Page 5 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“No way. I’d kick his skinny ass before he got the chance,” Damien says.

“I’m with Oren. I don’t want you breaking your hand right before a show, either,” I say.

“Damn. Rejected, then? Now I really am devastated,” he says, clutching his heart.

I offer him a smile. “Not rejected. I’ll see you when doors open, right?”

Damien huffs and puts his hands in his pockets again. “Yeah. And you should take Oren up on his offer. Come backstage after the show. He rarely offers that to fans. He’s got some weird superstitions and rituals around live shows.”

“I will. I promise,” I say.

“Sweet.” He approaches the venue door and knocks on it with that same distinctive pattern Satoshi used a few moments ago. “I’ll see you in there.”

“Yeah, see you soon,” I say.

The door opens again and Damien goes inside.

I rock back on my heels, my heart feeling light even despite the long, lonesome wait ahead of me.

I am totally going to kiss that drummer.

With tongue.

ㅤ

Damn. I never thought I’d meet a woman so perfect.

Lillith is everything from my sappy, sad-boy-hours dreams. The stark white hair, the micro bangs, the little beauty mark right below her pretty grey eyes. The way she lets her sweater sleeves hang down around her hands so that just her wickedly sharp nails and the tips of her fingers show.

She’s everything. Sexy and cute and sweet. I already know I’m going to fall for her, hard and fast. And I think, based on the way she couldn’t take her eyes off me for very long, that she might be thinking the same thing.

People always think my name is Damien Devastation because I leave a string of broken hearts everywhere I go, but I actually picked up the nickname when I was in high school. The tattoos on my knuckles are actually a holdover from the time I got in deep with a girl in my senior year and she dumped me after prom. I went and got DEVASTATED tattooed on my hands, hoping in an emo-music fueled haze that she’d see it as some grand gesture and get back together with me.

Well, when I showed up at her house, she was already bouncing on someone else’s cock. So that was that. Unfortunately, tattoos are pretty fucking permanent when you’re 18 and work at a pizza place no more than ten hours a week. It’s not like I had the money to get them lasered off. At least I didn’t have to see her at school anymore.

Oren and I were already best friends by that point, and when we started Portent and I’d been groaning about my poor choice in grand gestures, it was him who came up with the idea to use it as a stage name. At the time, I thought it was damn cheesy. And to be fair, a lot of haters still try to question our value in the progressive metal scene because of that nickname. But my big heart is something I’ve come to appreciate about myself.

I’d rather fall in love with things easily than be a miserable fuck like Satoshi, anyway.

“Earth to fucking drummer boy. Are you with us?”

Speak of the devil...

“What the fuck do you want, Samuel?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Satoshi gripes. “You know I fucking hate it.”

“And I really hate how you spoke to Lillith, so we’re even,” I say.

“Bro, you don’t even know her,” Satoshi says.

“I’m going to know her, hopefully very well, very soon. Don’t be a bitch.”

I’m lazing on one of the couches in the green room, warming up on a practice pad while we wait for Roxie and Fletcher to arrive in the van with lunch.

“You said you were going to set up our shit,” Satoshi says. “All you’ve been doing is daydreaming and playing eight on a fucking hand.”

“I’m warming up, and I did set up everyone’s shit. Except yours. Because you’re being a bitch.”