Four
Whit
L ennox and Blaine lounge on my couch as the sunlight streams through the oversized windows, creating warm pools of light across the room. Both are nursing their coffees, engaging in a debate about the best guitarists of all time. Nox, with his dark curly hair and mischievous grin, is animatedly defending Jimmy Page, while Blaine, all lean muscle and piercing gray eyes, is arguing for Jimi Hendrix. Their banter drums a steady rhythm against the backdrop of my sleepy mind, yet I find it hard to fully pay attention.
“You can’t seriously think Page is better than Hendrix!” Blaine scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Why not? The guy single-handedly redefined rock music with his guitar solos!” Nox shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest.
I chuckle softly to myself, amused by their heated exchange while my heart races with anticipation for tonight’s show at The Underground. But mostly, it’s thoughts of Scarlett that sets my pulse racing.
Straightening up, I finally join the conversation. “You two do realize you’re both missing the point, right? It’s about the emotional impact, not just the technical prowess.”
Blaine flashes a cocky smile. “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake. Care to share who you think has the best emotional connection through guitar?”
“You know he has to get his beauty sleep so all the girls will fall on his cock after the shows!” Nox chimes in, not missing a beat.
“Shut up, fuckers,” I mutter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and shuffling toward the kitchen. My body aches from the late-night jam sessions, and I can feel the remnants of exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin.
“Where the hell is the coffee pot?” I peek back into the living room, realizing they are both laughing at my disheveled state.
“I swear to Thor, if one of you bastards–”
“Pipe down, princess. Look behind you, you big oaf,” Nox laughs, pointing.
Turning my head, the sight of the coffee pot, perched on its usual spot on the counter, sent my heart racing with a rush of frustration and relief.
“For fuck’s sake, I need more sleep,” I groan, pouring a steaming cup. Staying awake to scour the internet for Scarlett probably wasn’t my brightest idea. In my defense, I needed to know everything about her—what makes her laugh, why her eyes sparkle with mischief, the sadness she tries to bury but I could see it staring me in the face.
“Anyways, since you’re awake, tell us who’s the best.” Nox raises his eyebrow as if he knows that Page is number one.
“Slash, hands down. He’s written the best riffs and solos that hit you right in the feels,” I declare, feeling a sense of satisfaction as both of them pause to consider my choice. They’re silent for a beat, contemplating. Then, as if on cue, they dive back into their argument with renewed fervor.
While the rich aroma of coffee fills the air, my mind wanders back to Scarlett. Our collision yesterday sparked something deep inside me. I can still feel the electric pulse of that moment—us crashing into each other, a shared breath that lingered longer than it probably should have, but fuck, if I don’t need my next fix more than air.
Blaine, ever observant, notices the shift in my mood. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he taunts.
“Big night tonight. Just thinking about the set,” I lie. “The Underground is a big deal.” Nox would eat me alive if he knew my mind was anywhere other than on Chaos Theory.
Chaos Theory wasn’t always the tight-knit band it is now. It started with a simple idea—a desire to break free from the confines of the ordinary and create something extraordinary. With Lennox on the drums and Blaine with his bass, I take center stage with vocals and my guitar. We’ve landed a few big gigs in some of the top venues around town, and the buzz about us is growing.
Tonight, we’re gearing up for a show where we’re headlining. The Underground is a popular spot known for launching local bands to fame. Adrenaline begins pumping through me as the coffee hits my tongue.
But, I can’t shake the image of her from my mind—the way her laughter ricochets through my thoughts, her fiery red hair framing a face that makes me want to get lost in every curve. She is more than just a pretty face; there’s a vibrancy, an energy that intrigues me like no one else. I need to go over the setlist, but a certain fiery vixen keeps popping up like fucking click bait on porn sites. Scarlett. She’s like a drug and I’m already addicted.
Knowing it’s probably a bad idea but also not giving a fuck, I pull my phone from my pants and shoot her a text. If there’s one face I want in the crowd tonight, it’s her’s. Consequences be damned.
Whit:
I have plans for you tonight.
I chug my coffee but never let my eyes stray from my screen, even as my throat screams from the burn. Bubbles appear, then disappear, over and over until I’m ready to call her. I don’t make calls. Period. This chick has me so twisted after only one day that I’m worried about my health, for fuck’s sake. Finally a text comes through.
Scarlett:
Good morning to you too, and let me guess…you’re going to kidnap me and hold me hostage while you film masked thirst traps for your IG fans?
I choke as soon as I read her words. Coffee sputters to the floor and I have to set my cup down and pat my chest to try to suck in some much needed air.
It’s official; she’s trying to kill me.
Whit:
Well, damn, little flame. I didn’t know we were going straight to kinky. Fuck, guess I need to dust off the ol’ mask after all. So does this count as consent to do fucked up shit?
I can almost hear her laugh through the screen, a sharp and bright sound that cuts right through whatever awkwardness is lingering in the air.
Scarlett:
Only if you promise to take your time. I want the full experience; the ropes, the toys, and of course, a mask.
My heart races, and heat creeps up my neck. I’ve known Scarlett for barely twenty-four hours, but I’m already hanging on every word she types. There’s this electric pulse between us, and I’m more than ready to ride it until it buckles.
Whit:
Oh, I’ll take my time with every part of you.
Whit:
How about I pick you up at seven? That gives me plenty of time to get everything ready. A proper kidnapping, if you will.
Scarlett:
Deal. But if you ruin my favorite shirt while I’m in this hostage situation, I swear…I’ll burn everything in my path!
