The Band Whore Diaries

10/31/17

Hoping I wasn't making a huge fucking mistake, I made my way down to West Field, struggling to avoid sweaty men carrying obnoxiously large strobe lights, and shit tons of folding chairs.

Luckily, Dahvie was standing outside of his bus, stringing orange Halloween lights over the door to his bus.

"Hey, Dahvie," I greeted him hesitantly, forcing a smile.

"Kota," he said, instantly lighting up, "what are you doing over here?"

"I'm kind of having a crisis," I laughed, keeping myself busy by chipping away at my black nail polish, not wanting this encounter to be as awkward as it really was.

Then again, I knew if I asked Dahvie to lick the bottom of my shoe, he would, because he is always looking for a reason to be of purpose.

"Hit me," he declared, carelessly dropping his cluster of tangled Halloween lights on the ground beside him.

If only he knew how many of these people at this tour would literally like to hit him, including myself.

Many people at this tour dislike Dahvie, Jayy, and Blood on the Dance Floor's immature, obscene electronica garbage.

Then again, they can't be hated too much, considering they've earned themselves a slot in one of the biggest tours in the country.

"I don't have a Halloween costume," I sighed, waiting for Dahvie to have a fucking heart attack from such a sin.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" he laughed, thinking that this was some sort of sick joke.

"I'm not, actually," I said bitterly, feeling Dahvie's disappointed, yet appalled stare of sheer disbelief.

"Come with me," he ordered, kicking open his bus's door, gripping my wrist, and pulling me inside.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Jayy snickered from the couch, angrily typing some shit on his laptop.

"She doesn't have anything to wear for Halloween," Dahvie stated in dismay, making daunting eye contact with Jayy.

"Jesus Christ, Dakota," Jayy scolded me, slamming his laptop shut, and standing up, "come on."

I followed him toward the spare bedroom, which was obviously being used for storage, due to the multiple cases of vodka, Coke, and Jack Daniels that were stacked throughout the room.

He rummaged through a tiny, cabinet-sized closet, pulling out at least fifty assorted, perfectly slutty costumes to cater to anyone's taste.

"Have at it," he smirked, tossing them carelessly on the bed.

"Where the fuck did you get all of these?" I snickered, motioning toward the glitter-covered, hairspray-scented stack of outfits.

"We usually have our merch girls wear something eye-catching, but most of them are for Dahvie's sick sexual fantasies," Jayy laughed.

"Wow. Gross," I chuckled.

Jayy dug out two costumes from the pile, holding them up against my body.

"I'm thinking either slutty black cat, or sexy Pikachu," he suggested, holding both of them out toward me.

"This one is totally flattering for your figure," he added, wiggling the hanger for the black cat costume.

"That one is my favorite," Dahvie commented smugly, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, "I usually fuck whatever girl that's wearing that one."

"Okay, thank you, Dahvie," I said uncomfortably.

The costume was nothing but a short, skimpy, black velvet long-sleeved dress, a pin-on tail, a spiked choker-type collar, and a pair of matching cat ears.