Chapter Two • Devastated • Damien
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Damn. I never thought I’d meet a woman so perfect.
Lillith is everything from my sappy, sad-boy-hours dreams. The stark white hair, the micro bangs, the little beauty mark right below her pretty grey eyes. The way she lets her sweater sleeves hang down around her hands so that just her wickedly sharp nails and the tips of her fingers show.
She’s everything. Sexy and cute and sweet. I already know I’m going to fall for her, hard and fast. And I think, based on the way she couldn’t take her eyes off me for very long, that she might be thinking the same thing.
People always think my name is Damien Devastation because I leave a string of broken hearts everywhere I go, but I actually picked up the nickname when I was in high school.
The tattoos on my knuckles are actually a holdover from the time I got in deep with a girl in my senior year and she dumped me after prom.
I went and got DEVASTATED tattooed on my hands, hoping in an emo-music fueled haze that she’d see it as some grand gesture and get back together with me.
Well, when I showed up at her house, she was already bouncing on someone else’s cock.
So that was that. Unfortunately, tattoos are pretty fucking permanent when you’re 18 and work at a pizza place no more than ten hours a week.
It’s not like I had the money to get them lasered off.
At least I didn’t have to see her at school anymore.
Oren and I were already best friends by that point, and when we started Portent and I’d been groaning about my poor choice in grand gestures, it was him who came up with the idea to use it as a stage name.
At the time, I thought it was damn cheesy.
And to be fair, a lot of haters still try to question our value in the progressive metal scene because of that nickname.
But my big heart is something I’ve come to appreciate about myself.
I’d rather fall in love with things easily than be a miserable fuck like Satoshi, anyway.
“Earth to fucking drummer boy. Are you with us?”
Speak of the devil...
“What the fuck do you want, Samuel?”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Satoshi gripes. “You know I fucking hate it.”
“And I really hate how you spoke to Lillith, so we’re even,” I say.
“Bro, you don’t even know her,” Satoshi says.
“I’m going to know her, hopefully very well, very soon. Don’t be a bitch.”
I’m lazing on one of the couches in the green room, warming up on a practice pad while we wait for Roxie and Fletcher to arrive in the van with lunch.
“You said you were going to set up our shit,” Satoshi says. “All you’ve been doing is daydreaming and playing eight on a fucking hand.”
“I’m warming up, and I did set up everyone’s shit. Except yours. Because you’re being a bitch.”
“Fuck you, man,” Satoshi says. “Why do you always do this shit?”
“Because you’re always a fucking bitch!” I repeat.
“What kind of idiot asks a fan why she’s lining up six hours before doors open?
Would you ask that if we ever start playing arenas?
Lillith is super nice. You barely even looked at her before you started giving her a hard time.
That’s the shit that keeps getting us in trouble, man.
You need to work on your fucking manners. ”
“I’m just here to play music,” he says.
“Yeah, which we only get to do if fans keep paying. Which they’ll only do if they don’t think we’re arrogant dick bags. Which you seem intent on projecting as our image.” I point at him with an emphatic drumstick.
He rolls his eyes and leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms stubbornly. I know when he does this it’s an admission of defeat. “Alright, alright, fine. What do you want me to do?”
“Apologize to Lillith,” I tell him. “On stage.”
“Oh, fuck off!” he shouts. “That’s fucking humiliating. I’m not doing that.”
“Then set up your own shit,” I say, going back to practicing.
“Dude.”
Oren comes in the room, ruffling Satoshi’s hair. “I think you should apologize, too,” he says.
“You do?” Satoshi and I both say at the same time.
I’m shocked. Oren never gets involved in the frequent arguments Satoshi and I get into. “Damn, you must really like her,” I say.
“On that subject,” Oren says as he sinks into a bean bag across from the ratty couch I’m sitting on, “I wanted to ask you something.”
Satoshi gives an evil little chuckle that makes him sound like a cartoon character. I glare at him because we both know Oren well enough to understand where this is going. “Go plug in your shit and get the amps situated and I’ll fucking do my tech bullshit when I’m done talking.”
“Fuck you,” he says, flipping me the bird even as he goes to do what I say.
I look at Oren and sigh. “What is it, man?”
“Look, you know I respect you and bro code. So, don’t feel pressured to answer in any specific way.