There’s a playful challenge in her tone that makes me all the more eager–her spirit is fierce, and I can’t wait to see the fire in her eyes when I finally have her in front of me. I take another sip of coffee, savoring the bitterness that jolts my senses awake.
Whit:
We’ll definitely need to keep that shirt intact then. Wouldn’t want you to sacrifice an outfit for our date. If I’m being honest, my plan may be a bit wilder and several beats louder than you’re used to.
Scarlett:
Wilder than my plans for a weekend Netflix binge?
I smirk to myself, slowly walking back to my room. The guys are still bustling about my apartment like they always are. Even though they have their own places, my pad seems to always be the hangout spot.
Whit:
Trust me; this will be one for the books.
Scarlett:
Promises, promises. But seriously, what’s the plan?
She’s good at this, I’ll give her that. I lean against my dresser, totally enveloped in the thrill of it all. Whatever this is between us—this playful banter and undeniable chemistry—feels exciting and reckless, almost dizzying.
Her question has me hesitating for a second.
What’s the plan?
A part of me wants to charm her with the anticlimactic answer, but will she appreciate it? Or should I just drop her into my world? It’s sink or swim, little flame.
Whit:
It’s a surprise. Now, be a good girl and send me your address.
Scarlett:
What happens if I’m naughty?
Fuck, did the universe just happen to plant my perfect woman in front of me yesterday? Scarlett’s fiery spirit and captivating presence have me questioning everything I thought I knew.
Whit:
I don’t think you could handle me, little flame.
Scarlett:
You must have me mistaken for a “normal” girl. See you at 7. *wink face*
I toss my phone on the bed and head to the shower with a goofy grin plastered on my face. The hot water soothes the tension from my muscles. Thoughts of Scarlett linger, but I have to push them aside for now. Today is all about the band. Chaos Theory has a big night ahead, and I want to be ready.
The day is packed full of rehearsals at the studio we rent as our practice space. It’s a familiar routine, but the excitement never fades.
I pop a couple of Addys and throw on some white-wash jeans and a snug black short-sleeve shirt that accentuates my ink—a living canvas telling stories of love, loss, and everything in between. I feel like I’m ready to take on the world.
When I arrive at the studio, Lennox and Blaine are already there, fine-tuning their instruments, lost in the rhythms that keep our hearts racing. The atmosphere buzzes with electric anticipation, a vibrant hum that fills the air. It’s the familiar buzz of creativity—the unknowable spark that ignites our desires and fuels our passions.
Writing lyrics has always been my way of channeling everything—frustrations, hopes, dreams, anything that I’ve kept bottled up inside. Each word, each line, is a part of my soul laid bare. I can already feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, the excitement simmering beneath the surface.
“How’s the new song coming?” Nox asks, tapping a rhythm on his snare, his dark curls bouncing in time with the beat.
I hesitate, my thoughts drifting back to my notebook, filled with scribbled lyrics and fleeting ideas. I’ve been stuck on this one song for weeks now. The melody plays like a familiar whisper in my head, yet the perfect words remain elusive, teasing me like a dream fading at dawn. I close my eyes, catching a glimpse of a girl with wild long hair dancing on a sun-lit rooftop, her laughter weaving into my melody.
“It’s getting there. I need to polish it,” I reply, pulling my beloved pink Gibson SG from its case. The polished wood gleams under the studio lights as I carefully place the guitar strap over my head. The guitar feels like an extension of my very being. As I grab a pick from the pile beside my mic, I strum a few warming chords. The vibrations flow through me, more than just sound—a warm embrace that calms my racing heart. Music is ingrained in my soul; it’s as essential as the air I breathe.
“Trust me, once you nail it, it’ll be worth the wait,” Blaine interjects, his voice smooth and assuring. He’s flipping through our setlist, eyes narrowing as he calculates our time. “We’ve got two hours to perfect it. Let’s do this.”
With a nod, I tune my guitar, the mix of strings and emotion coming together like a puzzle. Each chord resonates my inner chaos, transforming intensity into delicate melody, while Nox falls into a steady beat alongside Blaine’s thumping bass.
The notes swirl around us like a whirlwind, infusing the room with energy, locking us into our own world, where only the three of us exist. We start off slow, pouring our hearts into the song, each beat pulsating with unsaid words. My mind drifts to Scarlett again, her captivating spark igniting a longing deep within me. The music evolves—the intensity amplifying in the air, crackling like static. It feels good to let out those emotions, to let the music speak for all the things I couldn’t say to her.
The last song fades away, our final notes hanging in the air long after we stop. I pull the strap over my head and as I tuck my guitar back into the case, I feel the sweat soaking through my clothes. The exhilarating rush is still coursing through my veins, and I know we are going to rock the shit out of the crowd tonight, we have to.
“That was killer!” Blaine exclaims, throwing his arms wide in triumph.
“Fucking epic,” Lennox chimes in, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. His eyes glimmer with excitement as the adrenaline of the rehearsal pulses through him. “But don’t get comfortable, tonight is a make it or break it kinda deal, bro.”
He shoots a look at Blaine, reminding him there’s nothing to celebrate until we have a signed deal. Until then, we can’t get cocky and complacent. The pressure of tonight finally hits me, tightening around my chest like a vice.
Once we load all the gear into Blaine’s truck, I head to my bike. The engine purrs to life beneath me, replacing my nerves with excitement. For some reason, I know tonight is going to be lit.
Since childhood, I’ve always embraced an adventurous, rebellious spirit, needing to live for the thrill, the adrenaline, the electricity that the world has to offer. I had to grow up quicker than I should have, so I’ve been on a crash course ever since, embracing the darkness.