Chapter Twenty-Four – Bishop
The Aegis Theater had a back entrance for the talent, and photographers and fans weren’t allowed back there. Ramona was driving separately, whereas us four piled into Priest’s car and drove ourselves. We brought our outfits, masks, and body paint; we’d get ready in the dressing rooms. We wore big sunglasses and hoodies to hide most of our bodies and faces; you never knew when someone would try to sneak a picture.
We each had our own room, and we separated to change and get ourselves ready. We had our set list, and the theater’s workers had done soundchecks already, so we were pretty much ready to go.
Ready for our first show in damn near eight months, and our first show with Angel.
Speaking of… she was nervous. I knew she was. This being her first time and all, she was letting the nerves get to her—a mistake, but until she experienced the adrenaline that came hand in hand with being on that stage, in front of a huge crowd, the doubts would remain. She had to get up there, had to sing her heart out, and then she’d realize everything would be fine.
Because it would. I had faith in her. She’d sound amazing and she’d look amazing. Hopefully the crowd could get behind the change.
Ramona had leaked a little something to the press. Radio shows and other news outlets reported that Black Sacrament had undergone a change. Most people—the ones who didn’t know about the contest—would assume the change had to do with Pope’s exile and Priest taking his place as our frontrunner, so they’d probably be shocked when they saw Angel strut up to the front of the stage.
The painting took more time than usual. We’d gotten new white paint for this show. Our crosses would glow when the lights went out—and they’d go out moments before we introduced Angel to the world. We’d do a few songs without her, and then, right when everyone thought this was it, that Priest being our frontrunner was the only change, Priest would announce our newest member.
I wished I could be in the audience and watch. I hoped the crowd went wild, but there was no telling what would happen, hence why we needed to get on with it already.
I was dressed in all black—black pants, a black button-up shirt, and black leather gloves would come once the paint was on. I rolled the shirt’s sleeves up to my elbows, and then I started to paint. A flat black color, along every inch of skin that was visible. The paint itself didn’t come off with sweat. Let’s just say getting it off was never fun.
My bit of white came in on my lips. It’s where the top of a cross started, traveling down my chin to my neck. It crossed on the base of my neck, more of an upside-down cross than anything else, the rest of it disappearing beneath my shirt.
We each had our own crosses. Priest’s were smaller, beneath the eyeholes on his mask. Deacon’s mask was split down the middle, half white, half black, with a thick cross separating the two, white on the black side and black on the white side—a yin yang, upside-down cross.
We also slicked our hair back with temporary black dye for each show. We literally left not a single part of our bodies untouched—at least not any part of us that was visible.
Black Sacrament played on religious undertones, twisting them. We became demons, devils, the things that haunted your dreams. It was our thing. It’d always been our thing.
Once I was done, I sat back and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw Bishop, the Bishop I’d been for years now. Learning to go by a name that wasn’t yours took a lot of adjustments, but now it was second nature. Cody had ceased to exist a long time ago.
But, no, that wasn’t completely true, either. If it was, I wouldn’t have any memories of a girl named Maggie. In the days before my parents divorced, I used to spend every waking moment I could with her. In the summers, on winter vacation, on days off school. Living so close together, it was like you had to be friends. I never thought it would change. I didn’t want it to.
What kid expected their parents to divorce? Not me. I’d known they fought a lot, but I’d thought that was normal. I’d thought nothing would change, but I’d been wrong. The move came with no notice, and I never even got to say goodbye.
Could I blame her for not remembering me? No.
Speaking of Angel… I should go check on her, make sure she didn’t need any help with the paint or anything like that. Make sure she hadn’t, you know, run away thanks to her nervousness. So, I finished up and left the dressing room.
All the rooms were small, but they each had their own door. Priest’s was directly across from mine, while Deacon’s was on my room’s left. Angel’s sat across from his, so I made a diagonal, going straight for it. The guys’ rooms were shut, which told me they were still in the process of getting ready. Maybe having a pre-show drink. Deacon, anyway. I think Priest wanted to be in a clear headspace for his first show as lead singer.
