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And then she starts some type of gesturing.
Jesus Christ, she'ssigning!
Just like that, I feel ten times worse, and my dick goes limp as if to say,'Damn, you really stepped in it this time, man.'
I just shouted at her, asking her if she was deaf, and she fuckingis. I feel like a bastard and a cad.
I have no idea what she's signing, but I can see she looks contrite.
Shit. She'sthe one apologizingto mewhen I've been a total fucking rude beast to her?
I take another step back to give her space, fighting the unreasonable part of me that's dying to do just the opposite. Like she needs some big naked asshole crowding her after screaming at her.
This has to be a new low for me. I feel so fucking guilty right now. There are no words.
The girl also takes a step back, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I realize I've been eyeballing her so hard, her likeness is impressed in my retinas by now, but damn, I'm making her even more uncomfortable like this.
I tell her that I'm sorry, that I didn't mean to scare her, but I think she's too upset to follow my lips or something. She's wringing her little hands and looking everywhere but at me.
And then, before I know what hit me, she lets go of another little, almost silent sob and bolts past me and out of the suite.
Fuck.
I'm following her outside before my brain can catch up to my actions. I don't care that I'm practically naked, barefoot, and dripping water all over the place.
I see her dash through the hall and stop close to an older blonde woman that's wearing a similar uniform as hers and standing near a housekeeping cart full of cleaning supplies. Meanwhile, the hands of the little beauty I just ran off are moving frantically as she signs something and then swipes at her wet cheeks.
The other woman frowns at her, and I can see her eyes narrowing behind her glasses even from here. Then she also starts to sign so fast that even if Ididknow sign language, I would probably not get a single word of what they are telling each other, but I can guess the gist of it.
She's probably telling her what everybody usually says about the rest of my band and me. We're good musicians and bad human beings. Rude, self-entitled assholes that scream at tiny women so they can get their sorry asses to bed to catch a wink. Rich men who think they own whatever place they step in. Bad news altogether. Must steer clear.
And she wouldn't be exactly wrong in saying those things. Not because they're in any way true of any of us, but because that's what our tour personas end up projecting anyway. Being Mr. Fuckin' Sunshine while jet-lagged and sleep-deprived all day every day while people try to snoop in your private life, wouldn't come easy to anyone.
Still, I could have mustered a bit of politeness, at least.
I'm better than this. Not that my parents taught me better or that they would even care how rude I was just now. They are the type of people that would screech at anyone and anything on any given day because they 'know they are wealthier and therefore they are better than others'. Still, the throng of tutors and nannies that raised me would be sorry for sure that I couldn't find a smidgen of self-control in that suite; either when I scolded her, or at the very least after –when I should have apologized instead of spending far too long devouring her features with my eyes.
I know that people think rockers are all alike, that we just like to play, fuck groupies, get drunk, get high, and trash hotel suites left, right, and center, and we are all the way crazy because wemustbe to be good artists. Right?
Even my parents think that. The Press does, too, so, of course, this lady would expect me and my friends to have the same rep as any other rock band that ever stayed here before.
And true or not, I just proved whatever point she's making to the girl with my behavior.
I barely stop myself from walking up to them when I see the older lady give the young woman I scared a one-armed hug.
Then she looks over her head, straight at me, and glares my way.
Fuck. Now I feel like the lowest kind of worm even more.
And it dawns on me that I not only just yelled at someone who was just doing their job. The fact that this someone is of the female persuasion, so tiny her head would barely come up to my shoulder, and she's deaf to boot, just adds to my shame. Yep, my nannies would definitely be disappointed right now, not the ones who had to go after my father fucked them, but the ones who didn't spread for him because they actually cared about me. They would kick my ass right now.
Shit, the‘Are you deaf or something?’ sarcastic crack I made especially is going to haunt me for the rest of my days. I suck.
I hang my head, retreating into my suite. The last thing my band needs is for some guest to snap a picture of me standing almost naked in the hall of one of the best hotels in D.C., looking like a lunatic.
I step into the suite again and rest my back against the door after I close it, and I puff out a breath.
