Page 8 of A Tragic Melody

He laughs. “You never know. The rumor is a piece of that pie doesn’t go for much. Might be worth getting your dick in it once before it’s overused.”

“Can’t blame a girl who looks like that for taking advantage of it.”

“Yes, but you know. Chick singers are popping up all over the scene. If she doesn’t get picky, she might find herself in a world of trouble when no guy wants to tour with sloppy seconds.”

I hate the hypocrisy that the scene has for women.

If a girl has a lot of sex, she is trash and no one wants to be around her. While the guys, on the other hand, get to fuck as much as they want. It drives me crazy. Then these guys forget the fact each one of them wanted her at some point. Plus, if she doesn’t sleep with them, they would just call her a prude, say she was too stuck up and not want to be associated with her. Women can’t win in the rock ‘n’ roll world.

While more and more females are rising to the top, staying there has become increasingly hard.

Abbey Dark is managing the best, and even she faces constant backlash and gossip. Tuesday could be on her way to join her, but who knows if she will be able to stay there. With all the men who have had her, paired with the drug use, it would be very easy for her to fall down the ladder. She could end up just like the many women who have come before them both—forgotten.

The men would like that. As more and more women pop up in the scene, the men find themselves struggling to compete. They are all forced to wait and watch from the sidelines, hoping the girls join the women before them in the graveyard of broken dreams, and doing anything to help it happen.

It’s disgusting, and it bothers me to hear Davey spitting out that bullshit. I don’t like being around people who think that way, but unfortunately, I’m stuck chained to his side.

I’m starting to see that my band isn’t made up of great people. It was much easier to overlook when I was high.

“Do you think Derrick has a chance?” he goes on. “He really wants her, but Tuesday seems to be dodging him.”

“Probably afraid of where he’s been.” I laugh. If he wants to be sexist, I can flip the tables.

“Fair point. You think his ancestors were Greek Gods?”

“Maybe.”

We sit for a few moments in silence. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” Davey says, pushing himself up. “We need you, you know.”

“I know.”

The fact is they do need me, but I need them, as well. Familiarity is helping to keep me sane and sober.

Plus, they didn’t kick me out of the band during my downward spiral. They let me fall apart and reaped the benefits, sure, but I’ve done some fucked-up shit to each of them, too. They could’ve tossed me on my ass countless times, but they didn’t.

So, I’ll shoulder the boulder that is our one shot at glory. It’s only fair.

As the evening goes on, I let myself mingle with the drunk idiots that surround me. My bandmates don’t bat an eye, too caught up in themselves to worry about my wellbeing.

I mix myself into the group, mostly staying quiet. I just nod along and try to catch secrets to keep in my back pocket.

I also carefully track Tuesday. Something tells me she is the bigger threat.

She sticks to Derrick—well, more like he sticks to her. She plays along, but her eyes drift to me far more than I like, especially as she gets drunker.

I know she pushed hard for me to become her touring guitarist. She might play it off like she is indifferent, but I know better. She knew we would make great music together, just like I did. The offer her team gave me was huge, the second one was even bigger, but I had no other choice but to say no. I took the warning serious, and that seems like it was the smart move now.

There is no way I would’ve survived if I joined her. If I even managed to get sober, I would’ve relapsed in no time. But the truth is, I probably would’ve ended up dead if I joined her. She would’ve gotten me all the drugs I could want, and I’d have taken it way too far. Maybe I’d get a few tours in before my demise, but eventually I’d have dropped dead.

It's a scary thought, one I try very hard not to focus on as Tuesday laughs and chats among the group. Her gray eyes continue to glance at me from time to time. She is a temptation I need to avoid if I’m going to survive.

Everyone is getting drunker as time carries on. Doors to the venue have opened. I can hear the faint sound of the crowd getting settled.

As I watch my band consume alcohol and step out to smoke weed and cigarettes, I begin to worry how well we will play. I can only carry the band so far.

The guitar is a big part of any band, but if the singer is slurring his words and the drums are off beat, we aren’t going to get any new fans.

Part of me wants to tell them to cool it, but I know that won’t go over well. They will assume I’m about to relapse instead of being concerned about our future.