Page 14 of Toxic Kiss

“You’re on after this monologue. Please follow me.”

We file out as if we are death row inmates, not a band about to be interviewed. My heart tries to escape my chest. My palms are clammy. My vision flickers at the edges. Too loud. Too bright. Why is everything always so fucking bright?

A stagehand motions us to stop, and people scamper over to mic us up.

“Are you all ready?”

“Sure,” I mumble. Glancing at the others, they’ve managed to pull themselves together and look moderately happy. Me…not so much.

“Okay. In three, two, one…go.” The stagehand starts pinwheeling his arm, and I take a deep breath as I step forward.

We walk out in single file. Jack Malone greets us like we’re old pals, all teeth and charisma as the live crowd cheers and screams.

“And here they are! Venomous, rock’s loudest heartbreak back from the shadows and about to hit the road.”

A loud whistle is a spike to my brain but force a smirk and nod at the crowd while my heart thunders in my chest.

Malone guides us toward the lineup of chairs. I’m grateful for the sunglasses. My ears start ringing—a high-pitched sound that I know from experience, only I can hear.

The questions start. Usual bullshit. Tour dates. Inspiration. Favorite cities. We volley answers, sticking to the script. Ledger is smooth. Eren is polite. Ash monosyllabic. Vex glares hard enough to curdle milk as he grunts answers.

Then Malone turns to me.

“Cyrus, the fans want to know…how’s your head these days? You’ve had a few…colorful headlines lately. Is that just you getting ready for the big tour?” He laughs and then smiles as if my life is just one big joke.

I smile, knowing that it doesn’t reach my eyes even if they could see them.

“That all depends on who’s writing the headlines and what bullshit they want to spin.”

Malone’s smile falters. “I only meant that you’ve been quieter than usual. Less visible. And now you’re in the headlines and attending all the A-lister parties.”

“I guess I finally got sick of only hearing my voice,” I say, trying to muster a teasing tone. Declan’s words from earlier come back. “Try not to light yourself on fire before the tour.”

The audience laughs but it’s a little tight. Jack laughs, too, then makes a bad joke about how the world wishes it had my problem.

“And the rumors that have surfaced recently, what do you have to say about them?” Jack tilts his head like he actually gives a shit.

“There are lots of rumors. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Jack shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable.

“Word is someone’s been digging into your past. A few names have come up, one in particular, Patrick Rhodes. Some say that the tragic loss of your friend still haunts your music. Whether you talk about his passing or not, it comes out in the addictive lyrics.”

The room goes ice cold. My band stiffens. They were all friends with Patrick. They all know not to say his name around me. It’s like pulling the pin on a grenade.

I force the smile to stay, but everything inside me is red. Fuck them for digging into Patrick’s death. How dare they touch the last private thing I have? Patrick was my brother. My songs are half his, and since the band became famous, I have kept his name out of the lights. It’s no one’s business how he died or how I fucking grieve.

Who the fuck went looking for this and has the balls to share it?

“Patrick was a good friend but he’s been dead for years. Why are you asking me about this?”

Jack laughs nervously. “Well, I guess I’m asking if he is the inspiration for the emotionally charged lyrics that the listeners love, or do you think of someone else? An ex-lover, perhaps?”

“No to both, not anymore,” I say, hating that I have to admit that on national television.

The truth is…I can’t think about either of them and write. Nothing comes when I wonder what Patrick would say to a line. He isn’t speaking to me. It’s as if he has officially abandoned me. I can’t think about Haven without throwing my pencil across the room. So no, they are no longer my inspiration.

“I see. Well, on a lighter note, it looks like the streak continues, and you’re getting a new PR handler. What is it, seven in fourteen months? That is quite the pace,” Jack says and laughs.