Chapter Twenty-Three – Angel
Time was a weird thing. It flew by when you were in a routine, but when that routine was new, it also crawled by. It was both quick and slow at the same time. It felt like an eternity but also done in the blink of an eye. That’s how it felt the next month.
A whole month passed after listening to the demo. We’d decided on what sound we wanted to go for, and in the end, we voted for an arrangement. No two songs would be the same; I’d be backup on one while I’d have my own verse on another. Some songs Priest and I would sing at the same time, different notes.
We chose what songs we’d like to include on the next album—the ones we were redoing with Priest’s and my vocals. We practiced those songs. The guys wrote some lyrics. It was a whirlwind and a snail’s race.
And Priest never once tried to kiss me again—a good thing, since I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist him after knowing what it was like. I mean, I didn’t have anything to compare Priest to, but I wanted to say that man was a great kisser. Like, too good.
I did notice Priest tended to avoid being alone with me, and I wondered if it was because he regretted kissing me that night or if he didn’t trust himself not to kiss me again. I wanted it to be the second, but logic told me it was probably the former. Why would a guy who could have any girl choose to want me?
I had to get my roots bleached and toned, and it was after my hair appointment that Ramona picked me up.
She was on the phone when I got into her car, but she told whoever she was talking to on the car’s Bluetooth that she had to go. She ended the call and glanced at me, her black eyes taking in my freshly-done roots. “You look great. I got you something. It’s in the back. It’s for next week, actually.”
“What’s next week?”
Ramona did a double-take. “The guys didn’t tell you? Those assholes.” She muttered that part under her breath. “I told them to let you know about your first show together. There was a cancelation at the Aegis Theater downtown. I got you guys in for a surprise show. Tickets go on sale tomorrow. It’ll be your first show, Angel, where we announce you to the world.”
As I listened to her, I couldn’t believe it. I literally couldn’t believe it. Of course, I knew this was what we were heading towards, but man… so soon? Granted, it’d been nearly two months since my life changed completely, but two months didn’t seem like nearly enough time for me to be stage ready.
What if I was never ready?
The nerves must’ve shown on my face, because Ramona said, “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. You’ve been rehearsing with the guys a lot, so it won’t be too different. You’ll just be on stage, in front of a crowd.” She acted like it was no biggie.
But it was, in fact, a biggie.
My heart raced in my chest. I picked at my nails on my lap, biting the inside of my cheek. I didn’t say a word, mostly because if I said something, it might not be coherent, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of Ramona.
And I didn’t want to do it in front of a crowd, either.
What if I messed up the lyrics? What if my voice was flat? What if I got sick between now and then and lost my voice? What if—
“The guys have played there before. They’ll be able to help you out. You guys won’t be able to get in there to practice beforehand, unfortunately, but that’s all right. I have faith in you guys.”
Instead of talking about that, I decided to ask, “What did you get me?”
“The outfit you’re going to wear on stage,” Ramona replied. “I won’t be able to come up to your room with you, but I need you to try it on immediately. If something doesn’t fit quite right, we need to jump on it and get it fixed before the show. I also bought you the body paint the guys use. I emailed you a few ideas, but ultimately, I want the design to be yours. The guys chose theirs years ago. There’s a blank mask in there you can do whatever you want with.”
We’ve been so focused on honing our sound and practicing the songs we’d redo that I hadn’t even given thought to what kind of design I’d do. Shit. Suddenly I felt like I was running out of time.
“Stop worrying about it,” Ramona told me, her voice hard. “You’ll do fine. You’re just going to do the songs you’ve been working on the last month or so. Nothing new. Just a taste of Black Sacrament, reimagined.”
I wanted to throw up, and I had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the only time I’d feel like vomiting.
Ramona pulled up to the front of the Redborne, putting her car in park before getting out with me. She pulled something from the back—two bags. A long black bag, along with a smaller shopping bag. The one seemed to be a little heavy, and after taking the smaller bag from her, she laid the bigger one across my arms.
“Remember,” she said, hurrying around the front of her car, “try it on the moment you get up there!” She didn’t say another word as she ducked her head and got inside. She rejoined traffic and drove off, leaving me to wonder just what exactly was in the big bag.
