Ticket to the Stars, Part One

Chapter Fifteen – Deacon

I stayed in that night. Priest and Bishop had sat me down and reminded me that the more I pushed everything and everyone away, the harder this next year would be. Being an ass to the girl was pointless. It wasn’t her fault she basically took my brother’s spot in the band. From what it sounded like, she didn’t even really want it. Her sister had sent in her video, and she’d just happened to be chosen out of all of the applicants.

It wasn’t Angel’s fault. It wasn’t. Taking it out on her was a dick move.

So, most of the time I stayed in my room. I fucked around with my drum set when I felt anxious… which was more often than I’d like to admit, especially right now. Everything was making me anxious.

The girl. Black Sacrament’s impending comeback and slight re-brand. Doing it all without my brother, the guy who’d started this band, the one who’d chosen the freaking name.

My brother was a dick. It was true. He could be the king of all assholes—it’s where I’d learned it from—but I didn’t think he was a bad guy. Everyone made mistakes. It’s just, when you were in the limelight, your mistakes were broadcasted all over the internet, all over every social media site, for the whole world to see. Regular people didn’t have that problem.

Honestly, I didn’t even want to be here anymore. Black Sacrament without my brother wasn’t Black Sacrament, just a poor substitution. The only reason I was here was because I had to be, otherwise the record label would sue me out of everything. Contracts sucked shit.

I didn’t eat dinner with everyone. Bishop had ordered Chinese and gotten it delivered, but I’d said no. I didn’t want to eat with them, sit with them and pretend nothing was wrong. Bishop and Priest could play house with Angel, but I wouldn’t. I’d be amiable to her, but that’s it. We wouldn’t become friends or anything.

It was just past midnight when I crept out of my room to make something to eat. I was starving after skipping dinner, but I didn’t want to run into any of them and have them ask me stupid questions like why I didn’t just eat Chinese with them.

No, fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck all of this. If Priest and Bishop thought this was the start of a new chapter in Black Sacrament’s book, they were wrong. This was the end.

However, as my feet drew me down the long hall, my ears picked up on the sounds of the TV in the living room on, playing some sitcom with a laugh track. There was nothing in this world I hated more when it came to television than a stupid laugh track.

Like, don’t fucking tell me when to laugh. If it’s funny, I can figure it out myself.

I assumed it might be Priest—typically he kept weird hours, used to going out and partying it up with whoever he could get his hands on. Lately, he’d been on his best behavior, like he wanted to impress Angel or something. Don’t make me laugh.

But it wasn’t Priest. In fact, as I stepped out of the hall and into the wide-open space between the living area and the kitchen, the person I found on the couch was the newest member of the band.

Angel sat with a blanket on her lap, her white hair a mess. She wore a baggy hoodie that swallowed her up, and she was currently chewing on a sleeve as she watched whatever stupid show was on the TV.

I stopped when I spotted her, my legs suddenly refusing to work. Her eyes widened a little when she saw me, and she lowered the sleeve away from her mouth as she reached for the remote. “Is it too loud? I’m sorry.” She hit the volume button a few times, lowering the sound of that stupid laugh track.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, slow to pull my gaze off her and walk into the kitchen. My favorite late-night snack was a Hot Pocket, and that’s what I pulled out of the freezer and popped into the microwave for myself.

I tried to ignore her, but for some reason, I couldn’t get the thought of her in that stupidly oversized hoodie out of my head. It had a school’s name on it, I think, and that told me it was something she’d brought with her—and it was something she could never wear outside.

Pushing her out of my mind, I got myself a bottled water and a plate. Try as I might, something in me made me glance at her, and even from across the room, I could see the expression on her face—it wasn’t a good one. Angel was slouched over, her lips puckered. She almost looked sick, or in pain, or something.

My Hot Pocket still had a minute left to cook. I found myself asking, “What are you doing up?” Not once, other than that first night, had she ever been up and about this late. She had the most normal sleep schedule out of all of us.

Angel glanced in my direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I don’t, um, feel that good.” Quickly, she added, “I’m not sick. I just… I just feel bleh. My stomach hurts. It’s, uh—” She coughed and quieted. “—a girl problem.”