I made it to Angel’s door and gently knocked. “It’s Bishop,” I said.
“Come in,” her voice answered, and I pushed in to see her sitting before a well-lit mirror, her face completely painted. She really only needed to paint what the mask wouldn’t hide, but maybe she figured this would be easier to accomplish. A mass-covering of her face, with highlights of extra glitter on her lips and collarbone.
She wore that sexy white dress, her arms painted in white. She’d opted for white leggings beneath the dress, along with white converse so she didn’t have to wear heels or paint her legs. The black leather jacket sat nearby, along with wrist-length black gloves that matched ours.
“I wanted to see if you need any help getting ready,” I said, leaning the dressing room door closed but not latching it. Latching it would give too much privacy, and if we had too much privacy, I might be tempted to do something I shouldn’t.
Like kiss her.
Let’s just say I’d been struggling for a while now. It became harder and harder with each passing day to pretend I didn’t want to do anything like that. Maybe it was because she was so gorgeous, or maybe it was because she reminded me of a better time in my life. Maybe a bit of both.
Angel turned her head toward me, giving me a smile. “I think I got it,” she said. “How do I look?” She stood up and lifted her hands to her face, framing her chin and her cheeks to show off the body paint.
Her arms and the top curve of her tits had been painted white, along with her neck. Her face was white, including her lips. It matched her hair. I couldn’t see a trace of her skin—from the front, anyway. I’d noticed when I’d walked in she’d done all she could to her back. The majority of her body matched her hair now.
Her mask sat on her makeup table. She’d opted to do multiple black crosses on it, varying in size, only one of which would be on her actual skin. Each one was clearly inspired by one of ours. The one that started on her bottom lip, for instance, was inspired by my design. Much smaller than mine, and it ended on the base of her chin, but it was there. On the mask, she’d have two tiny crosses beneath the corners of her eyes—inspired by Priest’s. A slightly bigger cross sat on the mask’s forehead, the length of it running down its nose while the cross’s arms ran over the space where it mimicked a jawline: Deacon’s.
Four crosses of varying sizes, but all a twist on ours and much more dainty. On the white mask and body paint, they stuck out. They didn’t clash. It wasn’t too many. She looked good, and she’d look even greater once we were on that stage together.
“I think you look amazing,” I said, grinning at her. I couldn’t help it.
“I was thinking I’d just wear the jacket the whole time, but what if I get hot up there?” Angel asked, blue eyes the only bit of color on her entire body. The paint around them made their color brighter, fiercer, more piercing. Eyes like that could knock you off your feet. “So maybe you can help me with something.”
She gestured to the white paint, and I put two and two together: “You want me to paint your back?” Angel nodded hesitantly, and I practically leaped on it. She wouldn’t have to ask me twice.
We moved closer to the paint, and she swept her long hair over her shoulder, revealing her bare back to me. The dress clung to her body tightly just beneath the bottom curves of her shoulder blades. Thankfully there were some plastic gloves; I pulled those on after taking my own leather gloves off, so I wouldn’t mess up my own paint.
I tried not to focus on the fact that I was touching her as I began to apply the white body paint. My breath held, and I had to fight the way I wanted to lean closer to her and breathe her in. She had this fruity smell I’d come to love these past few weeks. Strawberries or something.
To try to get my mind out of the gutter, I asked, “Still nervous?”
Angel let out a breathy chuckle, and the sound was like honey falling on my ears. “Yeah. Do the nerves ever go away?”
“Yes and no. What you’re feeling will, but there will always be a little something, nagging away at you.”
“How do you get over it if it never goes away?”
“You have to realize that some shows are just not going to be as good as others. You do your best, and you learn not to think too much about it. You make a mistake? Laugh it off. Let it slide right off you. Don’t let it hang over your head like a raincloud.”
