Page 16 of Revel
Which, in part, could be truth, but fuck that, I’m never flat.
It’s hard to explain what I feel on stage. When I’m standing there, front and center in a stadium, arena, or even a club, it’s Cruz they’re looking at to start the fucking fire and kick things off with his vicious beats, but it’s me who takes it from there. I can tell you this. Once you’ve experienced it, there’s absolutely no going back.
It’s a powerful demon that’ll control the rest of your life.
Drawing in an unsteady breath, I down the remainder of the flask and look to Cruz. “Ready?” I ask, nodding to the stage.
He laughs, twirling a drum stick in his hand. “Do you even remember the lyrics?”
Ripping off my shirt, I toss it at Hensley’s feet who is watching my every reaction from beside Red, also watching from the wings. Apparently, I’m the center of the fuckin’ show these days. “I wrote the motherfucka, didn’t I?”
Cruz smirks, rolling his eyes and reaching for the blunt next to him. “Uh-huh.”
Slowly, I walk on stage after the five-minute-long video that plays in the beginning of all our shows. The audience, the power behind it, it’s consuming. When you’re already somewhat hyperactive and intense by nature, you don’t need drugs and adrenaline on stage. Though I do both, that stage, a place where I’ve lived out the last seven years of my life, it’s essentially a descent into madness and usually a place I find the most comfort in. It’s the only place where I can release the anger, the energy I’m forced to suppress, to unleash the dragon and shed it from my skin for a brief reprieve from being Revel Slade, the fuck up.
Smirking down at the front row, the only people I can see, I ask the one question that gets them going every fucking time. “How ya doin’, Portland?”
It doesn’t matter what city you’re in, or even what ethnicity the crowd is, it always gets them going, and that’s my cue to turn it up.
WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?
TAYLAN
I have rituals before a show. It starts with relaxation and tea with honey and lemon to soothe my throat.
I listen to calming rain sounds and meditate.
Only today, I decided to try something different because nothing so far has been expected. Sure, I’ve kept with the proper hydration. No alcohol.
I’ve slept.
I’m. . . prepared.
My set list is finalized.
My show, it’ll be flawless.
I’ve picked all ten songs, including the last cover song of Betty Davis I plan to do, and they’re my best ones. The ones that’ll appeal to everyone, and I guarantee at least half the nearly twenty thousand in attendance have heard. I’ve played bigger. Try one hundred and sixty thousand. I’m not nobody. It’s crazy to even think that, because I can’t even go to the damn store without someone knowing who I am. Sure, I’m no Revved, but I’m the princess of pop and damn it, that means something.
It comes down to my fear and anxiety. Will they like me for me? I might get booed off stage, but I might not, and I’m going with that slim possibility of not. It’s about theatrics and giving the audience an intimate, organic, never before seen glimpse into your creative side. Every song they love, sung live, to create their own memories. That’s exactly what I plan on doing. I plan on being experimental tonight and switching it up. Most people think you start out in one genre and you stay there. I don’t believe that. I think you grow, and your music needs to as well. It’s all about the artist writing songs with lyrics their audience can relate to yet still be something they enjoy and can sing at the top of their lungs.
I bet he can make me scream at the top of my lungs.
Shit. You know what I’m doing, don’t you? I’m not meditating.
But do you see me standing side-stage nervously? I’m distracted bywho’son stage now. I shouldn’t be watching him. I should be freaking meditating, and preparing myself but watching the competition is preparing, right?
Probably not.
A vision bathed in neon green light, the sight of him on stage, shirtless, has my nipples tightening, thighs clenching and things happening between my legs I’d rather not say. There’s no need because when you see him for yourself, you’re gonna understand all this. I anchor my feet to the floor, but my eyes, they’re not easily restrained. They’re locked on that unkempt hair, brooding stare and drift south where I’m sure the vision just gets better from there. The sex tape Bella and I sneaked peeks at comes to mind. Let me just say this now. Google it. Youwon’tbe disappointed.
Crap. Knock it off!
I can’t. I try.
My heart stutters at the sight of him. You have a few assumptions about Revel by now, don’t you? Branded arrogant, evasive, difficult, mean for no apparent reason. There has to be a reason though, right?
I once had this kitten, and he was an orange tabby, runt of the litter and so freaking mean. You’d walk by him and he’d attack you for no reason at all. At least I thought it was a random act of terrorism on his part. Until I watched him during the day. I hadn’t known it, but at the time, our dog used to sit on him and constantly attack him when no one was looking. So in the cat’s defense, he was simply acting out for things done to him. It’s like kids who grow up with abusive parents. It’s a trait they learn.
