Howling and roaring erupted from the floor. Bright lights blinded me as I squinted out at the crowd. They surged towards the stage, crushing each other like a pack of animals in a stampede.
"Thank you all for coming out tonight!" I yelled into the microphone, panting as I caught my breath.
Sweat coated my back and dripped down my forehead. A familiar dizzying tingle pulsed through my temples, striking in time with the pounding of the drums.
Please, not again. Not right now.
"You've been a fantastic audience!"
I paced across the stage, holding my hand up to block the burning lights. They exploded like starbursts surrounded by glowing halos, blurring in my double vision. Light reflected off my silver sequined top like I was a damn disco ball. What was I thinking when I threw this outfit on?
Derek caught my eye as I passed him. His guitar was slung around his neck, and a bead of sweat dripped from his chin. He gave his head a weird little shake like a puppy dog, flicking the sweat out his dark hair.
"Are you all right?" He mouthed the words.
My heart took a leap towards my throat, and I bit down on my tongue. I did not want him worrying about me. This was not his problem. I could handle it myself. After forcing a half grin, I nodded and turned my attention back to the crowd.
Push through, Allison. You've got this. Almost there.
We'd worked so hard to get here. After so many late nights practicing and playing for near-empty venues as the opening act, fans were finally cheering for us, too. They weren't just waiting for us to get off the stage so the headliner would come on. Tonight, half the audience had screamed out the chorus of our last song with me. Hearing that made me feel like I was on fire. They knew all the lyrics.
I wasn't going to mess up everything we'd worked for by doing something stupid like freaking out on stage.
"I hope you all are excited for Make Them Scream!" I ran my shaky hand through my long, straight hair as I gazed out at the audience. I couldn't make out any faces, just a swirling, shouting mass of people. A pang of a headache flared through my temples like a jolt of lightning.
I need to get out of here.
"We're Hell Flower, and it's been amazing playing for you!" I screamed into the microphone.
Derek strummed out a distorted chord that reverberated through the theater, and Sam slammed on the drums, shaking the stage beneath my feet.
"Goodnight!" I threw my fist into the air, and then without giving the audience or my band a second glance, I jetted off the stage.
Fire burned in my veins. My skin tingled like I was coated in ice. I scratched at my arms, trying to make the itching stop. Hot, humid air churned in my lungs with each deep gasp. The oppressive scents of vomit, sweat and stale beer suffocated me as my senses amplified. My feet pounding against the polished concrete floor in the back hall.
I need air.
"Allison!" a voice called as I jogged toward the exit. "Allison! Stop!"
"I'm fine!" I snapped without looking back.
A hand grabbed me by the arm, and I yelped. Derek spun me around to face him. His dark eyes were bloodshot but concerned, and his shaggy brown hair was a frizzy mess on top of his head.
"Allison, what's going on?" he begged. "Talk to me, please."
My legs shook beneath me. His grip on me was light—comforting—but I didn't need him to take care of me. I didn't want him to see me like this. Not again.
A stab of pain jolted through my temples. "I just need air." I yanked my arm out of his grip and rushed to the door.
"Just give her some space to cool off." I heard Sam say to Derek, but I didn't turn back.
The flickering red lights of the exit sign spun and pulsed like I was underwater. I slammed both palms into the metal latch, and with a grunting clank, the heavy door swung open.
A breath of cold air rushed over me, sending my blonde hair flying around my head. A flurry of tiny snowflakes struck my face. They melted immediately on my skin, taking the boiling heat with them.
Breathe. Breathe.
I repeated the thought as I paced along the side of the building, running my hand over the cool wall. The large, painted stones were smooth and damp, like they'd been worn away by a waterfall. I traced a finger along a line of faded graffiti, following it like a maze until it became lost beneath a dozen other tags.
I glanced over my shoulder to check that Derek hadn't followed. He didn't need to see me like this and start wondering. I hadn't even drank that much before the show this time. I hadn't done this to myself. This wasn't my fault, right?
Nausea clenched at my stomach, making me doubt my own thoughts. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening? It had happened before, but the feeling had never been this intense or sudden. Why was it getting worse?
I clawed at my arms. My skin itched like something was crawling beneath it. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to cry. I was not a stupid, emotional girl having a panic attack. I was not going to cry.
I needed a drink.
Alcohol would help. A half empty bottle of vodka was stashed under my bunk on our tour bus. I would finish that tonight. I would pass out, and then I'd puke my guts out when I woke up in the morning, and everything would be okay.
I could fix myself.
Set on my plan, I stomped across the parking lot toward the bus. The pavement was slick with a thin sheen of snow. I kicked my combat boots through it as the icy wind beat past me. My hands and bare arms burned from the chill, but it was what I needed.
