Page 3 of Revel
The lyrics to our hit single come to mind, the constant digs I take at these assholes who claim to be my family. When my world was falling apart a few months back, they weren’t there for me.
Who are we foolin’
I’ll never be who they want me to be
There’s no blue anymore, only black
Have they ever had my back?
Though I question everyone’s loyalty, Deacon is our guitarist and probably the nicest one in the band. I’m usually the only one he cusses at, and that right there should tell you my likability among the rest of the band.
“Excuse him. He hit his head on a pipe backstage the other night, and we had to give him drugs to calm his wild ass down.” Clearing his throat, Deacon takes a drag of his cigarette. We’re all a bunch of misfits who refuse to follow the rules.
“Each one of us brings a different influence to the band,” Hardin, our bass guitarist adds. It’s probably a good thing I have Hardin and Deacon here to back me, or at the very least, keep it from escalating. “That’s why we work,” Hardin goes on to say, gesturing to the other two members of Revved. “Revel brings the melodic glam-rock writing style and prefers to be nude on stage, and Cruz shoves drum solos from hell down your throat.”
Nerves hit me. I’m usually never nervous, but in confined spaces, I get jittery. Like I’ve had too much caffeine. Or not enough coke to last me through this bullshit interview.
“And you, Hardin?” the DJ asks, avoiding my glares. “What do you bring?”
“Yeah, whatta ya bring to the show?” Cruz rouses, lifting a steel-toed boot up to knock Hardin’s knee sideways.
Hardin laughs, stuffing his cigarette against Cruz’s leather pants. “Clearly I’m the brains behind it all.”
“Ya fuck.” Cruz jumps up, brushing off the ash. “What the hell?”
Chaos breaks out between them and I nod to them. “Whatta think, Ted? Do we get along?”
“My name’s not Ted. It’s Tucker.”
I snort. “Same difference.”
Ted, sorry, Tucker, turns to Hardin who’s fending off Cruz and his lackluster attempt to get him in a headlock. If you’re ever in a fight, Cruz is the last person you want defending you. His fighting skills are that of a kitten. No really. He’s a pussy. His only defense is his height and maybe the fact that he’s covered in ink, and probably scares off any wayward fucks looking to size him up. “It’s been said by countless people you’re the Jimi Hendrix of the twenty-first century. Do you believe that?”
Hardin snorts. “Who said that? You?”
Apparently, I’m not the only one in a bad mood.
“What about you, Revel?” Tucker’s co-star turns to me. It’s at this moment I notice she’s a woman with a thick British accent. We could be in Britain. I really have no clue, but all this time I thought it was two dudes in here with us. Another example of my lack of attention to anything around me. “Your label was said to be demanding this time around when you guys releasedContent Explicit. They were looking for something more edgy than your previous albums. It hit number one the first week, but did you guys have any doubt seeing how the songs are darker than you usually produce?”
“Do I look like I had any doubt? We’re mad dark and spin shit better than anyone else in the business.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table and wink at her. “No. And I fucking bet you downloaded that shit the moment it dropped, didn’t ya, honey?”
Licking her lips seductively, the woman blushes at my response directed her way. I bet if I gave a nod to the nearest closet, this cunt would be on my cock in a matter of seconds. “Do you think that the public craves the unpredictable side of you they’re growing accustomed to?”
I avoid conversations that lead to anything about my past, my behavior, or what I’m thinking. Believe me, it’s for the better. You don’t want to know the bizarre shit going on in my head. It’s best to avoid it altogether. And what I crave? You don’t want to know either. “I don’t know what the public craves. Why do they want to know anything about me? Shouldn’t it be about the music?”
Cruz, our drummer, looks at me and shakes his head, as if to say, lay off. But I won’t. I never do. It’s not in my nature to lay off.
Tucker nods to me. “You guys have been said to be unpredictable and demanding in the studio.”
“You just fucking said that,” I snap, throwing my body back in the chair with a huff. “Ask something original.”
“Okay, fair enough. Revved released a single with Hensley Shaw last year. Can you tell us if there will be any more duets in the future, considering you guys are now officially said to be broken up?”
“What kind of bullshit is this?” Leaning forward, I grab the guy by the white polo shirt he’s wearing, choking him. “That’s an asshole question to ask.”
Raising his hands, he tries to wrap them around mine to loosen my grip on him. I don’t budge. “You’re just trying to scare me to avoid answering the question. It’s what you do, right? Avoid?”
I smile. Now let me tell you something about this joker. He’s got it all wrong. I’ve been in the business of jarring people since I was sixteen and joined a band. Just wait, I’m bound to piss you off sooner rather than later and jar the fuck out of you.
