26. Interlude 8
Feeling This
Our second album comes out tomorrow, and yet my girl’s not here beside me celebrating. She oiled out early, citing a hangover and that she and Dutch were gonna go catch a movie. Which had me fucking side-eyeing him. I sometimes think their friendship is a little too close. I don’t like it.
But mentioning that to Rain is a one-way ticket to her cussing my ass out.
I made that mistake once and believe me, never again.
Although it was easy enough to get her to forgive me when I got down on my knees and devoured her pretty cunt until she creamed all over my face.
Little does she know that I could happily die down there, so fifteen minutes of head was nothing.
Still, with how often we’ve been fighting lately, I made the decision to keep the peace by keeping my mouth shut.
Besides, Dutch takes her to see all the girly romance movies that I hate, so in a way, my boy is doing me a favour.
Still, it’s a bummer that we’re not out partying tonight as a band, about to have the highest-selling punk record of all time if the response to the first single is anything to go by.
The song ‘West Coast Trash’ has been getting crazyyyyyyy levels of radio play.
The record label also produced a special edition vinyl that Lou told us was selling out all over.
Hence the need to celebrate, get a little wild, before we’re cooped up on a bus for the next six months touring.
It’s not that I don’t love being on tour.
I do. Being on stage every night and hearing people cheer, seeing fans cry, signing T-shirts, every last drop of it feeds my soul.
It’s also damn near exhausting, and opportunities to blow off a little steam are few and far between.
Usually only a possibility if we’re in the same city for a few nights, and even then, we’re more recognizable now than we used to be.
Between paparazzi, magazine covers, and the crazy interviews we’ve done recently, a couple of which have gone mega viral because of our antics, we tend to get spotted and swarmed.
According to Lou and the record label lawyers, we have to be careful now.
Still, I’m going to take my shot tonight, and since Rain’s not with me, it’s more likely I’ll be able to get away with it since she’s the most recognizable out of all of us.
I knock on the door in front of me. I’m here to pick up one person I know won’t abandon me.
I’ve never been to the Kelly brothers’ apartment.
Hell, they’ve hardly been here thanks to our year-long tour for the first album.
When Dallas opens the door, the quick glance I get of it over his shoulder is pretty sparse.
It looks more like a squeaky-clean student rental than the home of two rockstar brothers.
His blue eyes are so wide, and he stutters, “C-Cohen? What are you doing here?”
The sunglasses and hoodie I’m wearing are meant as a slight disguise for others, but for Dax, I lower the glasses so he can see me wiggle my eyebrows at him suggestively.
Then, I brace my hands on either side of the open door frame and lean in toward my best friend, “I’m here to drag you out of your cave, my friend.
Let’s go out, party, maybe even get you some… ”
The word pussy is on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t ever leave it. Not because I don’t think Dallas can get any. With his long blonde hair and big blue eyes, the girls at our shows are always screaming his name. The guy could get any girl he wanted. He just…doesn’t.
He looks me in the eye. Our faces are just a few inches apart. His cheeks are pink, right before he groans and I know I’ve won, before he even steps back, letting me into the apartment.
“Give me five minutes to change,” he calls out on his way to what I presume is his bedroom.
I follow, bouncing on my toes because I’m itching to get going, ready for the music, the lights, the thrum of the crowd.
I get off to it, even if it’s not for us.
I flop onto Dax’s bed and wait while my weirdo best friend collects his clothes and then takes them to the bathroom to change.
I say weirdo, but I mean it affectionately.
Dallas has scars that he doesn’t want people to see, ever.
Not even me. I’ve only seen them a handful of times in all the years we’ve been best friends.
But I know a little about their source, so I would never, could never tease him for it.
The only time I’ve ever even mentioned them is after I found out, from Rain, that he let her touch them.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked if I could touch them too.
His whole body lit up with goosebumps, so in the end, I told him I was joking, and that was the end of it. Like I said, weirdo, but my weirdo.
True to his word, he’s in the washroom for barely five minutes when he comes out in his typical V-neck T-shirt and black skinny jeans.
“Let’s go,” he says, resigned to his fate.
“Don’t sound so down, my man, you know I’ll always show you a good time.” I spring from the bed and throw my arm around his shoulder.
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing outside the back door of our favourite club, partially because the owner is Lou’s friend and we always get special treatment.
Sure enough, after a quick series of knocks, Bruce is there to greet us, “Mr. Brady, Mr. Kelly. Lou told me you’d be making an appearance tonight.”
He leads us through the packed club. It’s barely gone eleven, and already the dance floor is full.
Music pulses and there’s a hard bass line under the melody that has both Dallas and me nodding our heads.
Bruce escorts us to our usual table. The one up near the corner of the club’s VIP lounge.
There’s already a bottle of my favourite vodka chilling in an ice bucket at the centre of the table, and I reach for one of the rocks glasses as I slip into the seat.
I expect Bruce to say his usual spiel and then fuck off, but he lingers, beady eyes darting between Dax and me.