Fuck. A girl problem? My face must’ve told her what I was thinking, because Angel went on, “Anytime I don’t feel good, I always sit on the couch and watch TV. Something about the couch makes me sleepy… usually. At home it does. It’s not really working tonight.”

My Hot Pocket was nearly done, but I found myself pulling away from the microwave all the same. I said not a word more to Angel as I walked down the hall.

Don’t ask me what I was doing. I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t know why I was doing it. I shouldn’t care if she was in pain or having girl issues or anything. It wasn’t my problem. She wasn’t my problem.

I went to my room, headed straight to my nightstand, and pulled open the tiny top drawer. Even in the dark, I found what I was looking for. My fingers curled around the bottle, and I picked it up and shut the drawer. Returning to her, I offered it to her.

“Would this help?” I asked quietly, watching as she divided her stare between the bottle in my outstretched hand and my face. The way those blue eyes stared up at me, you’d think I’d just offered her the world.

It was just Advil. Nothing special about it. My stash of Advil for hangovers that needed an extra kick to put down. It really wasn’t a big deal.

“Maybe,” Angel whispered. She lifted a hand, slow to bring it toward mine. Her fingers curled around the bottle, grazing my palm accidentally.

Holy shit, her fingertips were soft.

“Thank you. I don’t have any of my own.” She brought the bottle to her lap. “I guess I should get some.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever.” I took a step back from her. “I’ll get another one. You keep that one.”

Her blue stare was on me once again. “Thank you, Deacon.” Her voice was soft and gentle, and it made me wonder what it’d sound like saying my real name.

All I said to that was, “Okay.” I gave my back to her, slow to return to the kitchen to fetch my Hot Pocket out of the microwave. I slipped it out of its cardboard-like tube—that was supposed to help it get harder in the microwave, but I didn’t think it actually helped—and onto the plate. I grabbed the water bottle and the plate and wandered to the island, about to slip onto a stool.

I didn’t like bringing food into my room. I knew myself by now to know that I never cleaned. If I got crumbs everywhere, those crumbs would stay until the end of time. So, because I didn’t clean, I tried not to make a mess in the first place.

It made sense if you didn’t think about it too hard.

I heard Angel fumbling with the lid to the bottle, and I stopped seconds before sitting on a bar stool. My head turned in her direction, and I waged an inner battle with myself as I listened to her try to open the Advil bottle like she was a child and the lid was childproof.

All you had to do was push down and turn the lid a certain way. As a girl, shouldn’t she be used to that by now? How helpless was she?

I heaved a sigh to myself. Unless I wanted to listen to pills rattling around while I was eating, I better just go over there and do it for her.

I abandoned my water and my Hot Pocket, walking over to her. “Here,” I mumbled, “give it to me. I’ll open it for you.”

“I can do it,” she whispered as she laid her whole palm against the lid to push it down, like she really needed to use elbow grease or something. She then turned her palm, and the lid followed suit. “See? I got it. I—”

The moment she tried to pull the lid off the bottle, she found she did not actually have it. The damned thing was still locked. She offered it to me as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Childproof and Angel-proof,” I muttered, taking the bottle and opening it in a one-two-three gesture. Easy-peasy, although apparently not for her.

Angel bit her bottom lip after once again thanking me, and I handed her the open bottle and its lid back. I returned to my water and Hot Pocket as she dumped two pills onto her hand and replaced the lid.

My eyes landed on my water and then the Hot Pocket.

Goddamn it.

I took the water bottle and the plate, bringing them to her right as she was about to get up. “Here,” I offered her the water bottle. “I’ll grab another one. And eat this. You shouldn’t take those on an empty stomach.” I set the plate beside her on the couch.

Pills in one hand, water bottle in the other, Angel looked up at me with a look that made something in me twist. “Thank you,” she whispered for about the thousandth time tonight. She tossed the pills into her mouth and took a swig out of the water bottle, and then she went for the Hot Pocket.

