Chapter 5
WHAT THE HELL DID I DO?
JOEY
Sugar by Sleep Token
Bodies press against me from every side. Sweat and cheap perfume mix with spilled beer. My pulse thrums an anxious rhythm, partly from the skull-rattling bass of the opening act, and partly from the crushing certainty that this was a massive mistake.
I turn to leave when Becca spots me. Zoe’s waving me over from a high-top table nearby, leather pants hugging her curves and nothing but a bralette beneath her sheer top.
I tug at the neckline of my simple black top.
“You came!” Becca’s eyes widen before dropping to my outfit. “You look… cute.”
That pause before “cute” lands like a pebble into still water. My cheeks burn.
“Um, thanks,” I manage to say but the music is so loud I doubt she heard me.
“They’re coming on soon,” Zoe bounces on her feet. “Place is packed because they posted on socials last night.”
“So, the whole band wears masks?”
“They’re like pieces of art. Part of the whole mystery.”
Spotlights begin to flicker across the stage, and the crowd surges forward. Becca catches my hand and pulls me to the floor. “They’re coming on,” she squeals next to me.
My lungs seize as a spotlight slices through darkness, illuminating the masked figure at center stage.
He stands perfectly still, guitar resting in front of him.
True to what Becca said, his mask isn’t like a prop from a horror flick, it’s an artful creation that I haven’t quite figured out how to feel about yet.
Black material hangs open revealing his bare chest adorned with some kind of black paint.
The hood is drawn up over his head so that I can’t see his hair.
I’m expecting some kind of heavy metal thick with screams and drums, but that’s not what happens.
The first notes from his guitar slice cleanly through the noise, haunting and ethereal like a hymn sung in reverse. His voice joins the instruments, deep and otherworldly, the distortion wrapping around each word.
Goosebumps rise along my arms and neck. I feel the vibrations climb from the floor through my boots and settle low in my belly. It’s unlike anything I’ve heard before.
His fingers caress the strings with practiced intimacy, his body curving around the guitar. Behind the half-face covering, his expression remains hidden, but emotion bleeds through every note, every gesture. His lips part around lyrics that speak directly to unnamed longings inside me.
Certain phrases in his lyrics echo like distant memories, fragments I should recognize but can’t quite grasp.
Maybe it’s just something from my dad’s record store, one of the thousands of albums he’d play while I helped organize inventory on weekends.
Music has always been the backdrop of my life, too many melodies and lyrics to possibly keep track of.
“Told you they were good,” Becca’s voice breaks through my trance as she leans close to my ear, grinning. I realize I’ve been staring at him without blinking—like an idiot, utterly transfixed.
Zoe catches my eye from Becca’s other side, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Look who’s got a little crush on the mysterious frontman,” she says loud enough for nearby strangers to hear. “Didn’t take you for the groupie type, Joey.”
“I’m not, I was just appreciating the music,” I start to defend myself, but Zoe’s already turned away, some guy with tattoos snaking up his neck capturing her complete attention, my protest evaporating into the noise around us.
The music flows from one song to the next, each composition building on the emotional landscape of the previous. I lose track of time, caught in the spell. The crowd shifts around me, bodies pressing closer as more people squeeze toward the stage in the small space.
When the music grows heavier, shifting into a rhythm I recognize but hardly ever hear in mainstream music, the crowd surges in response. A mosh pit forms, expanding outward in concentric waves of chaos.
Someone slams into my back with enough force to propel me forward. An elbow connects with my ribs, forcing the air from my lungs.
“Becca?” I call out, looking around as my voice gets swallowed by the thundering drums. “Zoe?”
I scan the churning mass of bodies, rising to my tiptoes to spot Becca’s purple hair. Nothing. Panic flutters in my chest as another wave of moshing bodies pushes toward me. I duck and weave, working my way toward the edge of the crowd where I can breathe.
Finally reaching the perimeter, I lean against a wall and catch my breath.
My eyes sweep methodically across the venue, from the bar to the stage to the scattered high-top tables, searching for any sign of my friends.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, then immediately realize the futility.
