Page 22 of The Pursuit of Happiness
I feel that guilt rise back up my throat. The guilt of lying to my closest friend and the rest of my bandmates. I suppress it as best as I can, not wanting to make them suspicious that my newfound relationship with Aria is as fake as a pornstar’s tits. “You were right,” I agree. I spot a bottle of whiskey open on the counter and grab it, taking a swig to give myself something to do.
I feel Rogan’s eyes on me, intense and slightly suspicious as if he sees right through me. I avoid his eyes and turn my full attention on Miles, “What have you guys been working on?” I ask, changing the subject.
Miles lights a joint that he pulled out of his jeans pocket and takes a long inhale. He exhales and grins, “A whole bunch of shit you won’t get to hear because you’re one of Satan’s Angels now.”
They all laugh at my expense, but I don’t find it funny. They think I joined Satan’s Angels temporarily because I have separation anxiety from my new “girlfriend,” but what they don’t know is that my working with them is part of the arrangement. I have nothing against Satan’s Angels or their music, but that isn’t stopping my friends from making me the laughing stock of our group. What’s so bad about a girl band anyway?
“They fucking suck,” Rogan chokes out a laugh as he snatches the whiskey from my hand and takes a few large sips.
I feel a sudden burning defensiveness in my gut. Aria, Brody, and Ivory are three of the most talented artists in our genre and it has nothing to do with gender. My protectiveness over them and their music isn’t just because I’m in love with Aria Kane,but because I respect them as artists and as people. I mean shit, Brody Drake literally got up on stage in front of thousands of fans and confessed her deepest and darkest of emotions and then went public dating her…sober coach? I’m not really sure what the dude’s job description was but I know it was something along those lines. It doesn’t matter what his job was, she still got up and did that. And now the girls are nominated for the same award that we’re nominated for so if Rogan wants to say they suck, what does that say about us?
Nate takes one look at my face and tries to lighten the mood, “Give me that, moron.” He snatches the bottle out of Rogan’s hands like he snatched it out of mine and takes a small sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You do realize they’re in our category for the Muse Award, right? That means that we’re on the same level as them. So if you’re saying they suck, you’re saying we do too,” he scolds, a light note to his voice so as not to get too serious.
Rogan’s mocking expression falls, “They might not suck, but Aria Kane does,” he wiggles his brows and mimes out giving a blow job and I just about lose it.
I take my feet off the table and lean forward to snap at him but Nate places a hand on my chest to ward me off, “Bro, not cool,” he shakes his head at Rogan.
I’m not the confrontational type. I never fight with my friends or with anyone for that matter. I’m the even tempered one with the golden retriever personality and the dimpled smile to make the old ladies blush. So while it is totally not within my character to snap at my friends, I find it impossible not to when Rogan talks about Aria that way. Especially after everything that she’s been through with the media ripping her apart. Right now, I want to tearhimapart. My hands are balled into white knuckled fists with rage and I want so badly to open my mouth but Nate gives me a warning look and whispers, “Don’t.”
Nate turns back to Rogan, “Dude, that’s his girlfriend. Show some respect.”
Miles gives Rogan a look of surprise as if dumbfounded he would cross that line, “Yeah, what’s the matter with you?”
Rogan rolls his eyes, “Are you guys seriously gonna sit here and act like her face isn’t all over the news and the tabloids for being a slut?” He pauses and then continues, a wicked gleam in his eyes, “Oh I’m sorry, it wasn’t just her face that was in it. It was her ass, her tits, and her pu-”
Now I lose it. For the first time in the history of our band, I lose my fucking shit. Nate doesn’t even try to stop me as I leap out of my seat and round the table to strangle Rogan, “Shut your fucking mouth,” I seethe.
He rises from the floor to face me head on and laughs, “You’re getting defensive because you know I’m right.”
I fist the collar of his t-shirt in my hands and use my leg to hip toss him into the coffee table, the glass top shattering beneath his weight. He falls into the leftover pizzas and the remnants of weed that were on the table and I instantly drop to land a few punches on his face but Miles grabs me by my shirt and yanks me away. He and Nate hold me back and Nate snaps, “Rogan, get out.”
Miles adds, “What’s been up with you, bro? You’ve been acting so fucking rude lately.”
Rogan’s eyebrow is cut most likely from glass, a small bead of scarlet trickling down his brow and into his green eye. He pushes off the remnants of glass and into a seated position before he rises to his feet. His hands are cut in some places, shards of glass sticking out. Good. I want him to bleed and I want him to be uncomfortable after what he just said about Aria. Best friend or not, I won’t let anyone talk about her that way. Not when she was drugged and is being destroyed by the media for something that isn’t even her fault.
“Maybe it’s because our bandmate is ditching us to play the drums for his girlfriend,” Rogan snaps, not letting go of his anger.
I take a step forward to do God only knows what, but Nate slaps a hand to my chest, “It’s temporary. Besides, we can still work on our own music,” Nate argues.
“Get out,” Miles growls. Miles is older than the rest of us by a few years and he’s usually the more responsible one of us. By that I mean he has a better moral compass. He’s in a different stage of the life cycle than we are, married with two small kids. He’s head over heels in love with his wife and would never tolerate anyone disrespecting her, so he understands my protectiveness over Aria and is ready to back me at any moment.
Rogan rolls his eyes and storms out, stumbling from my throwing his ass through a table and also from whatever he drank or snorted before I got here. When he makes it to the door, he looks at me over his shoulder and scoffs, “When that girl crushes you, don’t come crying to me because I’ll just shove my fist down your throat and say ‘I told you so.’” He leaves before I can bite back and slams the door behind him so hard that the entire room shakes.
Nate and Miles release me once he’s gone and I take deep, angry breaths, wanting so badly to chase after him and beat his face in. I’ve never been this angry at Rogan before. Ever. Sensing my rage, Nate hands me the bottle of whiskey and raises a brow, “Here. You need this more than I do.”
I accept it, taking large sips from the bottle and resuming my previous position on the couch, ignoring the shattered table before me. Nate and Miles rejoin me and the three of us sit in silence for a few minutes before Miles mumbles, “I haven’t seen him like this before. He’s been acting so weird lately.”
Nate nods, “Something is up with him and he’s just taking it out on you. Don’t let it get to you.”
I shake my head and snort a sarcastic laugh, “It’s a little too late for that. Did you see the table?” I nod towards where the table once rested, fully intact.
Nate chuckles, “That was sick, I’m not gonna lie.”
Miles grins, “I didn’t know you had that in you, Sly.”
I rest my body against the back of the couch, “Me neither.” I lift the bottle of whiskey to my lips once more and savor the taste of the liquid, the way it burns down my throat and my chest until it lands in my stomach and spreads a feeling of warmth through me.
Nate smiles, “So, you finally got the girl you’ve been pining after since her band blew up and you first saw her face, huh?”