I made myself another one and got myself a new bottle of water from the fridge. It was right as the microwave was beeping, telling me that my late-night dinner was ready, when Angel asked, “Do you want to sit with me?”

Did I… did I want to sit with her? No. The answer to that was most definitely a negative.

But I didn’t say that, for whatever reason. No, instead of giving her the answer I should’ve, I found myself taking my water and my new Hot Pocket over to the couch and sitting beside her. She’d only eaten three or so bites out of hers, so she still had some left. The Advil bottle was on the coffee table before the couch.

There was a foot or so between us, and it was as I wondered if I should move away from her and put more space between our bodies that she said, “You’re not as mean as you come off.”

I glared at her. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. You can be rude, but I don’t think you’re as mean as you think you are.” She took another bite of her Hot Pocket, chewing thoughtfully.

My jaw ground. I did not appreciate her words. “Next time I’ll let you be, then.” I started to get up, prickly, but Angel reached for me. She stopped me by setting a hand on my arm and pulling me back down.

“Don’t be mad,” she said. “I’m just saying… I don’t think you’re that bad.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really care what you think.” Her hand was still on my arm, even though I’d sat back down, and since I wore a short-sleeved shirt, I could feel just how smooth her hand was. Not a bit of information I should know. Her hand was pretty damn small, too. No wonder she couldn’t open the Advil bottle; she had the hands of a freaking kid.

Except they weren’t a kid’s hands, because they were attached to her, because even though she was underneath a blanket and wore a severely oversized hoodie, I was suddenly all too aware of the fact that she was a beautiful girl.

Angel slipped her hand off my arm, not responding to that. Instead, she ate the rest of her Hot Pocket while I ate mine.

Sitting there with her, having my late dinner… it wasn’t something I was used to. This was supposed to be alone time for me—although, I supposed that wasn’t really different from any other time. Ever since Pope got kicked out, I’d been shut off, shutting out everyone else.

Pope was my brother. How could I not be upset that he was forced out of the band he’d basically created? I wasn’t defending anything he’d done, but… he was my brother. I was loyal.

But I also had my own contract, and therefore I couldn’t do anything about it.

Now I was sitting here, next to his replacement, realizing for the first time that she was a beautiful girl that would be stuck with us for at least a year, and we’d be stuck with her. I’d thought it’d be hell, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could get used to it.

Angel finished her Hot Pocket and set her plate on the small coffee table, near the Advil bottle. She took a sip of water and then set it near the plate. As she leaned back, she tossed me a glance. “How come you didn’t eat dinner with us?”

I’d scarfed down my Hot Pocket much faster than she had, so I was already done. The empty plate sat on my lap, my excuse to get up and get the hell out of there. But, instead of getting up to put the dish away, I found myself not moving an inch as I told her, “I don’t know. I guess I don’t see the point in kumbaya-ing it. There’s no way this is going to work. You could never take Pope’s place—”

“I told you I don’t want to take your brother’s place.” She shrugged. “I’m only here because of luck, I guess, and my stalker of a sister. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here, so believe me when I say I would never want to take your brother’s place in Black Sacrament.”

I guess, since she wasn’t a fan, since she’d pretty much never heard of us before this, it did make me feel a little better.

I didn’t know what made me do it, but I leaned forward and put my plate near hers, along with my water bottle. As I leaned back, I said, “Black Sacrament was Pope’s idea. The name, the whole schtick with wearing masks and all that… it was all Pope’s idea. It’s not just the same.”

“Things change.”

“Yeah, but just because something changes doesn’t automatically make it better. Sometimes things change for the worse.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized she might take it the wrong way. After all, she was the change in question.

Angel gave me a small smile. “Well, it might not mean much to you, but I’m going to try my best. I don’t want to ruin anything for you guys.” Her voice came out soft, gentle, warm and sincere. Listening to her, it was easy to believe every single word she said.

“I guess we’re going to find out tomorrow how you mesh, and how Priest sounds taking up Pope’s mantle.” Bishop and I were being forced to go, mostly so we could all hear the new sound of Black Sacrament. Ramona would be there too, an extra set of ears.

“I guess so” was all she said to that.

