Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“You know how us rock stars roll,” I say, keeping my voice light.
There is a silence, not an uncomfortable one, but a stillness of being. “I want you to know that I love you.”
“I know, Mon. I love you too.”
“Have a good show tonight.”
I disconnect the cell and toss it on the bed, ignoring the bleached blonde in my bed, and puff on my cigarette. I must’ve been high out of my skull to let her crash in my hotel room.
There’s no joy in fucking groupies anymore. My lackluster desire for them has gotten so bad that I only fuck them in the ass, force them to wear his t-shirt, and only call out his name while I’m balls deep in them. The only plus in this situation is that wearing clothes belonging to members of Gutless Void is a turn-on for them. They even get a kick out of wearing the mask when I ask. Sometimes they get upset about anal, but that’s rare. When they complain, I send them packing.
“Five more minutes,” the girl mumbles as she rolls away from my touch.
What the fuck was her name again? Jenny? Joanie?
“Wake up, Jenny,” I say, gently, as I nudge her. “It’s time for you to get going.”
Jenny’s eyes shoot open and she stares at me with wide blue eyes. “It’s early.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got shit to do.”
I grab her clothes off the floor and toss them to her after ripping the blanket off her body. She says nothing as she gets her clothes on. I like Jenny. She doesn’t overstay her welcome. Maybe I’ll call her up when we’re in Chicago again. I pull out my wallet from the nightstand and pull out a hundred-dollar bill before waving it toward her.
Jenny sneers at me, her eyes slanting as if she’s looking at the most disgusting rodent. “What the fuck is that for?”
“A cab. Maybe some breakfast.”
Jenny smiles before stepping up to me and places her hand on the balaclava covering my face. “I know I fucked a guy in a mask because he’s a member of my favorite band. But I’m not a hooker. I can pay for my cab and buy my own bacon and eggs.” Jenny laughs before pulling out a card from her wallet and shoving it at me. My eyes glance down at the vanilla-colored business card. Dr. Jenny Spencer, M.D. “We aren’t the same girls from the sixties. Women like to fuck, and many of us want nothing other than a wonderful orgasm.”
With that, she flips her long hair and storms out of my hotel room.
As soon as Jenny leaves, I plop my ass on the bed and rip off the mask, rubbing the five-o’clock shadow along my jaw.
Ten more hours until I’m on that stage. Ten more hours until I feel peace. The issue is, what the fuck am I supposed to do to calm my fragmented brain until then? But with the thought of the blissfulness I’ll soon feel onstage, the worry creeps in, contemplating about what will happen after. When I see him.
My hands grip the left side of my chest, and my breathing quickens. I worry about the racing of my heart, the thought leaping into my mind. My eyes scan the room. A lamp, the television, and a dresser. I close my eyes and listen. Car horns, the radio, and my breathing. I crack my neck, get up, and fist my hands.
Tonight we’ll travel on the bus. Once, the tour bus was a source of excitement, but now it induces waves of anxiety and sends shivers down my spine. The small space didn’t suffocate me. It was the opposite. The tour bus was a place of comfort. Now that feeling is the opposite. That’s probably why I’ve been hosting girls on the tour bus every night. Partying keeps the fuckin’ intrusive thoughts at bay. Thoughts that make me stare at my best friend like he’s my salvation in my dark, dystopian demonic hellscape.
Every time I see Iggy naked, I fiercely battle against my destructive desires. At first, the longing urges were in passing. I chalked them up to being turned on by the naked bodies and lude sexual acts. Iggy is a good-looking guy, and just like I’d watch a porn star fucking and get a hard-on, it’d make sense it would happen with him, too. But one night a few months ago, things got out of hand, and now I’m plagued by an insatiable need to have him writhe under me as he calls out my name in pure lust.
“This is some bullshit,” Iggy said.
“If Cain and Lars do stupid shit, then it’s basically a green light for you. Those two are the levelheaded members of the band.” Kaye stepped closer to Iggy and jabbed a finger to his chest. “My ass is still buying you, a grown-ass man, his condoms. I’m not taking any chances and I sure as hell don’t want to spend my days cleaning up stories hitting the tabloids.”