I'd always loved the cold, ever since I was a child. My parents would have to fight me to get me to put on a jacket, even in a blizzard. My dad called me his Abominable Snowdaughter when I was little. Back when my parents actually spent time with me. Back when they were still alive.
That part of my life was long in the dust.
"Hey, Allison," a husky voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I jumped.
"Fuck, you startled me, Blake," I said as he took a few stumbling steps out of Gen F's tour bus.
"How'd your set go?" he slurred, leaning back against the side of the bus and smirking. His dyed-red hair was spiked up like a halo of fire. He wasn't wearing a jacket, just a pair of ripped black jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his biceps and recently emerging beer gut. The old-school Jaws graphic with the great white shark was displayed across the front of it.
He definitely wasn't dressed for the weather. He'd only gotten off the bus because he saw me coming.
"Not right now, Blake." I made sure my voice came out forceful but cool. I didn't want him to see how upset I was.
"Aw, Ally Cat," he said.
I tensed at the nickname I hated, my jaw clenching. The only person I let call me that was my childhood best friend, Carolyn.
Blake pushed himself off of the bus and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and the stink of foul liquor and cigarettes.
"I'm sure you did great." He flashed me a drunken smile and ran his hand through my hair until it caught in a tangle. A chill rushed down my spine, and I froze.
"It was a one-time thing, Blake," I tried to brush him off. I took a step back, but he closed the gap.
"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it." He pouted at me.
"Yeah, but like I said, one-time thing." I spaced out the last words for emphasis.
Blake wasn't a bad lay. I'd done worse, but right now, all I wanted was to get drunk. Drunk enough to make this horrible feeling crawling over my entire body go away.
"How about just a drink?" Blake flashed me a grin.
I narrowed my eyes at him. I thought about going back to my tour bus and drinking myself to sleep. Alone.
Then, my mind wandered to Derek. What was he doing right now? Probably getting ready to head over to the afterparty with Sam.
Derek didn't even like parties that much. If I caught him now, would he stay back on the bus with me? He'd probably insist on teaching me one of the weird board games he'd bought from some random startup, and we'd end up playing Monopoly when I couldn't figure out the rules.
I snorted. What was I thinking? That was no way to spend a night after a gig. Blake was a creep sometimes, but at least he was company and would indulge my binging. He was an alcoholic, and maybe so was I, but I wouldn't give myself that title at twenty-six. I was a rock star. Drinking, partying and general recklessness were a part of the gig. Mom and Dad taught me that.
"Fine, Blake." I crossed my arms over my chest. "One drink." I held up my index finger. "Then, we hit that fucking party and get wasted."
With a nod and a smirk, Blake led me onto his bus. The smell of weed hung thick in the air, and a few beer cans lay scattered across the small, plastic dining table. Colored LEDs lined the bases of the leather furniture. They faded from blue to green in time with the down-tempo house music pulsing in the background. Other than that, the place was quiet.
"Blake, where's the rest of your band?" I picked at a piece of crumbly leather that was tearing off the edge of the couch.
"Already headed over to the hotel for the afterparty." Blake shrugged, taking out two red Solo cups and pouring a heavy helping of vodka into one. "I thought I would wait and see if you wanted to go." He mixed some soda water into the cup, swirling it around to kill the bubbles before handing it to me. I was surprised he remembered I didn't like the fizziness.
"Thanks," I said, my hoarse voice low as I took a large gulp. The vodka stung my throat, and I coughed.
"Jeez, take it easy, Ally." Blake chuckled, shaking his head and pouring himself a Solo cup full of whiskey.
"Yeah, fine." The abused leather couch crunched as I sat on it, but I ignored it, instead choosing to take another sip of my drink. I scratched at my arms. The veins stood out in an electric and sick blue. One rolled beneath my skin like a worm was crawling through me, and I swallowed back the urge to vomit.
It's all in my head. It isn't real.
"You okay?" Blake scooted onto the couch next to me, snaking his arm around my waist and resting it on my hip.
Stop touching me . . .
I clenched my teeth and removed his hand. "Not right now, Blake. I said just a drink."
"Sorry." He put his hand in his lap, curling it into a loose fist as he took a sip of his own drink.
I fidgeted with the plastic cup, watching Blake out of the corner of my eyes. His eyelids hung low and lopsided. He scooted closer.
"You know, I think this was a mistake," I said. "I think I might just go to bed. You go ahead to that party without me."
He cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure?" He moved in, running his fingers through my hair again. His cold hand grazed my cheek, his thumb tracing over the corner of my lips. A shudder rushed down my spine. It felt like a snake crawling over me.