She hummed, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m not sure if you’re making me feel less nervous about the show or not.” She turned her head to glance at me, and when those blue eyes landed on my face, I coughed and tried to hurry.
Didn’t want to spend more time touching her than I had to, for reasons that should be obvious.
I wanted to change the subject, get her off her nerves. “When did you decide you wanted a career in singing?” Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to ask, given the fact she couldn’t remember me.
“I can’t say that I ever really tried to do anything.” Her shoulders went up and down once. “You know the only reason I’m here is because of my stalker of a sister taping me in my room. I always loved singing, but I… I don’t know. I never really thought anything would happen. This is still so surreal to me.”
As I painted her back, everywhere she couldn’t reach herself, I tried to hold myself back. I did. I shouldn’t have said what I said next, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been holding it in for so long, it came tumbling out: “I used to know a girl, years ago, who loved to sing.” There was no point in poking this particular bear, but I couldn’t help it.
I guess pre-show jitters were still a thing.
Angel let a few moments pass before asking, “Did you?”
I nodded—not that she could see me nod. Though we stood near a mirror surrounded by lights, her eyes were fixed on the ground in front of her. “I did. We used to mess around all the time. She’d sing, I’d try to sing with her—but my voice was never as good. I started picking up instruments. I remember my dad bought me a guitar right before my parents divorced, right before I had to move away.”
It felt weird saying all this to her, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Maybe now wasn’t the best time, but in that respect, there might never be a good time.
“Did you ever talk to the girl again?” Angel asked, her voice light.
God. Did she really not remember? I became a little rougher with her as I hurried to finish applying the paint. I didn’t know why the thought of her not remembering upset me so much, but it did, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“No,” I said. “But I did check in on her a few times. I found her profile online, saw she got a new best friend, and figured she forgot all about me.” I was almost done with the paint. Almost. Just few inches of skin left, and then she’d be done and I could leave this dressing room before I said anything I might regret.
I didn’t want to fight with her. I just… I wanted her to remember me. I wanted to know that our time together as children wasn’t forgotten, that it had meant something.
“Why didn’t you reach out? Maybe she was waiting for you to,” Angel whispered.
“Yeah, somehow, I don’t think she was.”
“And how can you know that?”
I finished her back, finally, and I dropped what was left of the tube where the rest of the paint was on the table with the mirror. “You’re done,” I muttered, tearing off the disposable gloves. I slipped my black ones on, not looking at her.
Angel turned around, her hair still collected onto one shoulder. Her painted lips were drawn into a pout. “Maybe she thought you forgot all about her, so she asked herself why she even cared about the boy she used to know.”
“Well, it turns out it didn’t matter,” I huffed.
“Yeah, I guess it didn’t matter after all.” She went on, “Because you don’t remember” the same time I said, “She’s standing right here.”
I think we were both caught off-guard at that, because neither one of us said anything. I had to take a moment to process what she’d said, just as I was sure she was processing what I’d said. She… she remembered me?
“You remember?” I asked. I thought I’d feel relief when everything was out in the open, but I didn’t think I’d feel so conflicted. Had she known this whole time? Did she think I was the one who’d forgotten her ?
“Of course I do! Do you?”
“Yes,” I shot back. I didn’t know why I still sounded upset. This was… this wasn’t how I thought this would go at all.
“Well, okay then!” she huffed. “We both remember. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Angel sent me a pouting face. “I thought you didn’t remember, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot.” She pointed at me, pushing a finger against my chest. “You should’ve said something! Why didn’t you?”
“Why would I say something when you acted like I was a stranger?”
“I’m not a stranger,” she huffed.
“No, I guess you’re not.” Whatever emotions riled me up began to fade, replaced by something else. Relief? Contentment? Calmer, I whispered, “You’re not a stranger. You’re—” I stopped myself from saying her real name. Real names were off-limits.