It was heavy, much heavier than I thought it would be. What the hell was in there? What kind of weird outfit would I have to wear on stage?
Walking inside the lobby, the bellboy spotted me immediately and hurried around the desk to offer his aid, but I told him I had it under control—it was heavy, yes, but I could manage it just fine. I made it to the elevator.
Once I was on the elevator going up, the operator glanced at the big bag, but he didn’t ask. He probably saw lots of strange things coming in and out of the Redborne. When you dealt with rich or semi-famous people, I guess things like this were more common than you’d think.
I had to do a bit of juggling once I was on our floor, in order to get the key out and unlock the door to the suite. I walked inside, stumbling over the long bag a bit. Bishop must’ve been in the living room, because I heard him say, “Holy shit. Let me help you.” His footsteps were in a hurry to reach me, and before I knew it, he was taking the long, giant bag away from me. “What the hell is this?”
“My stage outfit, I guess,” I said, heading to the island in the kitchen and depositing the other bag there. I tore into it to find the body paint and the blank mask. Some black paint, but there was a lot more white. The mask, on the other hand, was all white.
I guess I was meant to be the angel of the demonic group.
Some of the paint, I noticed, was black light paint.Okay, now that might be cool.
“I guess I’ll just take this to your room?” Bishop sounded unsure, but he did just that. He carried the long bag into my room and he set it on my bed. He didn’t go to leave—he probably wanted to see it for himself.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Ramona wanted me to try it on first thing,” I muttered, shooting him a look. “I guess… I guess I should?” I sounded so unsure, mostly because I had no idea what was underneath that bag. It was heavy, and a bit big. There were more than just clothes in there. I went for the zipper.
Deacon’s voice came from the hall, “What’s going on?” He poked his head into my room, a scowl on his face. Ever since our little talk, he’d been pretty closed off, but now I knew why. He didn’t want to be here at all. My presence was just icing on the cake to him.
Bishop and Priest didn’t seem to notice his foul mood or the reason why, but I kept my promise to him and didn’t say a word about how he wanted to be done after Black Sacrament’s last contracted album.
Tossing a look over his shoulder, Bishop said, “Ramona got Angel her stage costume. She’s unzipping it now.”
To my surprise, Deacon came into my room and stood on my other side. I guess that meant he wanted to see. I assumed Priest wasn’t here; usually when he wasn’t here he was at the gym a few floors down, working out.
I held my breath as I unzipped the large bag, and when I saw it… I had to take a step back. “No way,” I muttered. “No freaking way am I wearing that in front of anybody.” Denial was strong, because that’s the only emotion that made sense.
What were we looking at? Oh, nothing much. Just a white dress with a black leather jacket. It wasn’t so much the dress or the jacket that got me, though; it’s what was sewn onto the back of the jacket that really made me speechless.
Wings. Bright, white angel wings. With actual feathers.
What in the fashion show was this shit? Because that had to be where Ramona got it from: a fashion show. A fashion show where people wore weird outfits walking down a runway, for like, ten seconds. No way in hell would anybody be caught dead wearing those outfits when they were out and about.
This was like that. The wings weren’t small. They damn near looked like they’d drag on the floor.
“No fucking way,” Deacon muttered. He glanced between the jacket with wings and me, and the look on his face told me he found it just as ridiculous as I did.
“This is…” Bishop trailed off, and it was clear he was speechless, totally caught off-guard by this particular situation.
I folded my arms over my chest. “I’m not wearing that. No way! You guys don’t wear things like this, so why do I?” I didn’t want to ever put that jacket on, because… well, look at it. Look at the freaking wings . Just no.
“Um,” Bishop said as he picked up the jacket. “Maybe you should try it on? Maybe it’s not so bad when it’s on?” The hopefulness in his tone told me even he didn’t believe it.
I took the dress. That I could wear with no problem. But those wings? Ugh. Don’t get me wrong, they looked nice, but the mere fact that they were so big made them almost comical. Plus, wouldn’t that jacket make me sweat like a you-know-what on stage? Pretty sure it got hot up there.
Maybe if I showed the guys how stupid it looked, they’d agree with me, and we could go to Ramona and convince her that this was just stupid. Besides, when the guys chose their designs, I was pretty sure Ramona wasn’t in the picture, so shouldn’t I get to choose my own clothes, too? The wings were just ridiculous.