They won’t hear a notification over this noise, and I can barely see the screen through the flashing lights.
My lungs still struggle for oxygen in the overheated space. Not worth getting trampled for a band I barely know, even with their magnetic lead singer. I need air and somewhere quieter to regroup.
I navigate around the edges of the room, slipping through gaps between clusters of people. Someone spills beer on my arm. Perfect.
The bathroom provides minimal sanctuary. Three girls hover by the mirror, and another leans against a stall door, phone pressed to her ear. At least the elbows here stay attached to their owners instead of jabbing into me.
I splash cold water over my flushed cheeks, droplets trailing down my neck while I check my phone. No messages from either of them. Figures. They won’t even notice I’m gone. The percussion in my chest gradually slows to match the muffled thump beyond the door.
Time to get out of here.
The narrow hallway outside is packed with bodies now waiting to get into the bathroom. The show must have ended. A security guard stands near a door marked “Staff Only,” his posture rigid with boredom.
Suddenly, shouting erupts behind me. Two guys are pushing each other, voices rising over the chatter. One shoves the other hard, creating a domino effect through the crowd. The security guard moves toward the commotion, leaving his post.
I press myself against the wall to avoid getting caught in the scuffle. The mass of people shifts as the fight escalates. Someone knocks into me, propelling me sideways against the staff door. It swings open, and I collide with something solid. Immovable. Definitely male.
Strong hands grip my biceps, steadying me. My gaze travels upward to a sharp jawline, full lips, but the upper half of his face is covered by a mask. My heart slams against my ribs as recognition hits.
The lead singer towers above me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Wrong turn,” my voice sounds huskier than I intended, and I clear my throat. “I was looking… for my friends.”
His fingertips drag feather-light across my skin as he releases his grip.
“Do I know you?” The question escapes unbidden.
He doesn’t say anything, but his posture remains relaxed, open. There’s no hint that he’s annoyed by my intrusion into his private space. The quiet between us forms a strange bubble amid the distant noise.
“Your music…” I maintain eye contact despite the flutter beneath my ribcage.
“It hits different than anything I’ve heard.
That second song, the way it kept building but never quite released?
Like being on the edge of something…” Heat crawls up my neck as words continue to tumble out unchecked.
“And your voice in the chorus, layered with that distortion…” Jesus, what am I doing?
Why does he make me so nervous? “I don’t usually dissect music like this. I’m more of a classic rock girl.”
More silence from him.
“I’m rambling.” The realization hits, but his silence pulls more words from me like gravity.
“I came with my friends. They’re probably wondering where I disappeared to,” I continue nervously.
“The crowd got intense and I needed some air. I didn’t mean to intrude on your space.
I don’t usually go backstage at shows. Actually, I hardly ever go to shows at all.
I work with horses mostly, rescue rehabilitation.
I’m not exactly the rock and roll kinda girl.
” A small laugh escapes as I literally die on the inside.
His silence stretches between us, without even a polite interruption to save me from myself. Even though I can’t see his eyes, I can feel them on me. There’s the barest tug at one corner of his mouth like a smile he can’t quite contain.
Great. The mysterious masked musician thinks I’m an idiot with a horse fixation.
“I should find my friends.” I say with embarrassment, but my feet remain rooted to the floor, refusing to break the invisible thread stretching between us.
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision as someone rounds the corner, freezing mid-step. It looks like the bassist, the only female in the group.
I shouldn’t be here.
There’s a heartbeat of hesitation when his head tilts her way, a gesture with his hand before she retreats around the corner without argument. I’ve never seen two people have a conversation without actually speaking. Horses, yes. People, no.
“I’ll just…”
He grabs my wrist before I can escape. A request phrased in touch rather than words. The contact causes nerve endings to awaken beneath my skin.
His head tilts in silent question. The pulse point at his neck throbs rapidly. The rise and fall of his chest quickens as I hold his gaze. Up close, I see the black paint on his chest softened by sweat.
