parle?”
Do you know what he’s speaking about?
He shakes his head, but I can see the sadness growing in his eyes. I bet they mirror my own. Either he knows and is afraid to hurt me by revealing this truth or he’s only just learning of this, as I am.
“Je ne le crois pas. Ils t'aiment. Tu le sais.”
I don’t believe him. They love you. You know that.
“Je ne sais pas quoi que ce soit, pas plus.”
I don’t know anything, anymore. The words catch in my throat.
Our manager, Rick, comes around the back and heads towards us looking confused.
“Where are the guys?” he yells.
“I haven’t seen them.” I shrug.
“If you were in my world I’d never leave your side, sexy Shooter,” Stryker coos.
I turn to Mal. “S'il vous plaît le faire partir.”
Please make him leave.
I know I’m a baby but Stryker throwing lemon juice on my paper cut is turning the slit into a burning infested mess.
As I’m making my way to the stage, I see all three of my bandmates running in the same direction. They all look like absolute shite and like they just woke up.
“Baby girl,” Gunner calls out as he runs over. I continue walking and ignore him. I need to get through this set and then I will be able to fester on the thoughts Stryker has implanted in my manic mind.
I run up the steps to the stage and wait for the guys. There’s no curtain; it’s basically just an open platform and a massive field. In my opinion, this is how music should be. No hype. Just the performers and the audience connecting in the key of sanctified rock.
It does help, though, when the band is better prepared, and when they aren’t stabbing each other in the fucking back.
“Hey, we looked for you this morning. Where the fuck did you go?” Gunner asks, always playing the concerned best friend. I wonder how much of it was actually real…
“I was here, Gunner. Waiting for you guys.” I say this too softly. Too revealing.
His brows crease as he walks over to get a better look at me. “What’s wrong?”
Both Trig and Bullet slink closer to hear.
“Nothing,” I say clearing my throat. I turn to Bullet and stare. “Just couldn’t sleep well, I guess.”
I watch as he swallows and looks away. Coward!
They call us on set and we find our rhythm. We give the fans a show that they’ll never forget. Despite the trio’s obvious disarray. Despite the mud and rain. Despite my heart and soul crashing into nothingness they get a good show.
Tori McNeeley
James Evans
Shawn Patterson
Quinn Thompson
Chris Fletcher
Elias Munez
I can do anything.
When we close and run off the stage to make room for the next group, I feel the guys surrounding me. I keep walking. I hand my guitar to Malice, and keep walking. I don’t sign autographs, I keep walking. When they yell my name and question what my problem is, I keep walking.
I keep walking.
And walking, and walking.
I feel like Forrest Gump. Just keep going and never stop. I know I won’t like where I’ll end up so what’s the point?
But I know I have to stop. So, I eventually do. I turn to find Malice and I drop. My legs incapable of supporting the emotions swirling and churning inside me.
I try to think of those six horrible names to
pull myself together. If I can live through that, I can live through anything.
I lived through death, but I can’t seem to live through life.
“Nous allons trouver la solution.”
We’ll find the solution.
I shake my head. There is no solution.
“Que fais-je?”
What do I do? I ask Malice.
I continue clinging to him until the sun begins to set and the air around us chills. We melt into the muddy ground as people pass us. He holds me. I’m so lost in my head that I’m paralyzed, and afraid of saying goodbye to my three lifelines. How could I stay with them if any of this is true? I have to get back to the bus, though. I’m getting cold and hungry, plus both Malice and I are covered in dried mud and probably smell. We’re a sad duo.
“Es-tu mon ami?”
Are you my friend? I finally gain the courage to ask. I mean, I know he’s my employee, but is he my friend?
“Non, vous êtes ma famille.”
No, you’re my family. I lean over and squeeze the crap out of the poor filthy French guy. Maybe, if I know I have someone in my corner, I can get through to the other side. Because right now, I’m not sure if I can.
Mal stands up and holds his hand out to me. I reach up taking it and we walk back to the bus together. I’m terrified what I’ll find when I get there.
I climb the steps with lead feet. As I walk in, I hear the guys yelling at each other. I notice that Gunner’s collar is ripped, Bullet’s nose is bleeding, and Trigger has a growing bruise on his cheek.
They all freeze as I enter. I keep my eyes to the floor. I can’t do this to them. They were a unit before me. Once I joined, they had to make pacts, and now they’re beating each other and narrowly missing performances. This isn’t what I want for them. I doubt it’s what they want for themselves either.
“Shooter, baby?” Bullet croaks.
“Rules are in place for a reason,” I whisper to the ground. My throat is still closed and scratchy, so even my whispers sound broken.
“I’m sorry…please?”
Gunner comes over and reaches for me but I duck. “He’s a fucktard. You know this, baby. But we’re fine, right?”
I shake my head, never reaching his eyes.
Trig tries. “It was just a bad day, baby girl.”
I don’t respond but stay firmly rooted in this moment, waiting to see what they will ultimately force me to do. At least a minute or two goes by.
Gunner comes at me again. This time he cups my face and tilts my head his way. “Don’t do this. We love you! We need you.”
I’m not sure what to say anymore and the day has drained my fight. “Maybe we should figure some things out,” I whisper while biting my lip.
Gunner must take this as a good sign, as he smiles softly still tilting my chin. “Yeah, baby. Anything you want.” He looks into my eyes for a quick moment then pecks my lips softly. His hand falls to my lower back and he ushers me to the little benched table.
