"I had no idea you were testing me," he responded coolly.
"C'mon, shut the fuck up Liam," Emerson, The Finks's bassist, chastised from his spot on the corner of the couch. He looked just as tired as Charlie felt, with his floppy blonde hair falling into his heavy-lidded eyes. Even Grant, their drummer, had an expression that mirrored Emerson's like a mask. It was all the same — exhaustion and irritation with a common denominator.
They were all fed up with Liam's bullshit.
Charlie realized that the tension thickening the air was not solely made up of his own; his bandmates were contributing to it with their stiff postures and tightly-set lips.
Liam didn't appear to notice, and if he did, he certainly made an excellent show of pretending not to care.
Pompous bastard, Charlie thought, struggling to understand how his once closest friend had turned into his favorite person to despise.
"How about everyone shuts the fuck up and actually rehearses?" Liam suggested. His glare was not quite menacing enough to make Charlie obey. Liam's dirty look fell on him first, and he scoffed loudly after giving Charlie a once over.
"Dude. Where's your guitar? I told you we were calling this shit for practice."
"We practiced this morning," Charlie said. "I'm not doing it again, man. I'm losing the callouses on my fingers faster than I'm building them."
Liam looked appalled, unbelieving that his right hand man had actually gone against an order. Charlie had been so compliant in the last few months, especially with the tour looming right around the corner. Keeping the peace had been his priority.
"Charlie," Liam began, his voice low. "When I call for practice, you don't really have a say in the matter. As long as you're part of my band, that is."
Both Emerson and Grant, who'd been whipping their heads back in forth between Charlie and Liam's exchange, looked to Charlie for his upcoming reply. They were anxious, but shreds of hope drifted across their faces, as if they were lusting to see Liam finally have his ass handed to him by the only person who knew how to do so.
Charlie knew Liam better than anyone else did. Hell, he'd known somewhere in the back of his mind, the part that warned him, that Liam was no real friend. His interest in Charlie was consumed wholly by the fact that he was Charlie Cobain, and that was about where it began and ended.
But in glueing himself to Charlie's side, Liam had revealed the best and worst of himself to his bandmate and friend. He'd laid himself bare all in order to sidle as closely as he could to Charlie, hoping with crossed fingers that Charlie would join The Finks and contribute some brand of Cobain magic that his father had possessed in the early nineties.
And Charlie had. He'd brought an element of skill to the band that they had not obtained before him, back when it'd been just Liam, Emerson and Grant. Charlie's songwriting and adept guitar playing had shot The Finks into stardom and solidified he and Liam's relationship as close friends.
There was no way Liam would lose his grip on the best thing that had ever happened to his baby, his band.
Even if it meant revealing his weaknesses to Charlie, Liam did it anyways, all so he could maintain his crushing grasp on the person that he treasured most.
Charlie had been the key to his success and there was no damn way he was going to lose that key.
"So what you're saying is, if I quit the band, you'll stop trying to control my fucking life?" Charlie asked calmly. Emerson's eyes widened and Grant opened his mouth, a declaration of 'no' on the tip of his tongue.
one-hundred-thirty-four.
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