But Lillith’s cute. And interesting. Real interesting.
I wanted to see if you were amenable to the idea of sharing her when the opportunity arises,” he says.
“Just for a night, I mean. I know you’re already determined to romance her, but you know that’s not really my thing. ”
I do know. Oren’s aromantic and only rarely finds interest in sleeping with people. It wouldn’t be the first time we shared a night with the same partner, either.
“I mean, I don’t even know if I’m going to try to sleep with her tonight,” I say, hesitantly.
Oren shrugs. “Well, I mean, I could always try to get it out of my system while you prepare for that,” he says. “Like I said, I’m only interested in a casual night or two.”
“No way, man. If you do it with her before I do, she’s going to become totally addicted to your cock and she won’t want mine,” I say.
“It’s so refreshing to hear how you fucks talk about women,” a lilting voice cuts in.
“Hey, Roxie,” Oren says, leaning back to rest his head on his folded arms.
“Hey, Rox,” I say, feeling a little guilty.
“That’s the appropriate amount of shame, by the way,” they say, pointing at me. “That’s how you should look for talking about sleeping with a woman like it’s a fucking business deal.”
“Roxie, I don’t sleep with anyone without laying out clear expectations for our involvement after the fact and enthusiastic consent to those terms. I don’t see why it should be a problem that I work out some kinks with Dame before approaching Lillith.”
“God, you are such a fucking weirdo,” Fletcher says in his charming Irish accent as he slips in behind Roxie. “I don’t know how you make anyone want to fuck you with how business-like you are about it.”
“Don’t you?” Oren teases, only for Fletcher to flush and busy himself with the vending machine on the far wall. I watch as Oren lets his eyes wander over our guitarist from behind and wonder why they can’t just fuck if Oren’s ogling him again.
I take a moment to really consider how I feel about sharing. It’s not a bad experience, honestly, sharing with Oren. Sometimes seeing a girl get face-fucked by your best friend while you’re balls deep in her pussy is pretty fucking hot.
Maybe it makes me a pig, but I do picture it. I think of sweet little Lilith in the most compromising position Oren and I could put her in. Her knees hooked over my forearms and her back pressed against Oren’s chest as I fuck her pussy and Oren fucks her ass.
I shift in my seat a little, grateful for my practice pad being on my lap as I picture Lillith’s perfectly shaped eyebrows climbing up her face, think of her manicured fingernails digging into my chest as Oren does that thing where he whispers filthy nothings into her ear.
She would love that—she seems like the kind of girl to love that. And I don’t mean that in a shitty way, either. She just seems like someone who likes to explore, who likes to feel good, who isn’t afraid to openly want something.
“Fine,” I eventually say to Oren, who’s still staring at Fletcher. “But only if she wants to.”
Oren looks at me, as if only just remembering what we were talking about. “Of course,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up for us tonight then, yeah?”
“Pft, sure,” I say.
“You’re all pigs,” Roxie says.
“You’re going to like her too,” I say. “So get off your high horse, because you’re going to be begging to eat her pussy before the show’s even over.”
Satoshi returns to the greenroom, handing his phone over to Roxie. Their eyebrows climb up their face as they look at the screen. “Oh,” they say. “Fuck, she is totally my type.”
“You took a picture of her?!” I ask Satoshi, standing up and rushing over.
Sure enough, it’s a picture not just of her, but of me too. Both of us in profile and smiling. It’s a little grainy, like he snuck a photo from far away and before either of us noticed. Sneaky fucker.
“I’m making a collage of all the women you can bang but can’t actually stay with,” Satoshi says. “It’s going to be your Christmas gift.”
Roxie cackles and I steal the phone from them, sending the photo to myself before he can figure out what I’m doing. If I can make her fall in love with me, then this will be the perfect lock screen.
“What the fuck? Give me my phone back, dickass!”
What kind of insult is Dickass? Luckily, I’ve already accomplished my amateur cybercrime when he snatches it out of my hand. “Fine, fine, take it.”
“That’s what she said,” Roxie says.
“With any luck, anyway,” Oren chimes in.
“Okay, everyone gets your dicks in your waistbands already. We have a show to get ready for.” I head toward the stage to finish balancing the sound and tuning up my kit.
Tonight is going to be a good night.
I can feel it.