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"I'm Avery."
"Angelica," she tipped her head and I had to do a double-take when I saw the strange color of her eyes.
"Are you wearing contacts?" I asked, scooting closer. She could not possibly have purple eyes.
"No." Her forehead creased.
"But your eyes are purple."
"Oh, no, they're not. But yeah," She shook her head and pointed to the purple streaks that framed her face. "They're really light blue and catch the color I'm wearing." She shrugged. "I mostly wear black, though, so I keep the streaks in my hair."
I nodded as if this weren't some freakish anomaly.
"Nice talking to you, Avery." She took her beer, her freaky eyes, and her perfect figure into the VIP lounge, following after her soon-to-be band mates as they headed to places no one else could go.
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39
-Angel
I was determined not to get a headache. There was no reason to get one. I wasn't stressing out. Well, I was trying not to. And I might have been a little grumpy from travelling and I didn't sleep so well the night before, but that was nothing new. I'd just gotten over one the weekend before and usually could avoid getting them more than once or twice a month. I was happy. I was engaged! To the most beautiful, amazing man on the planet, no less. Jake was the love of my life and I was travelling with him and the worlds' greatest rock band.
Ignoring the tightening muscles in my neck and shoulders, I watched the stage in front of me, kept my fingers on the edge. Later, I'd tell Jake to kiss my neck. His touch always loosened me up.
When the lights went out, the crowds' volume rose. My tightening muscles dissipated, relaxing as the cheering crowd reached crescendo. Fists rose higher and I could see the shadowy form of my Jake slinking to the mic stand. I reached out and touched his leg.
The stage lights shot up and the music kicked on, loud and vicious. Sounding so full and harmonious and passionate, it epitomized the struggle that the song spoke about. Jake was beautiful, screaming, grimacing with my torment and delight. It spiked my lust for his illicit mouth. His lean, towering frame, draped in brown and black commanded the audience. The beads of sweat grew as he worked the crowd, touching outstretched hands. The moisture poured down his glorious face as he sang and played my favorite songs. I watched, in awe, as he raked his hand over his dripping head. His fingers, my fingers, flicked the drenching wet into the faces of the crowd. He smiled. I smiled.
The audience was both captive and captivated by the strength of his voice. Pitch perfect, it never cracked or wavered. His finely tuned instrument unleashed its' resonance through parted lips, shooting through the air, piercing the hearts of everyone privileged enough to hear. Behind him, the bass thrummed in perfect compliment. The guitar wailed in adoring tones with perfectly meshed punk, blues and metal. I think there was even a little Latin in the melody.
That Angelica chick was good. Really freaking good. Too good to complain about. So good, that the entire band sounded better because of her. Electric and easy to watch as she played, looking out at the crowd like, 'what's up, bitches?' She had so much confidence-she was the shit and she knew it. She was a star.
She was terrible.
The drums thrashed in quick succession, carrying the rhythm of my heart; steadily pounding while the crowd chanted along. The culmination of sounds was all for him. My singer. He directed us, took us to our knees and made us dance while our ears burned from the volume. We screamed for more. We wanted to bleed.
I took a chance, glancing back at the crowds behind us. Avery was laughing and dancing. Everyone's heads were jerking back and forth, banging in time with the music. Of course they were. How could you not love it? The electricity! The energy of the band was a flood, washing over all of us. We had to move or drown in it.
I dove into the mosh pit, hanging onto Avery as she marched. Thrashing. Pounding. Arms and legs flew everywhere. Our cadence was violent and addicting. We marched in an endless circle matched only by the eternal beat of the music.
I kept my eyes trained on Jake, not wanting to miss one second while he thundered in his glory.
The song ended in a heart rending note that sailed up higher and higher until it broke through the ceiling into the sky. It hummed into nothingness while the band panted. Jake set one hand on his knee, bending down to take a long drink of water.
I took my spot back in front of the stage. Right in the center. I reached out and touched the cold metal of his mic stand. That caught his attention. He looked down at me with his big, beautiful eyes and smiled the most stunning smile.
All mine. Solely for me.
I mouthed two words: "We okay?"
Jake nodded and kept his eyes trained on me, scraping over my face. "Yeah," he mouthed back.
An excited laugh gurgled up from the pit of my stomach. Because my heart could hear his-it was so clear-it was like he was screaming at me. He wanted me there just as much as I wanted to be there. He chose me, still. He might be upset for whatever reason, but it wasn't enough to come between us.
The music began again, a tune I knew very well. It was one of my many favorites. I pumped my fist into the air and howled. Right on time, my Jake started singing. It sounded so much better than last night. I felt him reading my heart like his favorite book. He knew my every line. I heard my voice carrying over the others and wondered if Jake could, too. My hands floated with the music. My head sailed with the sounds of heaven.
Most of the people there didn't know this song. It wasn't recorded. They played it through twice during sound check, making sure they had the volume levels just right. They played eleven songs-five that would be on the new CD which was going to be recorded once we made it out to Los Angeles.
