I thought I wanted this life.
Thought I could handle it.
I was wrong.
9CRUZ
The tour busis a cocoon of clashing scents—sweaty T-shirts, stale cigarette smoke curling through the air, and that sharp chemical bite of cocaine. The strap of my bass digs into my shoulder as I adjust it for comfort. I’ve got a tune in my head that I’ve been messing around with. Nothing solid. Just something I may pitch the next time we get together to write a new song. Right now, though, it’s not about creating anything new. It’s about the chaos and the fun.
Across from me, Chance is sprawled out on the couch like a king without a court, his eyes two black holes engorged with euphoria. His grin is loose and lazy; he’s lost in whatever high he's riding again. I don’t think he’s been sober or clear-headed during this entire tour leg.
Zander sits in the makeup chair while Di carefully applies the intricate designs around his eyes, transforming him into the masked madman behind the drums that our fans worship a little too much.
Justice paces back and forth in the narrow aisle, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. I don’t know what his problem is today, but I remind myself not to get on his bad side.
"How’s it looking, boys?" Angelo asks, boarding the bus. "Are you ready to rock this place or what?"
"We were born ready, my man," Chance pipes up.
I watch him taking another hit of his joint, which I know isn’t the only thing he’s taken tonight. A knot twists in my gut. This isn't like the old days when we'd pass one around to take the edge off before a show. The hard stuff Chance is into now—it's going to burn him out way too fast.
I rise from my spot and sit next to him.
"Yo," I whisper, leaning into him a little. "Maybe ease up a bit, huh?"
Chance chuckles and waves off my concern with a dismissive hand. "Always the worrywart. Tonight's going to be epic."
His words slur slightly, and I exchange a loaded glance with Justice. We both see it, the way the drugs are eating Chance alive, but no one wants to be the buzzkill who takes away his poison. Truth is, there’s no time for him to get his shit together with the kind of schedule we have.
Chance offers me a rolled-up bill, a challenge in his bloodshot eyes. "C'mon, live a little." He pulls out a packet of coke from the back pocket of his pants.
I shake my head. "Nah, man, I'm good. One of us needs to keep our head on straight."
Chance shrugs and takes another hit of his joint and then sniffs a line.
Justice pops a couple of pills and chases them with a swig of whiskey. I absently pick at the skull tattoo on my forearm, wishing I could shake the sinking feeling that everything's about to crash and burn.
We're brothers in the spotlight, feeding off the energy of the crowd, but here in the shadows, I wonder how much longer we can keep up the act before it all falls apart. Chance most of all.
When we stepout of the tour bus, the air feels muggy and the sky is heavy with rain clouds. The distant roar of the crowd bleeds into the chaotic energy of the working crew backstage. We have one interview before tonight’s set, and, of course, we’re in full gear, our stage outfits and makeup on. Six security guards escort us to the media tent, where Justice and Zander ramble through the questions using their rehearsed answers.
After the interview is over, we’re bombarded by fanboys from smaller bands trying to get autographs and photos. I don’t mind it. Ten years ago, I was that dude, someone who looked up to other major bands, someone who wanted to get to the same place where I’ve arrived. To this place of fame and fortune. But it’s dreary here. Dreary and lonely.
"Guys, sorry!" Angelo shouts over the din of the crowd, waving his hands at everyone. "But we have a set to play."
He navigates through the sea of bodies with an urgency matched by the pulse of anticipation in the air, gently but firmly coaxing people aside.
It isn’t until we make it to the main stage that I notice that our guitarist isn’t with us.
"You seen Chance?" I ask Zander.
He shakes his head. "I thought he was with you."
"Do you see him with me?"
"Probably went to take a piss or something."
I scan the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Chance, but he's nowhere. I mean, he’s hard to miss with that makeup on.
