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23
Dylan
"If this chickdoesn’t want to see you, why are you wasting your time?" asks Liam.
Lost in memories of lying in bed with Sky, using the peace and happiness from those quiet moments to calm me, I don’t notice Liam come into the gym. I hit the off button on the treadmill and jump down, wiping my face with a white towel. Every one of the band tried talking to me about Sky. I won’t discuss her—I’m respecting her decision that she doesn't want to be dragged into my world. That way, I might persuade her to sneak in.
Liam doesn’t work out; he's one of those perpetually scrawny people, so I give him a ‘what are you doing here?’ look. His wavy, dark ginger hair is pulled into a long ponytail today and his green eyes are bright. I guess he didn't spend the night drinking as I did, or need to punish himself on the treadmill.
Liam is the one band member trying to hold down a steady girlfriend.Fiancee, even though they've known each other less than six months. We call her the limpet because she’s permanently stuck to him.
"Where’s Honey?" I ask.
No one but Liam believes this is her real name, but he insists it is. I guess if they ever sign the marriage certificate he’ll find out. I bet she’s called Tracey or something less exotic.
"Hey, Dylan…" Honey’s cutesy voice follows Liam into the room and I cringe. Nobody over the age of five should sound like her.
"Honey." I nod in greeting.
Miss Plastic Fantastic reattaches herself to Liam, who automatically wraps a tattooed arm around her skinny shoulders. The name Honey suggests sweet and natural, but there's little natural about her platinum blonde hair extensions or the fake nails, tits, and attitude. Sweet isn't a word I'd apply to this walking Barbie doll in her tiny clothes either. Liam always falls for the fakes, which is sad because he's such a genuine, nice guy.
Despite the fact her betrothed is here, Honey sweeps an appreciative look over my sweaty body. What is it, exactly, that girls like about guys covered in stinking sweat? Her gaze lingers on my chest and she bites her lip coyly.
There was a time, very early on when we first made it big, when we’d share girls. I’m ashamed about this now, but I was eighteen, high, and had girls crawling all over me. More than once, I woke in bed with several girls, not entirely clear how I got there. Man, I was fucking stupid. How I avoided any major diseases, I don’t know. Maybe some guardian angel watched over me—one prepared to accept my lack of morality.
I'm a one girl at a time guy now—in my life and my bed. I'm definitely no saint, I have my needs, but I can't stick with a girl long. I try but the only chicks I meet are through the industry—groupies and journalists, mostly. These girls know Dylan Morgan and they expect nothing of me, so I give them nothing. Sure, I let them in my bed but I send them away straight after sex, and I'm left with a hollow emptiness.
I had a few short relationships in the last few years but gave up—the fall out is too hard. Only once, did I let someone close, and she tore my heart into tiny pieces. I’ve zero desire to try a real relationship again and my fake one with Cressida is about to end.
Fuck. Does Sky think I cheated on a girl?
Sometimes, I consider if Honey hopes to get to me through Liam, which sounds bigheaded but isn't beyond possibility. Chicks often prefer the lead singer to the bass player in my experience. If she tries, I’ll have her out of here on her backside so quick she won’t know what’s hit her. Liam’s the nicest of the four of us—girls have broken his heart more than once, and he deserves better.
"Whatcha doing, babe?" she asks Liam, sliding a hand down his arm. Her huge diamond ring glints in the sun that streams through the window.
"Came to see Dylan. He missed studio time this morning," he replies.
"You guys didn’t need me, not for what you were putting down." I swig from my water bottle—why the fuck did I down another bottle of bourbon last night? Honey and Liam exchange glances. "What?"
"Man, you gotta pull this together. What the hell happened to make you like this? Not just the chick—the disappearing, the attitude…" retorts Liam.
"That’s your idea of helping me?" I snap
"Liam isn’t here to help but to ask if you’ll come out tonight." Honey smiles, and I feel like I’m being sized up for something.
"Out?" I ask Liam
"VIP lounge? Viper Room?" he asks.
"Some of my friends are coming," interjects Honey. "I’ve some plain ones too, if that’s your taste these days."
I stiffen at her bitchy comment. "Did you know honey is technically bee puke?"
Leaving her open-mouthed, I stalk out of the room.
I’m a lucky bastard. I own a huge mansion in the country, surrounded by state of the art security—tennis courts, pools, the whole fucking cliché. I prefer my LA place—how up myself do I sound? My bedroom alone is probably the size of the entirety of Sky’s crappy flat that I know she lives in now. My freshly made bed should be unmade with Sky beneath the covers; I should be smiling and laughing with her, not feeling miserable as fuck.
I sit barefoot on the daybed beneath the bay window and pick up my guitar. The last few days I’ve attempted to finish the song I started writing in Broadbeach, and working some chords out on the acoustic. I end each session frustrated, and then the drinking starts. But I’m almost there.
