16
TY
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I didn’t expect my heart to flutter the way it did when I saw Erica’s face. I mean, damn, she looks good. She lost some weight, but she looks hot, better and happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, outside of that nervousness she’s carrying around me. She says she’s looking for someone.
Maybe it’s that guy she was hooking up with after me.
I’m up here on stage, leaning into the mic and singing one our latest tracks, but my head isn't in the lyrics.
All I can remember are the times I stayed over at her place. I’ve been with so many girls since she left, but she was a constant.
I used to think all girls were basically the same, only letting you get in their pants because they wanted a certain lifestyle or a piece of the fame.
Erica wasn’t like that.
She just liked having fun.
I recently thought I found that spark in someone else, only to realize that girl was a total piece of shit.
Just another whore.
It made me lose hope that there was anybody actually out there for me.
When I’m sitting in the dark at night, drowning in that specific brand of loneliness you only feel between the legs of a woman whose name you don't even know, my mind wanders.
It goes back to different women, but the one I always settle on is Erica.
She up and left because I pushed her away. I convinced myself she was holding me back, but the truth is, Erica never judged me.
She gave me the space to be exactly who I was, right up until she started talking about settling down and all that shit. The older I get, the more I realize there wasn’t even anything wrong with that.
I turned 38 a few months ago. I’ll be 40 in two years.
I have kids, but I’m not in their lives.
Being a father isn’t something I’m interested in being; I don't think I’d make a good one to them anyway.
I send the money for support, and I tried to be there at first, but their mothers kept me away to the point where it would just be unstable for the kids if I kept forcing it.
But maybe I could start over.
Do things the right way. I just can't think of anybody I'd want to do that with. I thought I found it, but I was chasing a dream, looking for something that wasn't real.
The realest person I remember being with was Erica.
She was crazy.
She was supportive.
She was strong, sexy, and wild.
Playful as hell, just a bright light.
It felt good coming home to her. At least it did for a long time, until I started my usual shit where I just wanted to push everything away.
In my mind back then, we weren't in a "relationship". She was just that girl I had a connection with, probably a little deeper than the others. I could see her being someone’s wife, but I never actually expected her to be.
And now she’s in New York looking for some guy.
Why the hell is she all the way back here looking for a man who isn't me?
I can see it in her eyes.
She loves whoever this person is.
Even though the guy isn't here and I have no clue what he looks like, I can tell just by looking at her that she loves that man. I took for granted the times she looked at me like that.
It was a look that scared the shit out of me back then.
But at night, even while I'm getting my dick sucked by the latest floozy, my mind goes to Erica.
Those golden eyes.
I remember lying in bed with her and she’d jump on top of me, tickling me or brushing my hair. She’d use her titties to boop my nose and make them "talk" and all kinds of wild, hilarious shit.
I remember when we’d go out to raves and she’d be moshing right along with me. She scared the shit out of me once when we were on that drug together; she picked me up by my legs, lifting me into the air and making me feel like I was going to fall over, just so she could spin me around.
"How does it feel? Feels like you're flying in reverse, right?" she’d screamed, high out of her fucking mind.
Never a dull moment. Sometimes I’d come home to her apartment and she’d just light up.
"You're home!" she’d scream, those bright golden eyes wide, her arms outstretched like a little girl welcoming her hero.
Whenever I went over to other girls' houses, they would either jump on me for sex or just give me a lazy "hey" from the couch. They always played it cool or super sexual, but with Erica, I always knew what I was getting: she was always just so damn happy to see me. She would immediately start cooking for me, too. She was the only woman who ever did that. That’s why I stayed at her apartment more than anyone else's.
Outside of my mother, Erica was the only one who actually cared for me that way.
I felt rested every time I was over there, and it made me want to be better.
I realized how much I missed that the second she left. I realized how much I fucked up by kicking her out of my life. I traded that peace for fame and a lifestyle that didn't give me half the happiness I had with her.
Seeing her tonight brings all those old feelings screaming to the surface.
It hurts to the core thinking she’s making someone else feel that way. Maybe this is a second chance to make things right, even though I don't know the first thing about how to do that.
How am I supposed to make her happy when I hurt her so bad?
She’s clearly still attracted to me. We’ve jerked off together over the phone more than a few times. Several times I’ve had some woman sleeping in my bed while I was on the couch doing it with Erica, stroking my dick while she played with her tits or her pussy on the screen.
As I’m on stage singing, my heart pours out into the music, hoping she can hear me.
She always used to look at me with that adoration and pride. She let me have my moments; she didn't even care if she wasn't in the limelight.
When I brought fans on stage, she just smiled and let me live. She never strangled me. It only felt that way at the end because I was scared.
Scared that those feelings were getting too real and I was feeling too vulnerable.
When the gig is over, I spend some time talking to the guys and the roadies, but eventually, I pull Stevie aside.
"Did you have sex with her?" I ask.
"No, I didn't," Stevie replies quickly.
"Have you seen her?"
"No," Stevie says, looking around. "I think she went into the crowd, but I don't know. She might have left."
Scanning the room, I can't find her. Pulling out my phone, I call her. She actually picks up.
"Where did you go?" I ask.
"I told you, I'm leaving," Erica says through the phone. "I'm looking for someone. I don't have time to stay there."
I smile, trying to sound charming. "You don't need help?"
"No, I'm good. Goodbye, Tyler."
She hangs up. I try to call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I feel slighted.
