cursing out the moon ➵ a.b.

Chapter 24: Don't You Dare Ever Forget the Way My Lips Would Hit Yours

"Alex?" Russy chimes in from the living room. I hear her footsteps: they inch closer to my door. "Are you ready yet?"

I had been ready for the entirety of my 21 year lifespan. I was gawking at myself in the mirror, phased by this girl in front of it: who was she, her name, and where she came from? She was a stranger, it seemed. She was more pure than Alexander Frost; someone cleansed her soul and spirit, and his name was Andrew Biersack.

"Alex..." Russy gasps, finding me in the bathroom. "You look...so...amazing."

Her words hit me like bricks. I didn't feel amazing. I didn't feel extraordinary. I was just Alex--ordinary Alex from Boston. "Thank you," I breathe out half-heartedly.

"Has Andy text you yet?" she questions rather enthusiastically.

My phone buzzes at that exact moment.

"Speak of the devil," I sigh.

Andy: Hi. Concert starts in two hours. I was hoping you could meet me backstage along with Russy just to chill.

I am about to respond, but then I receive another text which makes me laugh deeply inside.

Andy: Please, please come! I can show you all this cool stuff! Maybe even...do a little something-something in the equipment room out back. What do you say?

I groan and laugh at him.

Alex: Sure. We're coming. But no something-something, sir. I happen to care about Russy and will not leave her alone backstage for a chance of you pleasuring me.

Andy: Damn. Worth a shot. Anyway, hurry up! :)

"What'd he say?" she asks happily.

"That we should come ASAP."

We got in the car--me, myself, and I still in a sour mood. The drive to the venue took 30 minutes, as it was close to the apartment, but not too close, I might add. We arrived around 5:30 PM, an hour and 30 till the concert. The venue was mostly secluded and empty. The parking lot was desolate and bare except for a few mega fans waiting at the front door of the venue. The tour buses were in the far back of the lot, packed up and ready to go.

I waltzed up to the front doors, Russy by my side. There was a hunky African-American security guard by the doors. Damn.

"Hi, we're--"

The security guard stepped aside to let us through. He said no words, keeping his eyes on the rowdy fans to the side of the door.

"Must be expecting us," Russy whispers in my ear as we walk in. Oh, dear reader, I cannot remember that venue's name for the life of me! All I know is that it was a fairly tall building, it was dark, and it smelt of cheap beer.

"Did the guards give you trouble?" a man laughs in my direction. His name: Ashley. He is mildly drunk: that I can tell. "If you're wondering, Andy's backstage changing. He got some liquor spilt on him."

"I wonder who did that?" I mischievously grin, pointing to his cup filled to the brim with the stuff.

"Bleh!" he shouts. "Wasn't me!"

Russy chuckles. "How come the guards just let us in?"

"Andy told them you were coming. Speaking of him, let's go backstage. The guys are waiting."

Russy and I begin to follow him.

Russy says, "You were a nice welcoming committee."

He gives us a thumbs-up. "Thanks. I wrote a speech and everything."