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)
The water plummets from my hand, dropping to my feet. I lunge for the asshole, yanking him by the collar of his shirt. Gripping the fucker by his throat, my hand pulls back and I pummel his face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“We were just fooling around,” the guy sputters as blood gushes from his mouth. “Look around you, loon, this is a sex club. People come here to fuck.”
I hit the fucker again, and this time I hear a crack. I broke something. Good. “You make it a habit of fucking men who can barely consent?”
“You fucked him.”
A triumphant smile spreads across my face as I land blow after blow on the asshole’s face, relishing in the satisfying sound of his head lolling to the side. Rising, I kick the fucker for good measure. I turn to give Iggy a piece of my mind and dread runs through me. His body is no longer slumped against the wall. He’s lying on the ground, seizing.
I rush to him, lifting his head and placing it on my thighs. “Iggy.”
He doesn’t answer my cry. His body shakes uncontrollably. My fingers move his shaggy hair from his face. “Iggy, you’re burning up.” I dig out my cell phone, dialing 9-1-1.
“What’s your emergency?” the guy asks.
“It’s my boyfriend. We’re at Lithium. He’s having seizures, and he’s burning up. Please send help. He might’ve overdosed. He’s taken MDMA and Viagra.”
I hang up once they assure me an ambulance is on their way, and cradle Iggy’s head. “It’s going to be all right. Just breathe, baby, just breathe.”
CHAPTER 20
Marley
“Why don’t you go get some sleep?” Cain says as he hands me my fifth cup of coffee.
All of my bandmates and Kaye have constantly been staring at me like I’m a wounded animal, and I suppose I am. The constant fear and regret akin to a cleaver hacking at my limbs. “Would you be going home to get sleep if this were Lars or Billie?”
Cain nods his head and stares at the blue waiting room wall with me. It’s the same color as Iggy’s eyes. Fuck, why didn’t I just tell him I loved him that night at his mom’s?
I drop my head in my hands and pull at the black, disheveled strands. The last time I was waiting to hear if my life was going to change, Iggy was with me. The last time I was waiting, I met the love of my life.
If someone had told me I’d be auditioning for a rock band three years ago, I would’ve asked them how strong the hallucinogens they ingested were. Three years ago, my dreams differed vastly from today. Back then, I didn’t hate myself. I sure as hell didn’t want to break every bone in my hands at the mere idea of playing Bach or Beethoven. In the past, I’d suffered from manipulation. I’d become convinced true artistry only belonged to those formally educated in classical music. Three years ago, I clung to the idiotic notion my parents loved me because I was their son, and not because I was the prodigy who graced the cover of national newspapers and magazines.
“Nice penguin suit,” a deep voice said beside me. I glanced over and stared at the guy sitting next to me. Guitar player. He had his foot on top of a black guitar case as he puffed away on a joint. He smirked at me and offered me a hit.
“No thanks. I don’t smoke weed.” I glanced at the space I was in. A dive bar in Queens, New York. This was the type of place where women go missing, never to be heard from again. From the graffiti on the walls, the floors caked with God knows what, and the tables stained with all matters of substances, this place was a certified hole-in-the-wall.
The guy beside me chuckled. “Let me guess, an Upper West Side kid?”
I shook my head. “No, I studied in New York. I dropped out after a year. Born and bred in Idaho. You from New York?”
“Portland.” The guy smiled, making his bright blue eyes twinkle. He placed the joint in his mouth and reached his hand to me. “I’m Iggy. Nice to meet you.”
I shook his hand. “Marley.”
He nodded his head toward the closed door behind me. “You waiting to hear about the gig?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear they want us to wear gas masks? Talk about a gimmick. What’s your instrument?”
“The piano.”
“I think it’s kind of cool they want some keys for the music. You do synthesizer shit?”
I nodded my head. “Some. I compose classical elements with fusion. It was something I was experimenting with. One kid at Juilliard told me it would sound cool in contemporary music, so I just played some gigs at local bars. I saw the flyer and thought, why the fuck not?”