Choosing to ignore him, I don’t bother with ice and pour what’s gotta be at least a shot’s worth of vodka into my waiting glass.
I’m about to toss the whole thing back when I’m stopped by Bruce leaning over our table.
His shadowy presence is ruining the vibe since Dallas can never relax around strangers.
“I take it Ms. Gamble won’t be joining you tonight?”
There’s something about the way he says Rain’s name that I don’t like, and for the first time, I am kinda glad she isn’t here. He takes my silence as confirmation.
“In that case, would the two of you be interested in some special party favours?”
I assume he means girls, which is both gross and totally unwelcome.
“No, Bruce. No girls,” I say harshly.
“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Brady, I mean party favours,” he explains what he means by pressing his nostril closed with one finger and giving a good, hard sniff. Drugs. He means drugs. “There would be a price, of course, but for my favourite regulars, I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.”
From the other side of Bruce’s looming frame, I see Dallas violently shaking his head. I’m not opposed to that kind of fun tonight, or ever really, but I’ve already dragged my best friend out here; I don’t want to force him into yet another situation he won’t like.
“Thanks for the offer, Bruce,” I reply much more congenially this time, “but I think we’ll stick to vodka.”
“Suit yourselves but let one of the girls know if you change your minds.” He gestures to the server currently dropping off a bottle of top-shelf whiskey at the table next to ours.
The two men in that booth each accept a glass from her and wait as she pours the amber liquid for them.
They look familiar, but I can’t quite place them until I see the clearly older of the two lean in and suck on the other’s neck.
They are the same guys from a year ago. Only last time there were two girls with them.
As if they sense my eyes on them, they both look up, but their eyes skim over me and land firmly on Dallas. Dax is staring back, and despite the low light of the club, I swear I see his cheeks turn pink again.
“Care to join us, handsome?” The younger man beckons Dallas with two fingers.
His eyes are a haunting shade of grey. Neither of them says anything else, but there’s something in the way the older man looks at Dax that I don’t like.
Or maybe it’s that the one with those damn eyes won’t stop licking his lips, like they want to devour him.
Can’t they see how uncomfortable he is? He’s practically shaking as I tug his sleeve and pull his attention back to me.
“Ignore them,” I snap. Thankfully, that does the trick. I catch the two men shrug and then slide from their booth. Still, my best friend watches them go with an expression I can’t quite read beyond the downturn of his lips.
“This is lame. I say we take Bruce up on those party favours.” I smile and run my tongue over my teeth.
We’re young rockstars and well on our way to being rich.
So why not? Coke is a common party drug in the Kitty Kat Club.
Pills are also popular, especially the kind that make you want to fuck like bunnies.
I’m not sure which it’ll be, but I snag the next passing waiter and tell them I’d like Bruce’s current “party favour.” The man himself accompanies that same server when he returns.
“Glad you decided to partake, boys.” He gestures. His eyes are wider, glassier than before. Judging by that and the slight slur in his words, he’s partaken as well.
“It’s called Magic. And the rush is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. Have fun, boys.”
The server sets a fancy mirrored tray on the table, and atop it is a pile of powder. Unlike Coke, it’s not pure white, and instead looks more like a pile of rainbow sprinkles.
“You’re sure about this, Bruce?”
“Of course!” He waves back, steering the server and himself away and back through the throng of other clubgoers. Once he’s gone and it’s just Dax and me, I don’t hesitate. I swallow the last gulp of vodka in my glass.
“Here goes nothing.”
I’m not sure why, but I’m keen to get lost in the rush the drugs promise. To feel something other than the weight of everyone’s expectations, to feel the happy high, to get a break from thinking about Rain and the band and the emptiness, and, and, and.
I use the silly metal knife that came attached to the tray and cut the powder into two clean lines. Then, without hesitation, I dive in.
The rush.
It is everything.
It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before.
The whole thing happens in an instant. Or maybe a few minutes. It’s impossible to tell.
My cheeks hurt from the wide smile that spreads across my face, until I level out enough to look for Dallas. He’s still there. Always beside me, but he’s got his worried face on. I don’t like it. I want him to feel the rush too.
“Join me, Dax,” I encourage, sliding the tray full of powder closer to him. “Pleaaaaaaase,” I beg.
“Co…I don’t know if this is a good—”
“Dax, baby, don’t be such a buzzkill.”
All I can think is that I hate it when he’s a buzzkill.
I want him to smile. The rush Bruce described is hitting me, and all I want is for my best friend to jump into the wave with me.
So badly. That I reach across the table, swiping my hand across the plate, while I pull him closer with my other hand.
My fingers are coated in the powder now, and there’s something so satisfying about the way I push my thumb into Dallas’s mouth. The fact that he lets me feels like a victory I can’t explain.
What feels less like a victory is the wake-up three days later.
In Calder University Hospital. With Rain and Dutch standing at his bedside.
Not mine. And no memory of how we got there.
Later, I’d find out those drugs were laced.
That we’d both OD’d and that while I could do that and walk away without a second thought, my best friend wasn’t so lucky.
End Interlude