“Let me put all this stuff on,” I muttered, taking the stupid jacket with me. I headed to my bathroom and shut the door before undressing. I was so flustered at the damned wings that it didn’t even occur to me that the guys were just outside, and I was pretty much getting naked.
The dress had padding, which meant no bra. It had no straps, but it’d been made with my measurements, so it should fit, I guess. It was pretty tight all the way down, and it ended halfway up my thighs. No doing the splits in this dress.
I couldn’t do the splits now, but that was beside the point.
The dress’s zipper was on its side, so thankfully I didn’t need anybody’s help getting it on. It felt like a couture homecoming dress. Or maybe a weird wedding dress. Whatever. The dress itself was easy and straightforward, and I had to pause to glance at myself in the mirror before reaching for the jacket and the wings resting on the vanity countertop.
My hair matched the dress. It wasn’t the worst look.
To try to get my mind off the stupid jacket and the dumb wings, I spoke loudly, “Ramona said she told you guys about a show next week. How come you didn’t tell me we were performing?” I picked up the jacket, steeling my nerves.
At first, I thought the guys didn’t hear me, but after a long pause, Bishop answered, “Priest was supposed to tell you. He never did?”
Ah, the one who avoided being alone with me, because he couldn’t handle having made out with me. Right.
“Nope,” I called out. “He kept that bit of information to himself.” I closed my eyes as I pulled on the jacket. It had a bit of extra oomph to it, in order to keep the wings up. Padding in the shoulders, along the back shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” Bishop said. “Next time I’ll make sure to tell you.”
I didn’t know why Ramona herself hadn’t told me. It was almost like she wanted me to fail and succumb to my nerves—but that was a stupid thought, because I was only here because of her. She wouldn’t bring me in only to push me to crash and burn.
I slipped my arms into the jacket, keeping my eyes closed. The moment the jacket rested on my body, it was like a heavy weight descended upon me, and I peeked at myself in the mirror. Combine the dress with the hair, and the jacket and the wings…
It didn’t look half bad. From the front, the wings looked natural, like they were real, almost. But damn, was it heavy. I couldn’t strut around on a stage wearing this. No. No way.
My lips curled into a frown, and I pushed out of the bathroom, so focused on how much I didn’t like the wings that I forgot I was also wearing a low-cut dress that showed off my boobs as well. “Tell me I look ridiculous.”
Deacon and Bishop stood side by side. Both appeared unbothered… until I walked out, and then their gazes snapped to me, fixating on me like I was on an invisible runway and all eyes had to be on me.
“You look…” Bishop trailed off, his eyes dipping low as he took in the dress beneath the jacket. His lips parted, but he said not a single word more.
Deacon’s scowl had vanished the moment I walked out, his grumpy exterior caving to something else—an expression that reminded me of the time I’d accidentally fallen asleep with him and woken up with him the next morning. The way he’d looked at me, heavy-lidded, full of desire when he caught me trying to crawl off him; I’d thought it was a one-off, something that had happened only because he was still half-asleep.
But there he was, those green eyes carrying that same look, evidently as speechless as Bishop.
Deacon mimicked what Bishop had said, “You look…” And he trailed off in just the same way. Neither he nor Bishop could take their eyes off me—off the dress beneath the jacket, more like. Neither spared a glance at the wings; it was like the dress was the only thing they saw.
“Um,” I fumbled while trying not to blush under their scrutiny, “you’re supposed to say how much you hate these heavy wings.” I thought about zipping up the jacket, but that would only make it obvious that I knew they were checking me out, and I didn’t want to call attention to it and make things weird.
Neither Bishop nor Deacon said a word about the wings, and I was seconds from saying more when I heard someone’s footsteps in the hall. My bedroom door was wide open, so I saw Priest walk by, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. My guess was he was heading to his room to shower, but when he saw us in my room, he backtracked and poked his head in.
“What’s going on?” He wore a smirk. “You having a threesome without me? I’m so disappointed in you—” Whatever witty, slightly inappropriate remark he had on his tongue, ready to be said after that, died the moment his gray eyes saw what I was wearing.
