Page 19 of Revel
Without thinking, I mumble, “I don’t, I mean, it’s not like that. I didn’t come on this tour for that.” I can’t say for sure, but my words don’t sound very convincing.
Hensley shakes her head, her thick black lashes fluttering with her whimsical laughter. “Sure ya didn’t, honey. He’s an alcoholic head case. He spends his days high and his nights even higher.” Taking another hit of her joint, she coughs out a half-strangled laugh and leaves me with those words. I can’t help but think in this case, even villains have a story to tell. And I’m not talking about Hensley.
Bella approaches me next, a bottle of water in one hand and a paper cup with what I assume is my honey and lemon tea. She hands it to me. “This is insane.” She beams, pointing to Revved on stage. “I overheard security saying someone passed out when Revel dumped a beer on her. No wonder people say their concerts are legendary.”
She’s right. I never understood it until now. You can’t bring together this many bands and one not try to outdo the other, which naturally causes friction, but nothing compares to Revved. They’re unrivaled.
When their set is finished, I know it’s my turn and to follow that, is impossible.
As they exit the stage, Revel’s attention settles on my face. I stand in front of him. A shiver of fear snakes up my spine in his presence. In my dress, he has a full view of the tops of my breasts, and he doesn’t just flick his eyes to them. He drags them seductively, heatedly over every bare inch available to him. He might look at me like he hates me most of the time, as he probably does, but this look, he definitely likes what he sees.
“What?” I finally ask, Bella pushing me forward an inch and whispering for me to move.
Revel’s attention settles on my face, and I really want to sniff him. I don’t know why, but I want to smell his sweat. So gross, Tay. So gross!
“Every time you open your mouth to tell me off, all I can think about is shutting you up with my cock shoved down your throat.”
Speechless.
Again.
Who the hell is this guy?
THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT
REVEL
Believe it or not, I don’t spend a lot of time watching or listening to other bands anymore. Sure, I have a few artists and bands I admire. Prince, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Queen. . . to name a few off the list who’ve inspired me over the years and I grew up listening to, but it sure as shit isn’t anyone on this tour who inspires me. I don’t even like anyone on this tour, let alone be inspired by them.
It’s not like I give a shit what they sound like or what they have to say. I just want to finish out the next three months and pretend it never happened. I didn’t watch the four acts before Revved performed, and I hadn’t planned on watchinghereither but somehow, here I stand. I intended on walking away, because what the fuck do I care how her set goes? Something draws me in. I don’t know what it is about her. From the day I saw her innocent eyes and that shocking red hair six years ago, I’ve been drawn to her. I don’t even think she was sixteen back then, but anytime she’s around, my body’s aware. Maybe it’s the red hair. I find it fascinating that it’s naturally that color. It glows under the stage lights like rivers of reds, radiant with depths of rich candy apple red in each luscious strand.
Or maybe it’s the good girl vibe I want to dirty up. I wonder if her life is as perfect as it appears? She preaches about female rights, never reveals too much skin and probably baptizes babies herself every Sunday—she’s that goddamn pure. I’m not sure how old she is to be exact, but I think she’s barely twenty-one. I can’t even tell you what I was like at twenty-one, but it sure as hell wasn’t pure. Pretty sure I was drunk or high the entire time. Not all that different from today.
There’s nothing about her that would fall into my usual categories of fun or dangerous, so why am I standing here wondering if she hates me as much as she wants to believe?
Our time slots are short, thirty minutes to be exact, so it doesn’t leave a lot of time to cram in your hits and outdo the other performances the audience endures. And it pretty much fucking sucks following Revved in any lineup, but I’m curious how the princess of pop is going to handle those greedy motherfuckers wanting rock and roll, and here she is giving them bubblegum pop songs about PG love.
It’s during a quiet moment where it’s just Red onstage with a guitar and no dancers around her where she gives everyone a glimpse at the puppet behind the strings. “I wrote this song when I felt like everything else in my world had shattered, along with my heart,” she tells them, staring down at her hands, a welcomed distraction from the sparkling onesies and plumes of pink fire coming from the stage she had been doing most of her set. “It’s not easy to experience heartache and hide the truth from everyone else.”
Bathed in blue lights, she glances my way, studying me with unnerving intensity. I counter with a look a disinterest, my exterior giving nothing away as I recall our brief but poignant interactions over the years.
“Rev!” someone calls out from behind me. “You coming?”
Giving a conflicted tug to my hair, I ignore them.
She doesn’t break eye contact with me, the distance between us seeming light years away.
I find the most brilliant lyrics strung together come when an artist is at their most vulnerable. When you feel like you have nothing left but your thoughts, your words, the one thing people can’t take from you. There’s something about the desperate, needy plea in her eyes when she looks over at me. I can’t even say for sure it was a plea. It was more like her begging me to save her. This princess doesn’t need a prince. She needs a motherfucking monster.
My life is one never-ending performance, and there are in between moments, most of which I don’t remember. Though the tempo, the heavy drum beats and extravagant performance of the dancers don’t match the vulnerability of her lyrics, something tells me I’m going to remember the guise she holds in her eyes when she sings, “You’re talking crazy.Your lies tell me nothing, boy. It’s your eyes I look to for truth, and there’s no excuse for what you’ve done.”
I don’t know much about her and Breckin, nor do I give a goddamn. The idea of him touching her, send my blood boiling and my heart racing. It’s fucking stupid that I care.
I will say this. It’s not hard to see past the lies one tells themselves, and when you’re drunk the majority of the day, even you forget to hide them. She’d seen through mine. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t hide it though. Whatever. Fuck it. Fuck her, too.
I listen to her lyrics. The ones meticulously knotted in a pop number to hide the true meaning behind them. I obsess over them actually.
You said it meant nothing
