Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
I moan in frustration as I slide into the armchair and cradle my head in my hands. “She’s my Billie.”
“What?”
“Piper Hughes, the lead singer of the opener, is my Billie. OMG, she’s Billie, and I’m Lars. I’m about to blow my world apart.” My lungs burn, begging for breath. The round gold pendant lying against my skin singes my flesh. The walls are crashing down on me, and the sky is falling on my head. Life as I know it seems to be over. Oh, God, I’m dying.
“Kaye,” Marley calls from what sounds like miles away. “Kaye, three-three-three. Name three things you see.”
“My shoes,” I gasp. “My hands and the marble floor.”
“Name three things you hear?”
My breathing is still erratic, but the belief that I’m dying is fading. “Your voice. Music coming from the bedroom. Sirens. Why are cop sirens so loud?”
“Move three body parts.”
I lift my arms and legs and flop them around. “Is four okay?” I ask, looking at Marley.
He smiles as he wipes the tears I didn’t know I’d shed from my cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
“I don’t lose control, Marley,” I sob. “I don’t lose control.”
Marley wraps his large, tattooed arms around me and holds me as I weep. I cry for the little girl who never had love and became the woman who is now frightened by it. Love isn’t an emotion that evokes joy. Love is a vortex that spins me in circles and takes every fiber of the control I’ve salvaged.
“All I have is the band. My job. I can’t spiral out of control because it will leave me with nothing.”
Marley pats my back and places a chaste kiss on the top of my head. “You know we got you, right? You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone. I’ve got you. With or without the band.”
“What am I going to do, Marley?”
“I wish I could tell you. But when it comes to emotions and self-preservation, things become muddy.”
I wipe away my tears and glance up at him. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
Marley smiles, but there’s sadness behind it. “Nope. I think you’ve got enough on your plate. I can handle my shit. Don’t worry, I won’t give you an ulcer.”
I gaze at Marley’s face, seeing the pain he’s holding at bay. His eyes are sunken, and it’s clear that no matter how well he says he’s been doing, he’s not sleeping or taking care of himself.
“Marley, I don’t live and breathe this band simply because it’s a paycheck. The four of you are my family. I want you all to be okay because I care.”
Marley rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Shit’s complicated, and I don’t know what to do or how to fix it. So I do what I usually do and add fuel to an already blazing fire.”
“You can start by talking?”
“Talk to who? You? A Shrink?”
“Iggy.”
Marley’s arms falter around me, and he stiffens. “Why would I need to do that?”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes my lips. “When did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re into Iggy.”
Marley stares at me as he fingers the loop on the right side of his bottom lip, something he does when he’s pensive or turned on. Since he’s never put the moves on me, I assume he’s contemplating my question.
He tilts his head back and sighs. “I’m so fucked, Kaye. I’m so fuckin’ fucked.”
“When did you realize you were bi?”
“I’m pan. I’ve always known. The issue isn’t my attraction to men. When did you realize you were a lesbian?”
I laugh nervously. “When Piper snuck into her brother’s bedroom, who was my boyfriend, and went down on me.”
Marley gasps. “Excuse me?”
We both burst out laughing, easing the emotional phase of a moment ago.
“Like, she went downtown with the poor fucker snoring away right beside you?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
Marley smirks. “She’s a shit disturber. No wonder you didn’t want her on the tour. How are you gonna handle your perfectly curated life going topsy-turvy?”
“I don’t know, Mar. I’m fuckin’ fucked.”
CHAPTER 10
Piper
My fingers glide along the neck of the guitar as I strum the same chord repeatedly.
Shiraz Naimi, my conscience and the band’s drummer, taps her fingers on her knee. “One of the best songs ever written. You know I still get choked up when I hear it.”
“Huh?” I lift my gaze from my guitar to look at her.
Shiraz points to the guitar. “Fast Cars by Tracy Chapman.”
My fingers freeze on the strings as realization dawns on me. It’s like running naked through a cafeteria in the presence of my judgmental mother and out-of-touch father. Nine years since I listened to the song, and I’m strumming along like it’s been playing on repeat in my mind.
When Kaye and I were together, we played the tune and planned the many things we’d do once we got out of our town. We would be traveling artists, seeing the world, creating, and making love until our bodies collapsed from exhaustion. Our minds would retreat into a universe littered with idealistic fantasies. We never realized that you could only live in the realm of make-believe for so long before reality struck down all your grand illusions.