Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
DECLAN
My hands shake as the final lyric and strum from the bass ring out into the air. Droplets of sweat line my forehead, dark strands sticking to my face. My T-shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to my skin. My heart races as I stare into the crowd of blurred, screaming faces that blend through my dazed vision.
Camille's words have been playing on repeat in my mind all night long. Throughout the entire show, all I've heard is her voice.
You killed our baby.
How could you?
You are worthless.
Go to hell.
Too late, babe. I'm already there. Been there since my son died on that dark rainy night four years ago, all because I decided to get high before getting behind the wheel.
Nothing she says to me could ever be worse than what I tell myself daily.
My vision is blurred as I drag myself from the stage. The typical rush of adrenaline I feel after performing is missing from my veins. Instead, all I hear is the voices in my head telling me what a fuck-up I am. Telling me how better off I'd be if I were to numb the pain.
Just numb it.
You can do it.
You know how.
Time seems to pass me by. I don't remember getting in the car with my bandmates and going to the after-party in the penthouse suite we rented for the nights we were here.
The suite is already blaring with music when we arrive. Someone must've given them the key to enter, but I don't pay much attention. My bandmates rush in, oblivious to my inner turmoil as they rush across the threshold, joining the groupies that are desperate for Adam and Damon's dick.
Two blonde women rush to my side at the sight of me, their hands on my body, stripping me from my black leather jacket, and I let them, not looking at either of them. The woman on my right slips a hand beneath my T-shirt, raking her acrylic fingernails along my stomach. The sensation causes my stomach to twist.
Disgust fills me as my dark gaze turns to her. I straighten my spine, my height towering over her petite figure as I stare at the woman. Two months ago, she would've been the type of woman I'd be attracted to. I would've had her bent over the closest surface by now, pumping my cock into her, but staring at her now, even as she tries to push her fake tits against me, it does nothing for me.
All I feel is disgust.
Every fiber of my being, mind, body, and soul, is claimed by a mouthy, curly-haired woman who agreed to give me all of her tomorrows. I don't want the two girls in front of me, no matter what filthy promises are spilling from their overfilled pink lips.
Their mouths are moving, but I don't register what they're saying, though the implication is clear.
Shoving them aside, I walk toward the kitchen, ripping open the fridge and grabbing a water bottle. I twist the lid with force, and the cool liquid spills from the bottle's jostle down my hand.
Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a long drink, the coldness calming my raspy throat and cooling my heated skin.
Setting the bottle down, my eyes flicker to the liquor bottles spread along the counter. Across from me, I spot a woman snorting lines of white powder from her friend's cleavage.
You know you want it.
Numb the pain.
Numb the pain.
Numb the fucking pain.
My hands curl into fists, lips parting as my breathing becomes heavy. Chills trickle down my spine, the liquor and drugs calling to me in the sweetest siren song that has me aching to answer.
Adam had assured me this would be a drug free party, but clearly didn’t get the fucking memo.
With every ounce of willpower I can muster, I swipe my water from the counter, shoving my way through the crowd as I stalk toward my bedroom, needing to get away from all the half-naked bodies and temptation.
Temptations that have me aching to give in and allow my mind to be free from everything that taunts me. Free from the haunting past that I can't seem to escape, no matter how many years have passed and how much numbing I've done.
Escaping is all I want to do. It's all I've ever wanted to do.
It's all I wanted when I'd be forced to watch my mother shoot drugs into her veins.
It's what I wanted when he would enter my bedroom each night with whiskey on his breath.
It's what I wanted when I lay helplessly listening to my ex-wife scream while our son died.
Escaping reality is what helps me. It's what I need.
Do it .
Do it.
Just fucking do it.
You know how.
I slam the bedroom door behind me, leaning my back against it as I stand there, heaving, unable to capture enough air into my lungs.
What I need is to be saved. Saved from myself. Saved from the destruction that follows me.
Making my way toward the king-size bed in the middle of the room, I sit on the white sheets and reach into my pocket. Pulling out my phone, I scroll my list of favorites until I land on my girl.
My saving grace.
The one I don't deserve.
Andy.
Selecting her contact, I press call and bring the device to my ear, silently begging her to answer.
Come on, baby.
I need you.
