Page 9 of Edge

His phone pinged again.He ignored it, trying to clamp down on the acrid feeling in hisbelly.

“Jory, youokay?” Alice’s elfin face creased in concern. “You look pissedoff.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Is it your roommate texting youagain? Jesus, doesn’t he ever let up?”

“No,” Joryreplied hastily. “It’s someone else, I’ll get back to them later.”He took a chip from Bernie’s stash and popped it in his mouth. Ittasted like cardboard.

“Hmm.” Alicedidn’t sound convinced. She hustled over to her corner and began toset up her equipment. “Since you shacked up with Roger, what is itnow, eight months ago? You’ve been different. Are you sure this manis good for you?”

“Jesus,Alice,” Jory snapped. “Why don’t you leave my personal life aloneand get one of your own?” I can’t tellthem what my relationship with Roger is. Why do they keep houndingme about it?

He knew why. They caredabout him. Stone Edge had been together for over three years andthey were more than simply bandmates. They were a close-knitfamily.

The hurt look on Alice’sface made him want to vomit.

“Exactly whatI mean.” Alice’s tone choked up and she turned away to fiddle withsomething on her bass guitar. “You’d never have been such a littlebitch saying something like that before you met him.” Alice hadonly broken up with the man of her dreams three weeks ago and shewas still raw.

The world dimmed andspun, blood rushing between his ears, and Jory tightened hisfingers into his palm, his nails digging into the flesh.

“Sorry,” hegrunted. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“Come on,guys, let’s get jamming and test out the new tune.” Bernie pushedthe last morsel of food into his grease flecked lips and scowled.“Let’s focus on the music and stop pissing each other off, yeah?”He shuffled over to his drum kit, a tall, gangly apparition dressedin baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt.

Alice turned to herinstrument, still ignoring Jory. Hannah gave him a sympatheticglance, but there was censure in there too. Jory knew he’d been adick, but honestly, lately, he couldn’t help it.

Everything isso fucked up, he thought tiredly.I wish I had someone special I couldtalk to. Dumont was agreat guy, but some stuff Jory didn’t feel comfortable sharing withhim. If he’d not been such a douchebag to the cute guy at thecoffee shop, it might have led to something more. Jory still feltbad about the way he’d treated the green-eyed rockhater.

The next two hours werespent jamming and time passed quickly. With everyone’s help, thelyrics had become more palatable and less doom-laden. By the end ofthe session, Jory was pleased with their progress.

Stone Edge had come along way since they’d all met and decided to form a group. Theywere all in their early twenties; hell, Jory was only twenty-four.At this tender age, they’d been lucky enough, through demandingwork, a lot of cheek, and a shitload of networking, to be signed bya record label, 3-10 Music Media.

Based in Rome, Italy, itsCEO, Katie Delmonico, had been responsible for bringing the band onboard. The demo tape Jory had sent (one of many he’d shot-gunnedout to music companies) had resonated with her. She’d said theirsound was “interesting and unique” and it led to them meeting eightmonths ago. It’d changed all their lives.

While the music hadbrought Jory a dream come true in the past year, as they grew moresuccessful, it had also led to his current nightmare.

Around eight, he said hisgood-byes to his bandmates, settled his cap on his head, andreadied himself for his return home. He’d refused a lift home fromDumont, saying he needed space and he’d be fine all on hisown.

He lit up a ciggie,puffed it to completion, then entered the tube station. Ten minuteslater he was huddled in the corner of the train, his cap pulled lowover his eyes, his Gothic army coat wrapped around him like a suitof armour. The train hurtled along the rails in flashes of lightand dark. Around him, people were engaged in solitary pursuits. Itfascinated him how the tube had become the place he retreated intohimself. Though trapped knee to thigh to a stranger, in a steeltube crammed with the denizens of the city, where nothing existedbut the rush of sounds of passing trains, occasional ring tones,and a miasma of human sounds, Jory and everyone else could feelalone and apart.

The antidote to this wasto pull out an electronic gadget and enter the virtual world wherenothing seemed to exist but you, the item in your hand, andwhatever drew your attention on the other side.

It was a study in humanpsychology he found fascinating. The human brain was something thathad fascinated him since he was a kid, and he’d read countlessbooks on the subject. The one thing he found completely surreal waswhile he learned about the subject, applying it to hiscircumstances was hard.

Like a plumber with leakytaps at home, or a carpenter who never bothered to put shelves upwhere needed, Jory’s learning left him ill-equipped to deal withhis trauma—his relationship with Roger. He knew exactly why he didit and the consequences if he didn’t. Figuring out how to getbeyond it without hurting others was the problem.

He tugged his coattighter around his slim frame, pulled his cap down farther, andtried to forget. There was time enough to be catapulted into hisreality in about ten minutes when he got off the tube at Piccadillyand walked the short distance to the flat.

CHAPTER FIVE

Damian

Damian pushed his glassesfarther up his sweaty nose—they had a habit of sliding down—andsquinted through the viewing slot at the cinema screen beyond. Hesucked one of his fingers, speckled with blood, and gave a quiet,“Ouch.” He hated paper cuts. The new promotional brochure on hisdesk had a lot to answer for.

Confident he’d gotteneverything set up for the next matinee show, which was easy: shovethe digital tape into the slot, press a few buttons, and heypresto. Nothing more to do until the film came to itsend.

He and his uncle yearnedfor the days when thirty-five mm reels were the newest thing andthe age of film became a labour of love rather than a digitalfunction.

Like everything elsenowadays, he reflected gloomily. Social networking, cars thatneeded computers to run, and bloody streaming sites allowingeveryone to watch movies from the comfort of their ownhomes.

Damian saggedinto the deck chair beside the projector, picked up his can of warmDr Pepper, and took a swig. It tasted like heaven. He hadn’t hadanything to eat this morning, and only a half a cup of cold teaaround eleven. The sweet tang of his soft drink was welcome. Nowall he needed was something to eat and to read a couple of pages ofthe new graphic novel he’d bought. He couldn’t wait to get stuckinto the latest adventures of Phoenix Astor, the antihero of theaward-winning game, now a graphic novel called Camp Queen.