Priest dropped his bag beneath the archway of my door, and he strolled in. His blond hair was wet with sweat, and his face was still a little red from his workout. You could see the tips of the tattoos on his chest peeking out from the bottom neckline of his shirt. He came over to us, joining Bishop and Deacon.
“Holy fuck,” Priest murmured, looking me up and down, “what’s the occasion, Angel? That dress was made for you.” The way he said it called to mind that night when he’d pushed me against the side of a building and took my first kiss.
And my second, and my third… okay, he took a lot of them.
Before I had the chance to answer him, he noticed what the guys didn’t: “What’s with the stupid angel wings? They totally ruin the look.” He strolled over to me after pushing past the guys. His tall frame loomed over me, and with deft movements, he helped me out of the jacket and tossed it onto my bed, wings and all. “There, that’s much better.”
I swore, every single one of them was looking at me like they wanted to… well, do certain things to me. Push me to the bed, take off this dress, and have me in a way no guy ever had. I was slightly mortified, but also strangely self-assured.
“Ramona wants me to wear the wings on stage,” I said. I’d need to grow comfortable in my own skin; these guys wouldn’t be the only ones seeing me in this dress. I’d have to get used to the idea of guys looking at me like they wanted to…
Like they wanted to fuck me.
I was supposed to be the eye candy and the new sound. Why else would I be wearing a dress like this on stage?
“Fuck the wings,” Priest said, and the guys nodded in agreement. “You don’t need wings to be our angel.” He stood so close to me, his head angled down, and the way he gazed at me, a fire in those eyes, made me warm in certain places.
As far as I knew, Priest hadn’t gone out with other girls, so maybe that kiss did mean something to him. Maybe he was trying to hold himself back to keep the band together while not knowing how much Deacon was struggling.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe it was all wishful thinking, and none of them were looking at me like I thought they were. I was a normal girl. A little curvy but not stick thin. I had some pudge on the belly. I didn’t think my face was beautiful or anything remarkable; my eyes were a nice color, but that was it. Nothing about me was special enough to draw the attention of all three of these guys.
Although, I would’ve said there wasn’t anything too special about my voice, either, but here I was. Maybe I was wrong about all of it.
“I say you don’t even need a jacket. I say you wear this,” Priest went on, unabashedly checking me out again. “Fuck, you look so good, Angel. I want to—” He must’ve realized we weren’t alone, because he coughed and took a step back, rejoining the others as he finished, “Shower. I want to go shower.”
Both Deacon and Bishop looked at him strangely, and I was too flustered to do much of anything.
“Uh, yeah.” Priest took another step back. “I’m gonna go. Shower and all that. A really long, ice cold shower. Bye.” He raced out of the room, grabbing his bag and disappearing after that.
Did he get all weird because of me?
A few seconds passed, and Deacon muttered, “He’s gonna jerk off.”
“Yeah” was all Bishop could say.
“Um, excuse me, I’m still standing here,” I chimed in, causing both of their stares to return to me. I didn’t know who to stare at, so I settled for glaring at them both. I wanted to move on from the whole jerk off thing, so I went on, “I can’t wear those wings. I can’t.”
Deacon frowned. “I didn’t even realize you were wearing the wings until Priest pointed them out.” That was as much of an admission from him as I’d ever get, I bet. Deacon hardly ever spoke from his heart.
“He’s right,” Bishop spoke with a nod. He ran a hand through his brown hair, conflicted. “The wings are too much. Priest was right, too: I don’t think you need wings to be our angel. If you’re in all white on that stage, everyone’s going to get it. We don’t need to spoon-feed them.” He folded his arms over his chest as he thought. “We should figure out a way to introduce you to the crowd, though—something they’ll remember.”
“No wings?” I asked.
“No wings,” Bishop agreed.
Oh, thank God. I didn’t know what I’d do if I was forced to wear those wings on stage… besides sweat my ass off.
Ramona wasn’t happy about the refusal of the angel wings, but it was four against one, so we won out. The guys helped me with the whole body paint thing, and I decided to take a bit of inspiration from each of their designs—only, obviously, my colors would be swapped. I’d be mostly white with a few hints of black.
A week went by, and soon enough it was time to put on a show. And what a show it was.