I fucking need you.
The ringing stops, the robotic answer of her voicemail filling my ears.
No, baby, no.
With a bottle in my hand and tears in my eyes, I bring my phone to my blurred line of sight and lock the screen.
Calmness washes over me as I allow myself to give into the demons that constantly whisper in my ear, telling me how to ease the pain. Even if it's just for tonight, I want to end it.
I want to drown out the look in Camille's green eyes when I revealed what I did that night and the feel of her palm against my cheek.
Want her voice to fade away as she told me she'd never forgive me and wished it was me who died that night.
I've felt dead for years, but Andy has slowly brought me back to life, not that I deserve it. She's made me feel alive for the first time in years.
She's responsible for waking my soul, but I don't fucking deserve it.
Don't deserve a woman like her.
Don't deserve to feel anything other than misery.
A life of living in hell on earth is what I deserve.
I knew my time with Andy was temporary, and I'd been right.
She's too good for me, and it's time to let her go.
Let her go.
Let him go.
Let go of it all.
Finding myself back in the kitchen, I grab the bottle of vodka from the counter, twist the cap off, and bring it to my lips, pausing momentarily before it touches my awaiting mouth.
Tears burn my eyes.
I'm tired of fighting. Tired of being strong when I know what a failure I constantly am.
"I'm sorry, baby," I whisper, wishing my words would carry to Andy so she knows how I feel.
Pressing the cool rim of the bottle to my lips, I tilt my head back and have my first drink in nearly three months.
The smooth liquor slips down my throat, burning my stomach as it settles, filling me with warmth and an all too familiar feeling.
I chug until my throat burns and the voices in my head disappear.
A woman appears at my side, hands roaming over my body as I fuel myself with liquor, needing relief more than I've realized.
But it's okay. I'll be alright. I'm only letting loose for tonight, and I'll be good again tomorrow.
I promise. I'll remain sober after tonight .
I've been sober for a while, and I deserve this. Just a little reward to myself. I fucking deserve it.
The woman wraps her small pale hand around the bottle and pulls it away from my mouth, the liquid spilling down my chin and the front of my shirt with the movement.
My eyes flicker down to hers, a smirk on her lips as she brings the bottle to her lips and licks over the opening where my mouth had been before drinking.
I'm sure she's trying to be seductive, but even in my drunken state, I don't want her. I won't touch anyone else, no matter what. My dick belongs to Andy. Regardless of if she knows it or not, she's the only one that will ever be on my cock again.
How can I prove that my dick is only for her?
My tattooed fingers drum along the cold marble countertop, the ink catching my eye. A smirk spreads along my lips as a lightbulb clicks inside my vacant head.
Got an idea.
I'll get her name tattooed along my shaft.
Fuck yeah.
I'm going to do it.
Laughter spills free from my lips at my latest idea.
"What's so funny?" the woman asks, standing so close to me that I can feel the warmth from her body.
"I'm getting another tattoo," I tell her, a broad smile across my lips.
She smirks. "Oh yeah? Where?"
"My dick," I confess, turning away from her and searching the cabinets for another bottle of vodka. There's no way I'm putting my mouth back on that bottle as she's touched it.
My girl wouldn't like that. I wouldn't want that.
Glee sparkles in my eyes the moment I spot the unopened bottle of vodka in the cabinet, and I pull it out, cracking open the sill before taking a quick swig.
"Can I watch you get it? Never seen anyone tattoo their dick before."
I shrug, not sparing her a glance. "Know anywhere that's open tonight that'll do it?"
I half expect her to say no, but to my surprise, she nods. "Actually, I do know a place. Let's have some fun, and then we'll go."
"I have a girlfriend, and I'm not fucking you," I blurt out, needing her to know instantly. I'm already crossing lines by standing close to her and talking.
She laughs. "Good, me too." Then she reaches inside her bra, pulling out an all too familiar little baggie containing white powder that instantly has my heart racing and palms sweating.
Fuuuuuuck.
My gums ache for a taste.
The short brunette opens the baggie, dumps some out on the counter, pulls out her wallet, and begins cutting lines with a credit card.
Meanwhile, my eyes remain fixated on the powder, desperate for my chance to soothe my racing heart and mind.
