Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
My heart is racing, nearly beating out of my chest. My breath is coming in loud pants that belie all the cardio training I’ve been diligently doing at Roy’s behest. My mind is yelling, What are you doing?
Fight, flight, or freeze? Oh, I’m flighting. I’m flighting big-time.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. I might have to run forever.
I’m a runaway bride. In a small town. With everyone watching and the freaking newspaper here to report on it.
I’m going to keep running until I cross the county line and disappear. Forever.
Chapter 2
BEN
Maybe that’s the tufted titmouse I’m supposed to see in the trees?
Despite its name, the titmouse isn’t actually a rodent, but rather a bird. Not that I give a single, solitary fuck about birds or rodents, tits or otherwise. But here I am in the woods, hiking along a twelve-inch-wide dirt path with my eyes trained on the branches above me, looking for the bird in the What to Look For scavenger hunt picture book I impulsively grabbed at a gas station.
Vacation. That’s what this is supposed to be. Well, that’s what I’m calling it. Sean called it a “get the stick out of your ass and don’t fuck this up for me” break.
Three weeks in the middle of small-town nowhere, in a resort cottage nestled smack in the center of all sorts of nature, should be an amazing reprieve after the stress of the last few months. A headlining tour of the United States had been my dream since I was a teenager fingering my first guitar instead of the girls I was too shy to talk to. Instead, it was a long run of late nights, dirty clubs with people literally trying to rip the clothes off my body, and so many hours with my bandmates that we’re all done with each other. If I see Sean’s face anytime soon, I might punch him and smile as he gets the bloodletting he deserves. I’m sure the feeling’s mutual too.
It wouldn’t be the first time. He was right by my side with that first guitar, drumming on everything from tables to his thighs, learning and dreaming right along with me, which led to some arguments and fights back then. I thought those times would be behind us when we made it, but that dream has become a nightmare.
It’s not all his fault.
It’s not. He’s as done with me as I am with him, but given that we’re two of the mainstays of our metal band, Midnight Destruction, we need to get our shit sorted or we’ll both get fucked in the end. The contract we’ve signed basically guarantees it.
Fucking AMM Records. We thought they were genies granting wishes with one swoop of a pen when we signed on with them. It’s been quite a bit messier than expected, though, with them demanding rewrites of my lyrics, taking huge percentages of our sales, and leaking reports of the difficulties between Sean and me because it’s good for press since everyone takes a side, choosing their favorite bandmate to rally behind like we’re Pokémon characters in a battle.
As much as I hate all that drama, being out here in the sticks with a complete and utter lack of a schedule, expectations, and my bandmates is . . . boring. I mean, fuck, is today’s highlight reel gonna be maybe, possibly, sorta seeing a damn bird that I don’t give a shit about?
Annoyed, I reach into my pocket for my phone, but when I don’t find it, I remember that I left it at the cottage on purpose. Be present in the moment, I’d told myself. Fuck past me. He’s an idiot.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
That’s been my mantra for nearly a year while my whole world was basically roaring sky-high in flames. Literal onstage pyrotechnics every night but also internal fires. Some dark, like my fights with Sean; some light, like the smiles and sing-alongs with fans; and some a combination of both, like when I’m inspired to write the lines and phrases that become our song lyrics.
All flames, all the same. Destructive, constructive. Watch me burn, maybe then you’ll learn.
Not bad, but by the time I get back from my hike, I’ll have forgotten the simple words since I can’t jot them down anywhere.
I take a few more steps along the path, the potential lyrics already fading, when I hear a crashing sound coming through the forest. Stupidly, my first thought is that a rabid fan has found me, which really is ridiculous, considering we wear masks and body paint onstage, so I wouldn’t be recognizable anyway. That was one of Sean’s earliest and best strokes of genius, which has given us some degree of anonymity and helped with my performance nerves.
Thankfully, my very next quick thought is, Are there bears out here? Because that’s no tufted titmouse. Or even a flock of . . . titmice?