I should get up and go, let her be. I should go back to my room right now. But even with those thoughts in my head, I remained right where I was. It was the weirdest thing. Almost like an invisible force kept me rooted in place, like this was where I was meant to be.

If that sounded insane, it’s because it was insane. This whole thing was insane.

“You,” I paused, remembering her up on that stage at the karaoke bar, “do have a nice voice.” It was the first time I’d complimented her on it. At the bar, I’d pretty much stuck to, you know, the bar, which led me to drink a little more than I should’ve that night. I’d been the opposite of a good sport.

“Thank you,” Angel whispered. “Thank you for all of this. I feel better.”

Was she just saying that, or did she really mean it? When I turned my head to the side to look at her, to try to figure out the answer for myself, her blue eyes caught me. I’d left a small light on in the kitchen. Combine that with the light coming from the TV, and it was more than enough.

Her eyes were so freaking blue. Like, as blue as the damn ocean in the Caribbean. Warm and clear, vibrant and beautiful.

I was using that word an awful lot to describe her lately. It wasn’t right.

No, it wasn’t right, and yet it was the only word that came close.

“I guess I should…” I trailed off, still caught in those crisp blue eyes, noticing how thick her eyelashes were, how they framed those beautiful eyes without the need for any makeup. “Let you be,” I finished lamely.

Her reply came swiftly, “You don’t have to go. You could… you could say, if you want. You can pick what we watch.” She retrieved the remote and offered it to me, a look of expectancy on her face.

I should really go. I should… I should refuse the remote, get up right now, and go back to my room. I should let Angel stay out here by herself, now that she had some Advil and some food. She’d probably get sleepy and fall asleep soon. She didn’t need company for that.

All that aside, I didn’t get up. I didn’t go. “I guess I could stay, for a little bit. I don’t care what we watch.” And that last part was true. I didn’t give a shit what was on the TV. Hell, I’d suck up a stupid laugh track if that’s what Angel wanted to watch—just don’t ask me why. I wouldn’t have an answer for you.

She set the remote down and smiled, and I had to fight the way that smile made me feel. Like I was doing something right. Like I could ignore the hurt and the anger inside to go along with this. Like I wanted, for the first time, to actually give Angel and this rebrand of Black Sacrament a shot.

How could anyone be on the receiving end of a smile like that and say no?

Angel had her legs tucked beneath her ass, the blanket a pile on her lap, and she offered some of that fuzzy blanket to me, for my own lap.

Well, if she was offering…

I stretched my feet out to the coffee table, and then I took some of that blanket for my lap. Not that I needed it, but, well, Angel did look awfully cozy with the blanket and that big hoodie. “Is that where you went to school?” I had to ask.

She glanced down at the logo on the hoodie. “Yeah.”

Wellington High. I didn’t know it, but Wellington sounded familiar, though I couldn’t place why or where I’d heard it before. “What was it like?” I didn’t know why I asked. It wasn’t like I was interested in getting to know Angel more.

Or, maybe that’s exactly what I was interested in.

Angel shrugged once. “A small school, literally across from a cornfield. I think I had about a hundred people in my graduating class.”

“Damn. That’s tiny. We had about three hundred, I think.” I didn’t know for sure, but I wanted to say it was around there. Our high school had been big enough it wasn’t uncommon to not know everyone in your own grade.

“You all went to the same school,” Angel said, not a question.

“Yeah, but we weren’t in the same grade. Priest and I were. Bishop’s a year younger than us, and Pope’s a year older than me. Pope wanted to start a band, and I’ve always played the drums. We recruited, and the rest—”

“Is history?” she finished with a smile. “It’s so crazy you guys took off. I know every group who starts a band hopes for it, but the odds of it actually happening are—”

Now it was my turn to finish, “Infinitely small? Yeah. Honestly, we got lucky. Really lucky. I think the whole demons on the stage thing helped us out.” Trust me, that wasn’t something I wanted to admit; wearing all black and those damn masks was something I fought against.

Not the clothes part, because I usually wore all black anyways. But the masks and the paint underneath? Yeah. I’d lost that argument, although now, looking back, I could say it was probably a good thing the band didn’t abandon Pope’s idea.