She rolls up a dollar bill, snorts a line, then cuts another before offering it to me.
Who am I to say no when she's being so polite?
"Don't mind if I do." I grin like the fucking Cheshire cat. Leaning toward the counter, I grab the rolled bill and quickly snort the line. Not bothering to ask permission, I cut a second, then snort that one instantly.
My nose tingles and my body expels energy as I let out a weird sound, a mixture of moans and laughter.
Perspiration lines my forehead, and my body suddenly feels overheated. I tear my T-shirt off, grab the bottle of vodka, and take another long drink.
The feeling that courses through my body is a feeling I've missed. So fucking much.
Finally, my mind is clear. I'm free from the pain that has me in a chokehold every day. Free from the voices in my head telling me what a fuck up I am, as if I wasn't already aware .
From across the room, I look up to see Adam staring back at me with disappointment.
Fuck him.
Fuck anyone who is trying to ruin my high.
Flipping him off, I return to my new friend beside me.
Before I have a chance to make my lips move, my body begins to vibrate.
"Holy fuck." I gasp. "I'm vibrating." I place a hand on her shoulder, wondering if she can feel it.
I've never felt this before.
Shiiiiit. I'm vibrating.
What the fuck?
I laugh, chugging another mouthful of liquor.
The vibrating continues until I realize something. "Can you hear me vibrating?" I chuckle. "I can hear my body vibrating." I sway with the movement.
"It's your phone." She reaches into my front pocket, pulls out the magic vibrating device, and sets it on the counter beside the white lines she cut.
When did she cut those? I don't remember seeing her do it.
Fuck, she must be magic and did it with her mind.
Magic. Wow. My mind is blown.
The vibrating continues, my red eyes looking down at the screen. "Is that your girlfriend?" the woman without a name asks, looking between me and my phone.
Andy's calling. My favorite photo of her on display. I'd taken that photo before I left while she'd been in bed, naked and wrapped in sheets. Her curly hair is thrown over her pillow, the sheet is low enough to reveal ample cleavage, her eyes closed with long dark lashes, and the slightest smile is on her lips. I'm unsure what she'd been dreaming about, but it was enough to cause the most angelic smile.
I'm glad her eyes are closed. That way she can't see me through the magic vibrating device and judge me.
Holy shit.
Andy is calling.
Fuck me. I can't answer like this.
Not when I've broken my promise to her.
Sorry, baby. Give me tonight. Tomorrow, I'll return to trying to be the man you deserve. But for tonight, I'm escaping.
Looking away from my phone and ignoring the woman's question, I lean down and help myself to another line.
"What's your name?" I ask as I wipe away the cocaine residue from my nostrils.
"Amber."
"Well, Amber. Are you coming with me, or what?" She raises her dark brows in question, so I clarify, "To get my girl's name tattooed on my cock. You can't watch, but you can come."
Her face lights up, and quickly nodding, she claps her hands together. "Yes! Let's go."
"Will your girlfriend have a problem with it?"
A mischievous grin spreads across her lips. "My girlfriend will be the one tattooing you."
What the actual fuck?
"No. No way." I may be a fucking idiot, but I'm not stupid enough to let another woman touch my dick and stick her face in it. Maybe that's sexist, but I'd rather have someone with a cock doing the tattoo. That way they know what it feels like.
Amber rolls her hazel eyes and pulls off her sweater, revealing two colorful arms full of beautiful designs. "Mora is the best in the fucking state. She's done all my tats, and she's tatted and pierced a couple dicks before. Promise you'll be in good hands." She takes my lack of protest as my consent.
"Glad that's settled. Finish up. I'll call to give her a heads up." She removes her pink phone from her pocket, walks away, and leaves me with my little white best friend.
Turning to the marble countertop, I smile at the drug. "Sorry for breaking up with you. I'm back now," I whisper, dipping my finger into the powder before rubbing it across my gums.
Tomorrow, I’ll have regrets.
Tomorrow, I'll repent for my sins and return to my life of hell.
Tonight I will have fun with my old and new friends.
Tonight I'm free.
After taking another shot of vodka, I replay my conversation with Amber and burst out laughing when I realized what I had agreed to.
Holy shit. I'm getting my fucking dick tattooed.