Girls don't brush me off like that, and I never expected Erica to be the one to start. It feels like she just slipped through my fingers. If I could just figure out who she's looking for, maybe I could find her.
"I know he drives an Escobedo truck," Stevie says from my side. "A dark gray one. That’s all I know. And he has white hair."
"An old dude?" I ask, confused.
Stevie lights up a joint and takes a drag. "She didn't tell me how old he is, but he must either have a lot of money or be slinging some mean dick, because she's feening for that motherfucker."
I think for a minute. "Why'd she think he would be here?"
"Said she saw him in one of your posts. In the crowd."
"Did you see him?"
"Not in person. I saw the photo briefly. Tall guy with white hair, that's all I know."
Asking Stevie to show me which post it was since I post so much, I wait as he scrolls through and points it out. Taking the phone, I use my fingers to zoom in on the background.
"That old dude?" I ask, looking at the blurry figure.
"That's who she said. I don't know if he's old or maybe just blonde. I’m not sure," Stevie shrugs.
The guy in the photo is kissing some other woman, and I almost want to laugh.
"So she's chasing her boyfriend across the country because he's cheating on her? Damn," I say, a small smirk forming.
Poor Erica.
The guy she’s with is a piece of shit.
Maybe I actually do have a chance, since clearly she’s dating down.
The guy doesn't look rich, and an Escobedo isn't exactly a luxury vehicle. It’s a work truck, the kind of thing people in the Midwest, or farmers drive, not people over here unless they’re trying to front.
I look at the guy again, but I can't make out many details outside of the side of his face and that white hair partially covering him.
If this is my competition, I've already won. I just have to find her first.
?
The basement of this warehouse we're at smells like ozone or something.
It’s an underground scene.
Lot of illegal shit, or as I would like to call it proper vacation activities.
The walls are sweating, the bass is so deep and throbby that you feel it in your teeth more than you hear in your ears, and the lighting makes everyone here look better than they actually do. I’m here with the whole band. Stevie, Beck, Gina, and a few women they dragged along.
Lounging back on a couch that’s seen better decades, I feel the itch for something to take the edge off.
There’s my guy across the room. Better head over.
I stretch as I start over there. The transaction is smooth, just a hand-to-hand pass in the shadows.
I get a little baggie of those mellow yellows that turn the world into a slow-motion movie where nothing can touch you.
I pop one, wash it down with a swig of something that tastes like battery acid and berries, and wait for that familiar, fuzzy warmth to start creeping up my spine.
For about two hours, I’m good. I’m talking, playing card games with some guys in the corner, just letting the high ride. When I finally get up to refill my drink, I nearly collide with this skyscraper of a human being standing by the makeshift bar.
"Oh, excuse me. Sorry," I say, steadying my cup.
"No problem," the guy says.
When I look up to see who I almost ran into, I do a double take. The guy is tall; easily taller than Ronnie, and Ronnie’s 6'1". But that isn't the most notable thing.
The guy is beautiful. I’m straight, definitely. No for real, no homo, but I know a face and a physique that pulls pussy, and this guy could easily grab up every woman in this room without trying.
He’s got more sex appeal than Stevie, more than I feel like I have myself these days. I’m starting to get those tiny wrinkles, just enough to show my age even if people claim I still look young.
But for a white guy... especially one with a head full of chalk white hair... this man looks like a fucking god. What is he even doing in a hole like this? And he looks scarily familiar.
"Out of curiosity," I say, leaning against the table. He looks at me with these bloodshot gray eyes that look like a storm is brewing inside them. "Do you drive an Escobedo pickup truck?"
"Why?" he asks in a voice deep as fuck.
He looks a bit threatening, like he’s calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to snap me in half.
"Just wondering," I lie, playing it cool. "I think I heard someone saying your lights were on or something."
"I made sure all my lights were turned off," he replies.
"So the pickup truck is yours?" I ask, just needing to confirm it.
The white-haired guy just stares at me. He blinks slowly, grabs his drink, and walks away without another word.
That has to be the guy Erica is looking for.
Holy shit. If this is the guy she’s with, I honestly feel like I’m looking at a threat.
I watch him from across the room. He sits back down with a woman, some big-thigh, short-haired beauty with tats all over her ass cheeks, which are basically hanging out of whatever the fuck she’s wearing.
One big ass butterfly sits high up on her thigh.
The pretty dude downs the whole cup of alcohol in one go.
That’s a heavy pour, too; I have to nurse mine, but he treats it like water. He doesn’t even know I’m watching.
He’s just sitting there, and the girl puts another pill in his mouth. He smiles at her, and they start making out, practically ready to fuck right there on the furniture.
What the hell does a guy like this have to do with Erica?
I’ve seen a lot of people in this industry, but this is one of those guys who looks destructive as all hell.
He’s like Stevie but on steroids, figuratively speaking. He’s the kind of guy who looks like he’d massacre everything in his path.
Massacre.
There is something eerily dangerous about him.
More than anything, I feel like Erica should not be anywhere near this person. Even if she never decides to be with me again, I’d like to think I still care enough to look out for her.
She was good to me, despite the van incident, and she doesn't deserve to get sucked into whatever lifestyle this man leads. He’s here with another woman, so clearly he doesn’t give a fuck about Erica.
I pull out my phone, being very careful to stay in the shadows so I’m not seen. I snap a clear picture of him and the girl, then hit send to Erica.
This the dude you’re looking for? I caption it.