Dmitri
Who has two thumbs and is back to getting the silent treatment?
This guy, right here.
My little stunt after practice only led to more distance between me and Eric. Where before he wasn’t speaking to me, now he won’t even look in my direction.
Tonight is our last show until we hit the road. This venue is the biggest we've played so far, and our unofficial start to the tour. There's only one more week until our departure, and then I’ll be trapped on a tiny bus for six weeks with a man hell-bent on pretending I don’t exist.
At least it’ll force him to acknowledge me.
Tai approaches and brings me out of my thoughts. “Everything ready on your end?” he asks in his calm voice, and I nod. “Good, we have a long set tonight. Try not to wear yourself out too early.”
“Great advice,” I say, a little too sharply, before offering him a small, half-apologetic smile. I shouldn’t be so rude to him, but he’s closest to Eric. Tai constantly checks in on him, snags the seat next to him on the couch, and leans intimately close for discussions I can’t hear.
His high, chiseled cheekbones and long ponytail are striking, and he's pretty enough to demand a double take.
He struts around like a runway model, with his fringed leather jacket and ripped jeans adding an edginess that should look ridiculous.
Instead, he looks unique, eye-catching and somehow perfectly put together.
I’ve never been so insanely jealous.
I want to rip the fringe off his stupid jacket and use it to tie him up in a closet so he can never speak to Eric again.
Take a razor to his jeans and shove them down his throat until he chokes.
Cut off his ponytail and fling it like fucking confetti until he’s so ugly those hazel eyes will never again land on him.
It’s not a normal reaction, but I can’t stand seeing him next to what’s mine.
Dante bustles around, double-checking that everyone’s equipment and music are in order. The roar from the audience is deafening, and nerves tingle in my belly as I wait for the show to start. It's a welcome distraction from everything else going wrong in my life.
I’ve always had a deep love for performing.
The electrifying rush that comes from unleashing myself in front of a crowd and the way the world reduces to the stage.
It’s being part of something bigger than myself, and losing myself in the music.
The thumping bass and melancholic melodies of Falling Absent awaken something in my blood.
Up here, I’m no longer Dmitri Belikov, with his irrationally short fuse and unrequited affections. I’m just Sticks, the mindless drummer. I can escape myself, even if only for a short time.
We walk out onto the stage, and the scorching heat of the lights washes over my face like the sun on a hot summer afternoon. Wild cheering gets louder as the crowd waits for us to start, and after a nod from Dante, I count us in.
And then, we play.
Music fills the venue as we work through our extensive set list. From my seat at the drums, I have a perfect view of Eric’s back as he powers his way through the songs.
Every single note is flawlessly executed, his deep, throaty voice booming within these four walls.
There’s so much passion and strength behind it that I almost lose my place as I listen.
He’s like a siren, calling to me and luring me out into these murky waters. Coaxing me deeper until I have no choice but to sink under this surface, letting him fill my lungs until I can’t take any more.
God, I want to fucking drown.
Beads of sweat roll down my forehead, scattering in a downpour as I swipe my hair out of my eyes. My arms ache and my body screams as we play the last song.
For two hours straight, we’ve gone nonstop, barely even pausing for a quick drink of water. Eric’s voice is strained from the effort, with the scratchy quality getting rockier as the night goes on, but he never falters.
It’s chaos in the venue as the final chords hit the air, and the crowd’s cheers are just as rambunctious as they were for the first song. A strange mix of exhaustion and pure adrenaline fuels my body as I stand, knees aching from sitting so long.
“Fuck, do we really have to pack up now?” I grumble, more to myself than anyone.
Dante chuckles as he walks over with a fresh bottle of water. “‘Fraid so,” he says, with zero sympathy. “We aren’t big enough to have people to do that shit for us, princess.”
I glare at my drum set, by far the bulkiest and most tedious to dismantle.
With a sigh, I get to work. Twenty minutes later, everything is stacked with the rest of the equipment ready to be loaded.
The endorphin rush from being on stage is long gone as I grumble and complain.
Sweat glues my clothes to my body, and I know I probably stink.
Dante works through his checklist, and for a moment, I imagine cramming that clipboard up his ass. His eyebrow lifts when he catches my glare. “Well, aren’t you a peach tonight?” he asks under his breath.
“Fuck off, Dante, I’m tired and sweaty.”
He gestures toward a hallway. “Take a shower if you need to. We've got time.”
I blink at him, tilting my head in a mix of irritation and relief. “There’s a shower here and you’re just now telling me?”
He fixes me with a bored glance, then rolls his eyes before returning to his list. “Yeah, there is. Go rinse off that nasty attitude.” When he turns his back to me, I pull a face at him, then catch another whiff of myself and head toward the hallway.
The dressing room is bare-bones, with a dusty mirror on one wall and an assortment of mismatched chairs and folding tables, but I'm not here for luxury. I pull the door behind me and lock myself in, kicking myself for not bringing a dry change of clothes. Still, I’ll take what I can get, and rinsing off sounds like heaven right now.
I tear my shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground with a wet splat, scrunching up my nose as I stare at it. I heave a tired sigh as I pick it up and drape it over a chair, resigning myself to the fact that I’ll have to wrestle my way back into my own funk after this shower.
My jeans cling to me as I peel them off, and I toss them over another chair to air out.
I'm beyond ready to climb under the water as I walk toward the bathroom wearing only my underwear, and I throw my weight into the door.
It gives too easily and my footing slips, right as I crash into a very wide-eyed Eric.