The Loud Crowd

13. The Man Who Would Be King

Aloha! Its been so long, and I'm sorry! BTW, anyone interested in making matchy covers for The Rock Rollercoaster and The Loud Crowd? Message me! 

__________________________________________________________

Travelling to London with a band that essentially hated each other was not my ideal way of spending the New Year. Christmas passed in a blur of partying, excessive amounts of alcohol and attempting to be blissfully unaware of the current drama we were stuck in the middle of. 

 Truth was, I was so sick of having to fight through personal dilemas just to be a band. If not Nate and I fighting, it was Chris yelling at us. It never seemed to end. For once, I was the one actually moving on. I was the one pushing Elliot to book us another studio session, I was the driving force behind each and every show we did after that night. 

I wasn't moving on from Nate. I wasn't moving anywhere. Realising that we were actually done this time wasn't something I wanted to do. I didn't acknowledge anything - we didn't talk, didn't look at each other on the bus. It was as though the only time we ever truly remembered our destruction was on stage, when our rage and fury would erupt in a collossal explosion of vocals and guitar strings. I couldn't face it, and I had a feeling that he was happy to pretend we had never loved each other in the first place. 

The easiest way of coping was to be every bit the rock and roll psycho the press had made me out to be. There was a different party not just after every show but every night. I was the wild child, photos of my drunken antics made the headlines within days. And it didn't bother me. If I was worrying about my image, I wasn't worrying about everything else. And if the press were focused on me going down the 'inevitable 27 club route' (as one newspaper put it) then they weren't focused on Nate and I. 

I knew I was going off the rails, but I didn't care.

It felt like it had been a long time coming anyway, just a case of letting off steam. My clothes became grungier, skirts shorter and Docs scruffier. My hair was often unkempt, my eye make-up smudgy and heavier. Ripped tights became my trademark, simply because I couldn't care less about my appearance anymore. I loved it, though. Not caring was a welcome change from what felt like caring too much. 

I spent as little time on the bus as possible. Occassionally I would drag out my mini piano and attempt to teach myself various Freddie Mercury interludes and melodies. Other than that, I would either be performing or partying. I couldn't stop. 

I was dying my hair silvery blonde when Freddie gave me the news. 

Leaning over the tiny sink in the bus bathroom, I had dumped the contents of the box dye on my head and whiled away the required waiting time by singing Pennyroyal Tea in various accents, sat on the flimsy toilet seat. I was rinsing it all off, very uncomfortably, when Freddie knocked and entered.

He gaped at me for a second, before rolling his eyes. Apparently this sort of behaviour made sense now. "I'm not even going to ask. Have you heard the news?"

I looked up through strands of sopping wet hair. "Um, no?" I said, spitting water out of my mouth. "What news?"

He handed me a piece of paper. I quickly dried my hands on a towel, and took it from him, keeping my head over the sink. The paper was an e-mail.

Kick the Crown,

Short notice but you don't have a choice. The next tour date isn't going to be North Carolina after all. You're being flown out to London, England to play just one show at the Wembley Stadium, to get international popularity back on the mark and to introduce Psychedelic Disadvantage as your official support act.