Angel nodded. “And you’re…” She trailed off, probably realizing the same thing I did: she couldn’t say my name. “What are the odds? It’s like—”
“Like fate threw us back together,” I finished her sentence, taking a tiny step closer to her. Less than eight inches between us now; we really were so close. The paint on her face was dry, which meant it wouldn’t smudge if I…
No, I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. That would be crossing a line, and once it was crossed, there was no going back. Her lips did look awfully tempting, though.
“I did think about you a lot,” I whispered, unable to pull myself away from her. “I spent so much time thinking about the girl who I left all those years ago, the girl who got me into music. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze falling to my chest as she murmured, “What are the odds?”
“Apparently higher than you’d think,” I whispered, my arms working on their own. Seriously, I had no control over them as my hands lifted to her face. No control at all as they swept back along her cheeks and angled her head back.
What was I doing? This was a bad, bad idea on so many different counts, and yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself. My breath caught, and I watched her lips part slightly, like she was waiting for it, waiting for me.
I closed my eyes and brought my face down to hers. My lips met hers tentatively at first, but when she started to kiss me back, the embrace turned hotter, more passionate. I kissed her like I’d wanted to kiss her all this time, like I’d just found an oasis in the middle of the desert and I was a man in need of a tall glass of water.
And, goddamn it, her lips were so freaking soft I couldn’t think straight. So soft, so supple, melding against mine, joining the push and pull of my mouth on hers.
My hands tangled into her hair, and I backed her up against the table, pinning her there. Her hands gripped my sides, clinging to me as I got to know this girl’s lips intimately. Every smooth curve. Every lush pout. God, I couldn’t get enough. I needed so much more than this. I needed everything.
It didn’t even occur to me that I shouldn’t be kissing her because she was Black Sacrament’s newest member and Ramona had warned us all off her. The only thing that mattered was that, after so many years, we’d found our way back to each other thanks to a twist of fate.
Fate. It had to be fate. I’d never been a firm believer in fate, an invisible hand guiding everything, but what else could I call it? Saying this was just one big coincidence didn’t feel right. It was more than that.
Angel moaned into the kiss, and I’d just started to feel the familiar pangs of longing in my lower half when I heard a clap in the hall and Priest’s voice say, “Let’s get this show going!” His voice was clear and strong—because I’d left the door cracked.
I pulled myself off Angel and took a few steps back, studying her lips to make sure it wasn’t obvious what we’d been doing. Priest barged in, all painted and dressed, mask on his face, ready to go. He wore a smirk as he glanced between Angel and me, but somehow that smirk fell flat.
Oh, God. He didn’t see, did he?
Shit.
“Well, lady and gent, are we ready to get this ball rolling?” Priest asked, cocking his head at us. He unhurriedly took his gray stare off me and brought it to Angel, and that’s where it lingered.
No, if he saw, he would’ve said something. Priest wasn’t the kind of guy who ever kept his opinions to himself, especially when it came to a girl he liked.
Priest would never claim he liked any girl. He was just in it for the pussy, as he’d said so many times before, but when it came to Angel, things were different. Take, for instance, the fact that he hadn’t gone out since she’d come into the picture. Yes, he’d flirted heavily with those two girls at the karaoke bar, but as far as I knew, he’d never hooked up with either of them—and that wasn’t like Priest at all.
I could only assume it was because of the girl I’d just kissed, the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing again.
Angel was the first to respond, saying a breathy, “Yes.” She slipped on her black leathergloves and then threw on her black leather jacket—minus the real wings. Instead, an outline of wings had been sewn into the back. After slipping it on, she fixed her hair and walked past me and Priest, leaving the dressing room.
The smirk Priest wore faded a little, but it didn’t disappear entirely. Once she was gone, he brought his stare to me, and what he was thinking no one could guess.
I hoped he didn’t see the kiss, but the longer he looked at me, the more I started to recognize that his smirk wasn’t a good-natured smirk. No, the expression he wore beneath that face paint was that of an animal, a hunter.
A predator about to make its move.
I didn’t realize what move that would be until it was too late.