“Okay, I’ll try that,” Shannon said, grinning.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Greg said. “You guys get the table.”
“Done,” Tommy said, seeing that the owner was already gesturing for them to come to the table he was standing at.
“Pays to have connections,” Cassie murmured.
“Sometimes,” Tommy said, laughing.
They all sat at the table near the dance floor. Greg showed up with the drinks and handed them out. Shannon sipped hers and found that she did like it, even though she could definitely taste the alcohol in it. She liked it even more when she started feeling tingly, and it made her forget that she was sitting with this beautiful woman, and that she was the dumpy-looking one.
After a few drinks, Cassie dragged Shannon out to the dance floor. She went willingly at that point, always enjoying dancing. The two girls danced and got a lot of attention as they did, although Shannon was sure it had to do with Cassie and not her. Cassie was wearing her usual gothic-looking attire: all black, with long slit sleeves that came down past her fingertips, black leggings, and black velvet lace-up boots. She wore her usual black eye makeup, dark lipstick, and blusher. Her black hair fell in a silky veil around her face. She also wore a black gothic cross with a long, beaded chain. The perfect gothic princess.
Shannon, wearing her blue jeans and long cotton shirt, didn’t come close to comparing to the other woman, so she gave up trying. When it hit her suddenly that she looked so awful compared to the her, she felt the need to go to the bathroom. Once there, she sat down in the stall next to the toilet, feeling her head spin. She felt fat and ugly, and like she didn’t belong there.
“Shannon?” Cassie called as she walked into the bathroom.
Shannon didn’t respond, already feeling stupid, like the little drama queen. Poor me. She didn’t want Cassie to have to deal with it. She watched Cassie’s boots as she walked past the stall, and listened to her call her name a couple more times. Then Cassie walked out. Shannon continued to sit in the stall, putting her head down on her knees. She felt awful suddenly. Then the tears started. She was away from home, on her own, forced to look horrible. What had she been thinking going out with these people? They weren’t her type of people, why was she there? Crying made her head spin more, then she started throwing up, which made her cry harder.
There was a sudden racket in the bathroom, but Shannon ignored it, she was too busy throwing up. Suddenly she felt hands at her back, and then Cassie was there next to her.
“It’s okay,” Cassie said, “drinking made me sick the first time I did it too.”
Shannon cried harder. There she was thinking she shouldn’t be with this group, and here Cassie was trying to take care of her.
“It’s okay,” Cassie said, rubbing her back. “Just relax, we’ll get you home, don’t worry.”
“I feel horrible,” Shannon said, sniffling as she sat back.
“We’ve all been there,” Cassie said, nodding her head.
Cassie moved to stand, trying to help Shannon up. Shannon cried out, her legs had gone to sleep under her having sat there for so long.
“I’ll get Tommy,” Cassie said.
“No!” Shannon said, mortified that Tommy would see her like this.
But Cassie was gone. A few minutes later, Cassie stuck her head in, looking around, then opened the door for Tommy to follow her in. Tommy kneeled down and put his arms around her.
“Just hold onto my neck,” he told her gently, as he lifted her easily.
“Don’t,” Shannon said, as he stood up, “I’m too heavy.”
“You’re not heavy at all,” Tommy said, looking down at her and smiling. “Drunk as hell, but not heavy.”
Shannon grimaced, and dropped her head against his shoulder. Where else on Earth was she going to find such nice people? It was unreal! She had a feeling, though, that Tommy was being nice to her because Cassie seemed to want to befriend her. Probably because of Allex, Shannon figured. All the same, that evening, it was nice to have people worry about her. They made sure she got into her apartment okay and made sure she was feeling sober before they left. She went to bed that night, sure they’d never call her again.
Tommy himself called her the next morning to make sure she was okay.
♫ Three ♫
Cassie drove, singing along with the CD she had in the player. She smoked, blowing long streams of smoke out, flicking the ash out the driver’s window. John sat in the passenger seat watching. He watched as she tossed out one butt and reached for another cigarette immediately. As she brought her lighter to the end of the cigarette, he noticed how badly her hands were shaking. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the rest of her. It was hot out that day, so she was wearing faded jean cut-off shorts and a cropped black tank top. He detected definite rib cage at her torso.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked her mildly.
She looked over at him, narrowing her violet eyes behind her shades.
“When’s the last time you minded your own business?” she asked, her tone exactly as his had been.
“You are my business, princess,” he replied, smiling sarcastically.
“If you keep calling me that,” she growled, “I swear to God I’m tossing you out of this car.”
“Once again,” he said, inclining his head, “you’re welcome to try.”
She made an irritated sound of frustration, then took a long drag off her cigarette, inhaling it deeply.
“You keep smoking like that you’re going to have cancer inside a month,” he told her.
“And?” she snapped.
John’s lips curled in a sardonic grin. “You really don’t like people worrying about you, do you?” he asked.
She gave him a vile look, then shook her head.
“I don’t need anyone worrying about me,” she said, her tone disgusted.
“Big difference between needing and liking it,” John pointed out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. “Why don’t you like it?”