It’s insane, this gravity, this tether holding me in place like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I should leave but everything in me wants to stay right here.
The atmosphere sharpens, electric, every nerve tuned to the space he occupies. That pesky recognition claws at the edge of memory, taunting me with the impossible sense that I already know him, down to the way his silence hums louder than words.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t know the first thing about him. He’s a stranger in a mask who hasn’t even spoken to me. He could be trouble.
I have responsibilities.
This is reckless.
No. This doesn’t feel like rebellion or recklessness. It feels like gravity, like every step I’ve taken has been drawing me toward this exact moment, this exact place.
Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the distant bass and any rational thought I have left. This moment exists as a singular point in time, an opportunity never to repeat itself. Tomorrow routine reclaims everything with only the memory of ‘almost’ for company.
His fingers shift slightly against my wrist, his thumb brushing over my racing pulse.
A small gesture that feels strangely intimate.
He leans forward almost imperceptibly, the space between us charged with unspoken tension.
Every cell in my body hums with awareness, drawing me toward him like a tide pulled by the moon.
I stand at the edge of a precipice, knowing that one more step changes everything, that after this moment, there will only be the me before and the me after, with no way back to who I was seconds ago.
Maggie’s voice whispers in my ear: One unpredictable thing.
I close the distance between us and rise onto my toes, pressing my lips to his.
A suspended moment of stillness follows.
What the hell did I do?
Then his arm bands around my waist, crushing me against the wall of his chest. His mouth moves against mine, sweet but insistent.
My hands slide up his bare chest, leaving trails in the painted designs, marking us both with evidence of this moment.
My arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer still.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, requesting entry.
I grant it without hesitation. It’s not a tentative exploration but a starving certainty.
His palm is splayed across my lower back, his fingertips digging into my flesh. His tongue slides against mine, tasting faintly sweet with an edge of something darker.
Every nerve in my body ignites with a desperate need to be closer to him, as if the world around us doesn’t exist.
His teeth graze my bottom lip and it makes my stomach quiver. A gentle nip, followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue. The contrast pulls a sound from my throat, a half sigh, half plea.
A roar erupts from the main room. The next band starting their set.
I break apart from him, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
His thumb brushes my swollen bottom lip, a stark contrast to the hungry intensity of our kiss. My heart batters against my ribs.
“Joey!”
I jerk away and turn toward Becca’s voice.
“Joey! There you are!”
“Jesus, we’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Becca says, appearing at the end of the narrow corridor with Zoe behind her. “What are you doing back here?”
When I turn around, the masked singer has vanished. The space he occupied stands empty, as though he never existed at all.
“I took a wrong turn when I came out of the bathroom,” I explain, gesturing vaguely to the empty space behind me.
“This place is a maze,” Zoe comments, glancing around with mild interest. “We were looking for the stage door to see if we could get autographs when we got turned around.”
“Hey! You can’t be back here.” A large security guard with a flashlight appears from another corridor. “This area is off-limits.”
“Sorry, we were just leaving,” Becca calls out, grabbing my arm.
We hurry down the hallway, following Zoe’s lead as she pushes through the emergency exit into the alley behind the venue, giggling. The cool night air hits my flushed skin.
“Sure you didn’t have anything to drink?” Becca laughs, eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine.” My traitorous fingers touch my lips before I can stop them. “I needed some breathing room.”
“Well, you missed the last set,” Zoe says, clearly uninterested in my backstage explorations. “We’re heading to this afterparty. You coming?”
“I should head home,” I say automatically.
“Seriously?” Becca rolls her eyes.
“I have volunteers coming early in the morning,” I say, already pulling out my keys. “Sorry.”
“Your loss.” Zoe shrugs, already turning toward the street.
They disappear around the corner of the building. I remain disconnected from the scene, my lips tingling from his kiss, my skin humming with electrical aftershocks.
One kiss shouldn’t rewire my entire nervous system, yet my skin buzzes with electricity. Something fundamental has shifted inside me, tectonic plates rearranging beneath the surface.