"I think I'd better go," I said, but he leaned in towards me instead. My body electrified. My heart pounded heavily against my ribs as my vision tunneled. I smelled metal. Blood. I could feel Blake's pulse beneath his skin. I licked my teeth.
Then, my lips were on his. I tasted his tongue as we kissed. Cheap liquor and cigarettes. He pushed further, his hand on my thigh as he moaned my name.
I grabbed his wrist in my fist, and a growl came from somewhere deep inside me.
"Get the fuck off me!"
Then, with a sudden jolt of pain through my head, a wave of darkness came crashing down.
| | |
I gasped as my eyes shot open. Something cold and sharp encased me, like thousands of tiny crystals prickling my skin. I pushed myself up, my eyes fluttering.
Where am I?
Wind rustled through the surrounding trees. Above me, the dark sky glowed a dim pink as dawn broke. I rose to my feet, brushing fresh snow off my bare arms and legs. Something dark and rusty caked my skin beneath the white dusting. I furrowed my brow.
Mud?
"Hello?" I called, but my voice came out quieter than I'd intended, like I was scared of disturbing the air. Like I was scared of being heard.
A stale, bitter taste clung to my teeth and tongue. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, and flakes of coppery red like the filth on my arms cracked away. I tasted my lips. My heart pounded. I recognized the taste.
Blood.
"Hello?" My voice shook as a shiver tore through me. I checked myself for injuries—a source of the blood—but I couldn't find anything. My silver sequined top and tight black miniskirt were torn, revealing small scratches on my skin. My arms ached in a couple of spots like they might be bruised, but there was nothing that would explain the blood on my face. Had I vomited it up?
I tried to think back to how I got here, but nothing came. Last I remembered, I was at our gig. I remembered playing our set. And then . . .
I pushed myself to think back, but everything at the end of the night was hazy, like broken memories in a blackout from drinking too much. I remembered feeling sick at the end of the set and storming off. I remembered seeing Blake in the parking lot and getting onto the tour bus with him.
After that, things shifted to scenes from a nightmare. Flashes of screaming. Cold snow beneath my feet. Running. I remembered the feeling of terror, but no images were associated with it. Sometimes, my dreams were like that. I awoke with only the feeling of what I had been experiencing, no actual memories or details.
But nothing like this had ever happened before. Where was I? Had I been sleepwalking? The last thing I remembered was Blake. He was kissing me.
Blake.
I touched my face again, cracking off more flecks of blood.
Oh God.
I had to find him. I had to get back to the parking lot.
But, where was I?
I whipped my head around, scanning the forest for a way out, but the trees stretched on as far as I could see.
Wait.
The snow! I could follow my tracks back through the snow! I scanned the ground, but as the sun warmed the earth, everything melted around me, revealing the decaying autumn leaves beneath. There were no footprints.
Or, no human footprints.
My eyes landed on something. Paw prints. They were large—bigger than a dog large. These were from something wild. Something . . .
A memory pounded at the back of my head, like there was something I knew in the deepest part of my subconscious that I just couldn't grasp. Like something was blocking it, preventing me from making contact. An event horizon.
Without thinking about what I was doing, I ran in the direction the footprints had come from. I rushed through the trees, stumbling over roots as I went. I kicked through the traces of remaining snow with my combat boots, heart racing. I needed to get back to the bus. I needed to check and make sure that Blake was okay.
I'd blacked out last night. That was it. I'd blacked out and drunkenly sleepwalked.
But then why am I covered in blood? What if I've done something terrible?
No. I pushed the twisted thoughts out of my head.
Everything was going to be okay. I just needed to get to Blake and check on him.
The parking lot emerged at the edge of the tree line, and a feeling of relief flooded through me. The buses were all still parked there. The revolting purple and silver paint job on Make Them Scream's tour bus glistened pink in the swelling dawn light. Just behind it was our bus, and then Gen F's.
It was going to be okay. I panted, my feet pounding against the ground as I sprinted the rest of the way to their tour bus. I reached the door, my throat and skin burning from the cold, but sweat dripped down my back and collected at my hairline.
I yanked the door open.
The first thing I noticed was the temperature. Something was wrong. Why was it colder in the bus than it was outside? How could anyone sleep with it being this cold?
The second thing I noticed was the smell. Beyond the scent of stale beer and fabric saturated with weed smoke, the faint odor of something sweet and metallic laced the air.
"Blake?" I whispered, my voice cracking as I climbed the steps into the bus on shaking legs.
My hand went to my mouth, and I choked back a scream. There, laying on the floor in a puddle of blood, was Blake.