I stumbled into my dressing room and slammed the door behind me. My body slumped back against it, and I exhaled. “Sweet relief,” I whispered quietly to myself. I didn’t just need to calm my dick…I needed to take the edge off.
I pulled myself up and approached my bag, fumbling through until I found exactly what I was looking for: a small bag of white powder, tucked safely in the makeshift inner pocket of my leather jacket. I then carefully dumped a small amount of the powder onto the top of my vanity and pulled a small business card from my wallet. I carefully tapped it into the powder, repeating the motion until three dainty little lines of cocainewere formed. One by one, I snorted them with the help of a used, rolled bill. My nose burned from the sharp inhales. But it was worth it.
My hands gripped the edge of the vanity as I closed my eyes and let the drug take effect. “Oh fuck,” I muttered out loud. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes to look at my reflection, but I found a message instead. My blood ran cold as I read the written words along my mirror in lipstick. “Does she know?” I blinked, running my fingers across the red letters, smearing them. I wasn’t sure if I was in shock or just used to these ominous messages, but this sadly wasn’t the first.
That could mean anything. It could mean my drug use…or maybe the ‘she’ is referring to Carmen? But what would I be hiding from her?I looked at myself through the red smeared smudges on the mirror as the fearful reality of my situation crept in.No. I know exactly what this means.I ran my fingers through my hair.
Fuck. Someone knows.
TWO
KASH
The motel roomshut behind me as the hot summer sun warmed my back. I was lost in thought, still reeling over the idea that someone might know my truth. That some fucking random person just might be stalking me and the rest of the band. And I can’t fucking have that. To most people, this band may seem like a collection of misfits thrown together to perform, but we were so much more than that. We were a family. And I would do anything to protect my family.
My mind continued to spin and tangle over endless questions and anxious concerns as I walked down the outdoor balcony of the shitty highway motel. My hands grazed through my long black hair, and I watched my feet, as if being in some pointless trance would help me solve this insane puzzle.
Even if this person did know…how? How would they have known? Motley and I had never been together in a public place. Well, such an obvious and public place. We’ve always been so careful so?—
“I said, leave me the fuck alone!” My head shot up at the sound of Motley's disgruntled voice. It was unusual to hear such a tone coming from him. Motley was standing at the end of the outdoor hallway with a bucket of ice tucked firmly within his toned arm. He looked pissed, and as I looked past him, I could see why. “Back the fuck off, man!” Motley politely shoved the gangly man back, nearly knocking him over.
Fucking Guy.
Guy was this obsessive, lone paparazzo wannabe that borderline stalked our band. He spent months shadowing Carmen, snapping photos of her and her son out in the world. Over time, he started photographing Carmen as she changed and in other compromising positions. He blackmailed her into paying him to keep the photos to himself and not release them to the public, threatening to expose her and have her kid taken away if she didn’t pay. What a fucking prick. He nearly drained her dry too, and would’ve kept doing so if Ducky hadn’t been with her once when he showed up. I gotta say, for an old man, Ducky can throw a punch. He knocked Guy on his ass that day and threatened to do a lot worse if he didn’t return all the footage of Carmen and her son and pay back every cent he took. Though who knows how many copies he kept of everything.
Guy eventually paid Carmen back, but Ducky’s threats sadly only kept him at bay for so long. Eventually, he always came back, trying to find something he could use to blackmail the band. I never knew what his deal was, but now it seemed Guy had a new target in mind: Motley.
Guy steadied his footing and tried to follow Motley, who had now noticed me. The curly head, pale dude adjusted his clunky glasses with his camera in hand, and snapped a photo of Motley from behind. Motley growled and gripped the bucket of ice as his arm bulged. “I said—” He turned to face Guy. “Back off!” Before he could even blink, Guy had snapped a second photo,nearly blinding Motley. He groaned and dropped the bucket of ice, grabbing at his eyes. “Fuck!” It was enough to set me off.
I immediately picked up my pace and ran to Motley. I gripped his arm, making sure he was okay as Guy continued to snap photos, that fucking flash blinding us both. “Knock it off!” I swung my arm, grabbing the camera from his hands. It was strapped around his tiny neck, nearly choking him as I pulled it close. “What the fuck is your problem, Guy?” I yanked him closer. “Is your life so fucking pointless that you gotta keep harassing us? Huh?” I shook the camera. Guy was obviously frightened, considering I had the physical upper hand between us, but he was also oddly…entertained? That unsettling look in his dead eyes made me nervous.
Guy grinned, snickering to himself as Motley and I exchanged the most confounded look. “What the fuck is so funny?” Motley asked.
Guy peeled my fingers from his camera and inspected it closely as he spoke. “You act like none of you have something to hide, but truthfully, there are skeletons in everyone’s closet.” His glasses reflected the sunlight, and he looked up at me. It was eerie as hell. “My obsession with The Broken Muse is the irony of the name of the band itself. Think about it. A muse can be many things…a statue, a delicate piece of art, or even a normal person. But something a muse is, regardless of what it consists of, is divine inspiration. Now, to be a broken muse, you must be…well…troubled. Haunted by your own shadows within.” Guy looked at Motley, then me. “Your band creates music that people all across the country adore. Music in itself is an art, is it not? But what inspires such a creation? What drives the members of your band with such raw passion to create this art? Well.” He adjusted his glasses once more. “For Carmen, it’s her son.”
Motley brushed past me, and I grabbed his arm. “Don’t you fucking talk about her son.”
Guy raised his hands in a defensive way and smiled so smugly. “Apologies, but am I wrong?” Motley looked over at me.
What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
“Anywho.” Guy adjusted his camera strap. “We know who sweet Carmen’s little muse is. But what about you, Motley?” He stepped closer to Motley. “What—or rather, who—isyourmuse, little drummer boy?” A shadow cast over his pale, scrawny face. “Are they broken too?” Motley’s face revealed his emotions like a painting. I knew Guy’s words hit their mark, and I had enough of his psychotic rambling.
My hand gripped Guy’s collar, and I yanked him away from Motley. “Listen here,” I growled. Guy remained unfazed, merely laughing at my temper. It only angered me more. “You need to leave us the fuck alone! I don’t know what sick little games you think you can play with us, but knock it off!” Motley tried to get me to stop, but I brushed him off me. “Do you hear me?” I shook the man. “Leave us all alone!”
Guy snickered. “Or what? You gonna make me, Kash? Assault is a crime, you know. How would the little drummer boy over here feel if you or him were caught beating up a defenseless man half your size?” His head rolled, and he looked at Motley. “Would hate to see him back in an orange jumpsuit. Wouldn’t you?”
Why you little?—
Everything blurred red, and I lost myself. I grabbed his camera and ripped the strap as I forcefully tore it from Guy’s neck. He gagged and coughed, watching while I held the camera high, taunting him. “No, please! Not the camera!” His begging was a fresh change of emotion as I saw the fear flicker in those dead eyes behind his glasses. “Not my camera! Not my camera!”
Finally.
My own mouth curled into a devious smile. Motley tried to stop me, but I simply ignored him. “It’s all fun and games until someone finally bites back. Isn’t that right, Guy?”
Guy tried to wriggle free from my grasp, but it was useless. “I’ll leave you alone… I swear! Please, just give it back! I need that camera!”
“Oh?” I flicked a brow. “What’s so special about this old thing, anyways? Got more photos you plan to use to blackmail us? Or maybe there’s someone else you’re stalking too? I mean, let’s be real, a guy can’t make a living off a handful of band members.” I pulled him closer, nearly slamming my face into his. “Who else are you stalking?”
