Page 71 of Pistol Whipped

“Always so fucking desperate,” he chides, but he pulls a small bag of powder from out of his denim jacket. That first visit, I’d come looking for sex or something like it, and found out that I could get it and get my hands on that same euphoric, beautiful drug I’d done with Cohen back at the Kitty Kat Club.

“Just fucking give it to me.” I try to reach for the bag, but he jerks it back.

“You know the deal. Cash upfront or…”

He lets the word dangle. I choose ‘or’. I always choose ‘or’ because even though I have the cash, probably, since you know, I’m in a pretty fucking famous band and all that shit. I need this.

I need the hit I’m offered. I need to find myself on my knees in the toilets with this stranger’s cock in my mouth. And when a soft voice caresses me, pets my hair, and laces a rubber tube around my upper arm so that my veins are primed for whatever shit they are about to hit me with, I try to pull away. This is bad. Bad. Bad for me, and I don’t want it. Yet still, I’m so blissed out from the first hit that I’m powerless to fight off the next one, just like Rain was from the drinks. We’re exactly the same, my Rainy-girl and I. Powerless.

End Interlude

Interlude 15

If You Leave

Dutch – aged 22, ten years ago

The Preaching Pistols are a fucking mess. Sure, we made it to the stage and managed to scrape our way through a handful of songs, but even at that, you could see the crowd inside Flamingos realizing with each passing track exactly how messed up we are.

Rain’s words are slurred. She’s wasted and so is Co. His fingers barely make each note. Same goes for my brother, although judging by the state of his pupils, I’m pretty sure he’s high rather than wasted. Meanwhile, I’m doing my damn best to keep time with the drum beat, but that doesn’t matter if everyone around you is too fucked up to hear it.

Midway through ‘A Thousand Hearts’ Cohen gives up altogether.

“Fuck this,” he snarls before storming off stage.

At which point Rain bursts into visible and audible tears and chases after him. Dax trips, loses his balance, and falls on his ass. Leaving me to be the one to approach the mic.

“I’m so sorry, ladies, gents, we’ll uhhhh…”

And that’s about as far as I make it before the crowd starts audibly cussing us out, and full-on fucking booing. I close my eyes, take one deep breath, if only to stop myself from screaming at them.

Can’t you fucking see that we’re falling apart! I want to shout.

Aren’t you our fans? Aren’t you supposed to care that we’re not okay?! I long to ask.

But all of those will cause an even bigger media shitshow, and I’m sure Cohen walking off stage tonight will be enough of one on its own, so all I manage to choke out before I leave the stage too is a gruff, “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” before collecting my brother who is only semi-conscious and carrying him off stage with me.

Backstage, I can still hear the booing although the curtains and concrete walls of the venue dull it a little. That and the furious screaming coming from our dressing room.

“Cohen, Please! Please! Just listen!” Rain is half screaming, half pleading. There’s no half anything from Cohen.

“If you wanted to break up with me, Rain, you should have just done it!” he screams. “Not whore yourself out!”

He doesn’t leave her any time to reply or defend herself. I push through the door of our shared dressing room, still supporting Dax under one arm, to hear, “Or maybe I’m just not famous enough for you, huh?”

Cohen is up in Rain’s face. He has her backed up against the wall and is pointing an accusing finger at her. Normally when they fight, Rainy gives as good as she gets, but right now, she’s cowed. Her head hangs, and she doesn’t leap to defend herself as more accusations are hurled at her.

“Maybe you thought you’d be his next Delilah.”

At the mention of Blue Grace’s wife, former supermodel Delilah Grace, Rain visibly blanches. Her reaction only eggs Cohen on.

“Didn’t think about that, did ya, Rainy, that you fucked a married man?! A father?! Then again, I shouldn’t expect you to respect a man’s family when you’ve never fucking had one!”

That is where I draw the line. I release my brother, who staggers two steps and collapses again, while I jump between Rain and Co.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, maybe it’s time to step back, man. Take a breath.”

My hands rest on Cohen’s shoulders, urging him to take my suggestion before I make him take it.