60-Kit
I’ve got the blackout curtain half drawn.
I bury myself into the narrow bunk, knees bent to my torso with my forehead pressed against them. The engine hums, a low, constant vibration that usually settles my nerves. Tonight, it throbs my skull. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming even though I haven’t said a word.
We’re driving toward the next city, though none of us knows if there’ll even be a next city. The festival fiasco has thrown everything into chaos. My phone buzzes again, another message from my publicist, no doubt in full meltdown.
I ignore it. I can’t deal with her. Or anyone, for that matter. The band’s trending everywhere. But worse than that, I’m trending.
Judas has been one of the top ten most searched names in the last eight hours. Along with Zachary Neumann-Blake. Every major news outlet loops the same footage of the crowd surge. There are screams, and among the chaos, Judas—shouting Zach’s name like the world’s ending.
For a second, it felt like mine did.
Fans film everything, so there are dozens of angles. Some clips zoom in on her. Others slow the footage down, pointing out a strange glitch, a flicker of deep-plum right as she falls.
Every clip is like a punch I have to take with my hands tied.
I can’t watch anymore. Seeing her buried beneath that wave of bodies has had me physically sick. I still can’t believe they got her out so quickly.
Almost a hundred people suffered fractures, broken bones, concussions, and bruises. Still, no one was critically injured. Everyone’s calling it a miracle. But I know the truth.
Endymion saved them. Or I did; well, something between us did.
I hate it. I wasn’t thinking about the danger for my fans, only her. How in God’s bloody name can someone as selfish as me be worthy of praise from people I couldn’t spare a thought for?
The bus slows to a stop, a little jerk jolting me as it brakes. Silver and Lou sit above me, and I know they’re scrolling through social media because every few seconds my name’s either screamed by fans, shouted by reporters, or whispered in speculation.
Theories are spreading like wildfire.
Who’s the woman? Why did Judas scream her name? Is she his girlfriend? Was she the glitch?
“Judas isn’t supposed to have a girlfriend.
” Greg storms in, face red and jaw clenched, pacing up to my bunk as he types furiously at his screen.
“This is exactly what we were trying to prevent. Somnium’s fan base is highly populated with women.
” He jabs a finger down at me. “You are a fantasy. And this?” He gestures around the confined space wildly.
“This pops the bubble with a bloody grenade.”
Greg runs a hand through his hair, a furious huff whistling between his pursed lips.
“It’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together.
You just had to say her name, didn’t you?
” Not bothering to wait for an answer, he storms off the bus, muttering curses.
“I’ll advise Zach to private all her social media accounts. ”
Shame burns hot under my skin.
“This isn’t your fault,” Louanne murmurs from up top.
“Okay, yeah,” I mutter, sneering up at her as she leans over the edge. “It is.”
Silver slides down from their bunk, landing softly beside me. “What are we going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my temples as I fall into my pillow. “This crew is like a family. We care about every single person on the tour, from the lighting staff to the cinematographers. It was a coworker expressing concern for another.” I exhale shakily. “I don’t know. I need to sleep.”
“I’m going to find Seth,” Silver says, grabbing their coat off the hook before strutting down the aisle.
“Kit,” Lou whispers. She holds her phone down to me. “This is trending.”
I take it, my stomach dropping as I see Zach.
I scroll furiously, watching as her face, public trial transcripts from her car accident, screenshots of her social media, photos of her on tour, and close-ups of her necklace next to old photos of me wearing the same one, come together in a prettily packaged, color-coded file.
My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone.
People are connecting dots that were never theirs to spot.
“This was the entire reason for the anonymity.” My sight clouds with rage, tears splattering onto Lou’s screen. “So that we could have personal relationships without work tearing them apart. Without the world tearing them apart.”
“But somewhere between Nazareth and Bethlehem, you lost your name in the nameless void,” Lou says, taking her phone as I hand it back.
“Etheridge Knight. It’s about a man who watches helplessly as his younger sister, known for her virginity, grows big with child.
Not trusting her word, he doesn’t believe it is the son of God, but in fact the demonic seed of Satan.
He feels helpless to save her from this mistake and its consequential suffering. ”
“I’m too knackered for your poetic codswallop,” I mutter, turning on my side to face the loo.
“It means that no matter what you say, people—they’ll believe whatever they want to; it’s the entire psychology behind Somnium in the first place.
A reflection of what people need to see in order to feel better about themselves.
So, even if a relationship grows from something pure, it’ll be twisted into something dark and malevolent regardless. ”
Louanne’s words hang as heavy as wet cloth. Silence stretches, settling between us like fog rolling off the Thames. I sit with it, staring at the floorboards as if they might offer a way out.
“I know you fancy her,” Lou says, shifting above me, “but for her sake, and for yours, I think you’re going to have to let her go. At least for now. She doesn’t need this heat.”
Fancy her.
Christ, if only it were that simple.
Somnium gives people something true to cling to, even if it’s built on a lie. I’m meant to be a vessel of projection. A fantasy. The bloke they can pour their trauma and longing into, so that they don’t have to face it on their own. I know what I’m supposed to be for the fans.
Unattainable. Untouchable. A myth in human skin.
I drag a hand through my hair, but it falls right back across my vision. Figures; even it refuses to work with me. The ache settles deep. I pull the blackout curtain across my bunk and fold into myself.
Taking out my phone, it opens to my gallery. To her. I want to go back to the moment I captured this photo; her in her element, a camera to her face and a smile I don’t think she’s ever aware of. A moment before I was starkly reminded of who I am to her; what I can never be.
Turning my speaker on, my playlist of favorite classical arrangements drowns out my sobs. It’s all I can manage without breaking. Lou’s right. Zach knows it, too. The truth presses in from all sides, impossible to outrun.
This is the beginning of an inevitable goodbye.