I’m on one side with Gunner, and across from me is Trig and Bullet. We’re drowned in silence while counting the stupid specks on the table…well at least that’s what I’m doing. They might just be staring at it for all I know. Malice comes over with a big bowl of ice and some dishrags. He throws it in the middle of the table and walks away.Silence is certainly not golden tonight. That would be the case had my stomach not chosen that moment to growl. Loudly. Bullet jumps up and comes back a moment later with a yogurt and bottle of water. He places it on the table in front of me never meeting my eyes.
“You should eat, baby.” His voice is hoarse and soft.
It’s a distraction, so I do, but not because he told me to.
“Shooter, we were really worried about you this morning. And then you ran off and we’ve been losing our minds all day with trying to find you. You know you can’t do that shit, especially here at a festival,” Trig says firmly.
“I was with Malice. And you three slept in thanks to your late night proclivities,” I deadpan.
Bullet clears his throat and looks to Gunner. I watch their silent exchange but I get nothing. I really want a shower. This is going nowhere fast. Time to lay my cards on the table.
“Look, um, things haven’t been right with us for a while now, and I’m not sure if this is working,” I finally break through. We spent the next two hours hashing out our issues. Well, they did majority of the talking. I stayed mostly silent. In the end, I agreed to stay. Bullet promised to behave, though I don’t entirely believe him. They claim that everything Stryker said was fabricated, and they have no idea how he knows about me. Only time will tell.
After a searing hot shower, I crawled into bed exhausted. Again to my nightly ritual of Coen stalking commence. He’s in the news, as always. There was a charity fundraiser last night and he was seen with several beautiful women, though he arrived alone. I wonder if he’s ok. It’s too late to text, so I decide to send an email.
I address him as Mr. Collins. I know he hates that, and I’m checking to make sure everything with the merger has come to its full conclusion and to his satisfaction. I scroll through my social media and learn that my sister just found out she is pregnant. I love how nobody had time to call or tell me but managed to post it on Facebook.
As I’m about to shut my cell down, I find an email from Coen.
Ms. Paz,
Thank you for your concern over my satisfaction. I assure you that I am far from satisfied. We need to remedy this quandary immediately. When will your services be next available?
In need of immediate assistance,
Coen Collins
Since this is my work email and it appears he’s awake, I decide to text him.
11:49 Charlie: My apologies on your dissatisfaction, Mr. Collins.
11:50 Coen: Yes, it is most disturbing. A plan is needed to correct this malfeasance.
11:52 Charlie: Please advise.
11:53 Coen: Where are you?
11:54 Charlie: Bed.
11:54 Coen: Ggggrrr
11:55 Charlie: Not sure what vernacular that is.
Instead of responding, he calls.
“Hi...”
“Hi, love. Ah, I’ve missed hearing your voice.”
“You should’ve called.”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d chase after you and drag you back once I heard your voice. Are they taking care of you, at least?”
“I don’t know. We got into a big fight today. Well, it’s been building and it just sort of finally erupted.”
“What’s going on? Is there anything you need me to do?”
“No, it’s just that…I guess our relationships are changing.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Yeah, I thought we were...I don’t know. More than family. The guys are my best friends. I don’t really know where that leaves me if they’re gone. People are saying things to me about them. And Bullet is purposely pushing my buttons.”
“I know you love them but maybe it’s time to open yourself to other relationships. I’ll be here no matter what you need.”
“What about the last thing you said to me. How it was too late for us?” He chuckles. “It is too late, love.”
I fail to see why that’s funny. “Coen?” I nearly growl feeling frustrated with yet another male in my world.
“I meant that destiny has already joined us on this path. We’ve found each other. It is too late for either of us to find another way. This is it. I won’t let you go.”
With that, he melts my heart. We talk a little more and then hang up with promises of tomorrow.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face, my first real smile in weeks.
I awaken in the early morning hours to something warm on my back. Immediately, I slide my hand under my pillow to clutch the knife I store there. My instincts aren’t screaming at me but I’m covering my bases.
“Put it down, baby. You know I won’t hurt you,” Bullet murmurs as his hand shifts over my stomach. Why can’t
he just let me be? Despite my better judgment, I release the knife. I can always grab it later.
“Go away. In case you didn’t notice, I was sleeping.”
“Naw, I can’t sleep and it looks like you’re awake.”
“Go find another bed to occupy yourself with. You’ve closed this one down forever!”
He digs his nose in my neck and with his two arms banded around my front, I’m sealed to him with no hopes of escaping.
“Well, then, consider this a grand reopening,” he moans while grinding his front to my ass and licking up my neck.
“I watched you fuck some chick last night and now you’re here like I mean something to you? Go fuck yourself!” I try to move, but he pulls me tighter to him. “Dammit Bull, let me go.” I mean this in so many ways, it’s not even funny.
“Settle down and go back to sleep. It’s not like we’ve never slept together. I just want to hold you for a while.”
I fuss a little more, still tense. Then he starts humming. As he hums, he loosens his hold on me, but leaves his arms circling me and his body close to mine. Between his warmth and his devious humming vibrating through my back, I reluctantly fall asleep. Easily falling back into Bullet.
Sadly, I’m never too far out of his reach.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The trio kept their promise and were well behaved for the rest of the tour. Things were still a bit tense but we managed. On the bright side, Gunner and I got closer on this trip. He didn’t seem as into the ‘easy life’ as the other two. As for Stryker, I guess I let it drop. He hit on me at almost every venue and I incessantly wondered what he really knew about me. I’ll get Malice to do some follow up research in the coming months.
Coen and I texted, emailed, or spoke nearly every day. So when I show up at his office, unannounced, I’m not sure what I’ll find. I walk to his new PA, Turner’s, desk.
“Hi there. I was wondering if Mr. Collins had a moment to speak with me?” I question.