“Why don’t you just fucking leave me alone?” she asked, her anger starting again.
“Because I don’t have anything else to do right now,” he said, his tone tinged with humor.
“You need a fucking hobby,” she told him.
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “but you, princess, are my hobby.”
“Then you need another hobby,” she growled.
John grinned. “So touchy today, princess, perhaps if you ate …”
“I ate, okay?” she said. She was tired of bantering with him, she never got anywhere.
“And you threw it up when?” he asked, knowing her kind.
“Who says I threw it up?” she asked.
“Did you?” he asked her.
She made a face at him, then turned back to her driving. “Can’t you ever be quiet?” she asked.
“I could,” he said, “but that wouldn’t be near as interesting.”
“As interesting as what?” she snapped. “As interesting as giving me shit?”
“No, princess,” he said, his tone chiding, “as interesting as finding out what makes a gothic princess tick.”
Cassie gritted her teeth, thinking that killing this guy was about the only thing that was ever going to get him off her case.
“Music,” she said simply, “music, makes me tick.”
“This dark stuff you listen to?” he asked, pointing to the CD player.
“Yes, that dark stuff I listen to,” she replied snidely, “it feeds my vampire.”
“Your vampire?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
“My dark side, my inner ego, my vampire,” she said, in explanation.
John nodded, thinking someone so young shouldn’t be so dedicated to being angry.
“So, what’s given you such a need to feed your dark side?” he asked, his tone approaching sympathetic.
“Life,” she said simply.
John nodded, putting his forefinger to his chin, and r
ubbing it in thought.
“So, being signed to a record label after an incredible two months in the business, going on a tour with two multi-platinum bands, and having pretty much the world on a plate makes you feed your dark side?” he asked cynically.
“No,” she growled, “being raped and left for dead by some bastard, and having the fucking world making it out to be my fault does.”
John looked back at her for a long moment, knowing he was just getting the tip of the iceberg of the anger inside her. He also knew she needed to get it out, because it was eating her up inside.
“The world doesn’t know you, Cassandra,” he said quietly.
She looked back at him, surprise evident on her face. He’d never used her given name before. She sensed quickly that he was trying to help her. It made her shut down completely. She didn’t want any help, she didn’t want any pity. This was something she was going to deal with on her own.
John sighed to himself, seeing that she’d closed herself off again. This girl was a serious ticking bomb, and he was afraid he wouldn’t be there when she blew. It was what propelled him to check on her constantly, day and night. Whether she liked it or not, he intended to protect her, even from herself if it came to that.
****
Fast Lane was called into a meeting at Badland Records. BJ stood waiting for all of them to settle in.
“I want you to be aware that I’ve decided to postpone the release of your album,” BJ said, his tone very business-like.
“Postpone?” Tommy asked suspiciously.
“Yes,” BJ said, steepling his fingers in front of him on the table, “with all the negative press being bandied about right now, I feel it’s in the best interest of your album to wait a few months to let the bad press die down.”
“A few months?” Greg said, his tone much like Tommy’s.
“Yes,” BJ said, “I feel at this point, releasing the album with the climate in the media, will simply ensure a quick death.”
“What about the tour?” Tommy asked, his mind working quickly.
“I’m thinking about postponing it, but I haven’t decided,” BJ said
“Postpone it?” Tommy repeated, his tone bordering on fury.
“Possibly,” BJ said.
“Oh, this is bullshit,” Terry said.
“I second that,” Johnny said.
“I’m sorry, I need to make sure that everything has calmed down before I can move forward, okay?” BJ said, trying his best to keep the meeting at a businesslike level.
At the back of the room, John watched Cassie. Her mouth dropped open when BJ talked about not releasing the album. John watched as she grimaced, then her breathing got shallow. He knew something was going on in her head; he could see her eyes weren’t seeing what she was staring at on the floor. She was looking inside herself. Something was getting ready to explode, John could feel it.
“I’ll let you know, I promise,” BJ said, standing, signaling the end to the meeting. He left the room a few moments later. Johnny, Tommy, Terry, and Greg stood up, talking to each other, each speculating on what they thought was a railroad job. Cassie blinked a few times, then stood up and made her way to the door before anyone could stop her. Tommy started to follow, but saw John go after her. Tommy stopped, not sure what he could say to her anyway. It was just unreal.
Cassie got out to her car and was in it, starting the engine before John caught up to her. He got in just as she put it into gear. All the way back to her apartment, she kept her music cranked to maximum and smoked the entire way.
Once inside the apartment she went to her room, shut the door quietly, and locked it. John didn’t realize it was locked until he tried it later.
“Cassie?” he called through the door.
“I’m fine, Mackie!” she yelled from the other side.
He nodded to himself, not wanting to intrude, but determined to keep in contact with her.
John checked on her a number of times that day, and every time she yelled back the same thing. He knew she wasn’t fine, but he also knew she was so damned stubborn and there was no way she was going to listen to him.