“I watched some of your live shows on YouTube,” she said. “It’s like you transform into different people when you’re on the stage. You’re…” Whatever Angel was going to say, she stopped herself, and she had to look away.

“What?”

She shifted her weight. “You’re very,” she paused to cough awkwardly, “entrancing.”

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me specifically or, you know, all of us. Probably the latter, since when I was on stage, I didn’t move around. The most I could do with my drums was rock my head back and forth.

“Entrancing?” I echoed. Never heard anyone describe us as entrancing before. That was most definitely a first.

“You know, like… you’re just…” Whatever Angel was trying to say, she was having a rough go at it. “You’re just something else up there.” Unless I was mistaken, she was blushing—possibly a reason she couldn’t hold eye contact with me anymore.

Wait. Was she attracted to us when we were on the stage, masks and all? If so, she wouldn’t be the first. Girls threw themselves at us all the time when we were Black Sacrament, and we had no way to know who was legal and who wasn’t at a glance. Hence why our fans weren’t to be flirted with or hooked up with or any of that.

But Angel…

Wait. No, she was also off-limits. Ramona had made that clear.

As if to change the subject, Angel sighed and said, “I wonder what I’ll look like up there on stage. Will I have to wear a mask and paint my body too?” She was right. No use lingering in what she’d said before. Better for both of us if we moved on.

“Probably, otherwise people might recognize you.”

“That’s what I don’t get. When you guys do interviews and stuff, does that mean you’re always dressed up like you’re about to go on stage?”

I nodded. “Yep. Anytime we’re in public as Black Sacrament, we have to look and act the part.”

That’s how it went for a while. Angel would ask me a question about Black Sacrament’s history or how we worked, what was normal for us, and I’d tell her. Eventually it got to the point where she stopped paying attention to the TV across from us and had turned her body toward mine on the couch, laser-focused on me.

It was while I was busy telling her how our first tour went that she yawned and rested her head on the back cushion of the couch. She was inches away now, something I hadn’t realized until that exact moment.

“I bet girls throw themselves at you guys all the time,” she whispered with another yawn. Her whole body curled into mine, so close and yet not touching me anywhere.

“I mean, I guess. When we’re Black Sacrament, yeah. Off it, the girls mainly flock to Priest. Sometimes Bishop, but mostly Priest.” I’d leaned back a while ago, so her head was only a few inches away from my shoulder.

Angel whispered, “Why not you? I bet if you smiled more, you could get more girls.”

I rolled my head to the side to glare at her, but that glare lessened when, in doing so, our noses practically touched. “I’m not like Priest. I don’t care about getting all the girls I can.” Bishop wasn’t like that either. Priest and my brother… well, those two were more alike in that respect.

She was quiet for a while, and then she said, “It’s a good thing I’m not your guys’ type.”

“What makes you say that?” I would’ve been hard-pressed to admit it before, but now… now I didn’t know a single guy that would ever say this girl wasn’t their type. She was gorgeous, her skin was soft as shit, and she was brave—she had to be, to do this.

“I saw the kinds of girls who go crazy when you’re up on stage. How they look, what they wear… I’m just—” She turned her face away from me, staring at the ceiling instead. She touched her white hair. “This isn’t me. I’m just a normal girl from a small town.”

She’d be surprised. Bishop was from a small town too, before his parents got divorced. Priest’s only type was breathing, and as for me…

Let’s just say, after tonight, I was starting to see the appeal of having this girl around. To say she’s not my type simply because of where she came from and what she wore would do her a great injustice.

“For the record,” I whispered, “if you weren’t off-limits, I think it’d be a battle royale.”

Angel smiled at that. “I appreciate you saying that.” The way she said it, I could tell she didn’t think I was being genuine. She thought I was being sarcastic or something, but I wasn’t. I meant it.

This girl. I wanted to hate her. I wanted her to be unlikeable, but that’s not what she was. She was everything she shouldn’t be, which meant this whole thing was going to be a lot harder than I’d thought.

This thing might just work.