28-Kit
Bristles drag crimson pigment down the centre of my abdomen as Alyssa paints me.
It’s a strange mix of iron and rosewater. She works with a meticulous focus, even as the dressing room buzzes with pre-show chaos. The low-ceilinged space is cramped, lit by a row of lights that cast everything in a warm, uneven glow. Our costumes hang from racks like sleeping beasts.
And beneath all of it sits my exhaustion.
It's been days since I’ve slept properly.
Not since I watched the mirage of Zachary die by my hand in a nightmare.
I woke gasping, drenched in sweat, her half smile carved into the back of my skull.
Somnium insists that I can’t avoid him forever, but he seems to forget how determined I am when it comes to my stubbornness.
More and more, he slips through the cracks of my consciousness, a voice like silk dragged over sand. He demands that we speak. I set alarms for every twenty minutes to keep myself from slipping into REM.
If I sink into a dream, he’ll drag me under, back into that forest.
“You need to get those interviews done,” Greg’s voice slices through the room.
Alyssa freezes mid-stroke, brush hovering just above my ribs.
“I’ve got weeks to get them done.” I don’t have to look to know the expression he’s wearing.
“She’s got deadlines she needs to meet, and you’re muckin’ that up for nothing but your own bloody ego.”
“Wow.” I toss my head over my shoulder and snarl at my manager through my painted lips. “One call from the fancy suits and now you’re up my arse. Nice to know whose backs you really have, Greg.”
Before I can blink, he’s gripping the back of my neck. My boots scrape against the floor as he yanks me off the step stool, lifting me onto my toes.
“Don’t you ever question where my loyalties are, Christopher!
” He wields my real name like a fist. “I’ve been here since the beginning,” he says, shaking me once, not violently, but enough to make a point of his strength.
“When you were playin’ for tips in run-down pubs.
When you were sleeping on dingy floors. When you didn’t know where your next bloody meal was comin’ from!
” His breath trembles, and mine stops. “I asked you back then what you wanted, and I’ve delivered. Every. Single. Time.”
My bandmates don’t speak, but their disappointment presses against my skin like heat.
Greg’s grip loosens. Slowly, he lowers me back onto my feet.
My heart ruthlessly thuds, the truth of his words landing like a kick to the ribs.
He runs a shaking hand through his thinning hair, exhaling like the weight has finally cracked him.
How much of my success is mine or Greg’s? How much of it belongs to the people who’ve bled beside me for years? How far does the god’s influence actually reach?
I’m not sure anymore.
Greg’s got a wife and two kids. A grandkid, and a life back in England. Yet here he is, living our dream with us. Fighting for us. Fighting for me.
And I threw it in his bloody face.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing hard, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right, lad.” He meets my gaze, and the disappointment reflected back rots my insides.
“Zachary’s good at what she does. And she’s been going out of her way to assure that every one of you, especially you, is as comfortable through this process as possible.
Zach did us a solid by coming to me first. And still, it’s not enough. ”
I flinch.
“I know it’s not how you pictured it. It never is.
But you signed on to this. So, suck it up and get it done.
” Greg steps back, straightening his white button-down, which now sports splotches of red.
“I expect her questions answered on camera before the Orlando show tomorrow. As soon as you get that paint on. Got it?” He turns toward the door. “Now get to soundcheck. They need you.”
It clicks shut behind him, and every person in the dressing room exhales simultaneously. It’s heavier than the paint on my skin. The residue of everything unsaid lingers as Alyssa bends to retrieve her fallen brush, her hands trembling.
“Jaysus, Kit,” she whispers, tossing her auburn curls over her shoulder.
Silver pretends to scroll their phone, though their gaze wanders toward me through their visor. Seth clears his throat, muttering something about checking his pedalboard.
My shame clings to the room like humidity.
As soon as Alyssa finishes, I step down from the stool, the rustling cloak settling around my trousers. My torso’s tacky from the fresh paint, the rosewater scent rising with every movement. Each step echoes louder than it should as I drag my boots across the room.
My bandmates fall into step beside me, Silver on my left, Seth on my right. Their quiet is louder than any reprimand. It presses against my ribs. I’m glad Lou is on stage already, because she’d smack me a proper one for the disrespect.
I deserve it.
Greg’s right. I’ve been selfish, and Zachary doesn’t deserve the brunt of that.
She’s doing her job; better than I’m doing mine.
She’s been patient, respectful, and gracious in giving me space I haven’t earned.
Still, I’ve treated her like an enemy. Because I don’t know where my mind ends and Somnium’s influence begins.
“It’s inevitable,” the god’s voice lances my senses.
I freeze mid-step. Cold prickles across my scalp, crawling downward. The hallway fogs for a moment, softening like a dream. My pulse hammers.
“She is the key.” Somnium’s declaration hacks through my conscious like a machete.
Silver glances at me, brow furrowing. “You good, mate?”
I force a nod. “Fine.”
The hallway stretches ahead, the distant thump of the bass test vibrating through the floorboards. I keep walking, but my steps disconnect, like I’m watching myself from a few inches to the left.
My temples throb. I try to anchor myself with a hold of the cold railing, sticky residue of spilled beer on the floor, and distant hum filtering through the walls.
We reach the stage entrance. The curtains rustle as the crew moves around us, adjusting cables, testing mics, shouting instructions over the rumble of the subwoofers.
“Come on.” Silver nudges me gently from behind. “Let’s get this over with.”
I nod, stepping onto the stage. Blinding lights hit hot. The floor vibrates as Lou tests her kick pedal. Empty seats stretch out like a dark ocean waiting to engulf us.
“But you are not ready, my vessel,” Somnium whispers from the back of my mind.
I nearly leap from my skin. Vertigo crashes over me. Grabbing the mic stand, I steady myself. My grip tightens until my knuckles ache. A pebbling chill spikes across my skin. He speaks, but I’m awake.
Aren’t I?