Later that evening, he heard the TV on in her room. He had the TV on in the living room. He sat back, smoking a few cigarettes of his own, waiting for her to come out. He flipped through the channels and he caught the words “Fast Lane” from one of the sugar-coated, lacquered, primered, blonds on the entertainment channel. He stopped, wanting to know if it pertained to the band. He thought it odd that the entertainment channel would know about their album being put on hold already.
“In review, our lead story in entertainment news tonight is one more tale of woe in the Fast Lane saga,” the blond recited, reading her script. “The lead singer of Fast Lane, Cassie Roads, takes another hit to her already sleazy reputation. A letter, sent to a number of stations from her ex-boyfriend outlines how Ms. Roads, who he loved dearly, cheated on him to sleep with BJ Sparks, so her band could land a record deal …” the woman went on, but John stopped listening.
He wondered if Cassie had just seen the same news cast. He got up from his chair and went to knock on her door again.
“You planning on hibernating all month?” he asked, trying to get a rise out of her.
“I’m fine, Mackie!” she yelled once again.
“Like hell you are,” he muttered to himself, walking away again.
Inside the room Cassie clicked off the TV, staring in tears unseeing at the dark screen. She was too numb to even feel pain at what Mike had done this time. She looked down at the bed, and the bottle laying there. Three capsules left, how many had there been? she wondered mildly to herself. She picked up the last three, put them in her mouth, and washed them down with her bottle of water. It felt so good not to think anymore, not to wonder what would happen next. She knew she’d just get tired and then it would just end. All the bullshit, all the lies, all the deception.
She couldn’t take anymore. They were trying to kill her with words, and they were winning. She’d been pretending not to care, pretending that what they were saying didn’t hurt her. Always the good little actress. None of them cared, she was just a piece of meat for them to use and throw aside. Her thoughts touched on Tommy for a moment; she ached for what she knew this would do to him, but she just couldn’t take being an albatross around his neck anymore either. Hopefully, Fast Lane would get a new singer, one that wasn’t such a slut to everyone, and they’d be fine … they’d be fine. They were good, right? Right?
“Tommy, I’m sorry …” she whispered as the tears fell again.
Tear drops fell on her hands and she looked at them, unable to focus on them. She thought of Brenden then too. He’d had faith in her, and he’d been good to her. But what had happened? Was the money more important? Why couldn’t he “decide” on the tour? The thoughts whirled around in her head as things became hazier and hazier. She heard Mackie knock again. She yelled out, “I’m fine, Mackie,” as she’d been doing all day. Even as she’d sat digging her nails into her hands, drawing blood from her skin. Even as she’d taken her razor and slid it back and forth over her wrists, praying for the courage to cut deep enough. And even as she’d walked into the bathroom to get the sleeping pills she’d finally taken all of.
She lay back, closing her eyes, and willing her mind to stop asking so many questions. She’d never get the answers anyway, so why ask? As she lay there, she could feel her blood slowing down, feel her heart beating, then slowly stopping. Her last thought was, Fade to black, is that what that means? A sigh escaped her lips as she finally blacked out.
Mackie walked to the door once again and knocked on it.
“You know, princess, you can’t stay in there forever!” he yelled.
This time she didn’t respond. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Cassie!” he yelled.
No response.
“Goddamnit, Cassandra, answer me!” he yelled.
She didn’t. He stepped back and kick
ed the door open. He saw her lying on the bed and knew before his eyes fell on the empty bottle.
“Damn it!” he yelled, striding over to her.
He checked her breathing, it was so shallow it was almost non-existent.
He shook her. “Cassie! Wake up!” he yelled.
She didn’t move. He checked her breathing again. She’d stopped.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he picked her up and put her down on the floor, reaching for his cell phone as he did.
He shoved his ear piece in and then dialed 911.
“Yeah,” he said, when the operator answered, even as he leaned down to give Cassie two breaths into her mouth. “I need an ambulance, at 2145 South Spring, now!”
He reached down, checking for a pulse. She had one but it was weak.
“What is the emergency, sir?”
“I’ve got an overdose victim, sleeping pills. I don’t know how many she took, she’s not breathing, and her pulse is weak. She’s a twenty-two-year-old, female, she weighs about ninety-five pounds, I need a unit here now!”
“Do you know CPR, sir?” the operator asked.
“Yeah, I’m a cop. Just get someone here now,” he said, tossing down the phone.
He checked her breathing again, still nothing. He gave her two more breaths, then checked her pulse. It was still there but still light. He then checked her for any other wounds. He saw the blood on her palms and on her wrists, but neither were bleeding heavily.
“Damn it, princess, don’t give up on me now,” he said, his tone worried.
He checked her breathing again and started giving her mouth-to-mouth. He stopped after a minute and checked her pulse; it was still there. He knew if her pulse stopped he’d have to do chest compressions, and as tiny as she was, he knew he’d break all kinds of bones. He didn’t relish doing it, but he knew he would if it would save her life.
“Come on, little one, just keep your heart beating for me, okay?” he told her, breathing into her mouth again and again.
He continued to give her breaths and check her pulse until he was feeling light headed, but he still continued on. Her pulse got lighter and lighter. It finally stopped just as he heard the paramedics pound on the door and walk in.
In the Fast Lane Page 7