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I drop the microphone and walk off the stage. Pass the VIP section armed with outstretched hands hoping for a high five or autograph. Through the green room filled with more team members that make this whole shitshow go round. Straight to Ian who holds out my phone, I pull up the text app and engage Aria’s name. The thread we shared over a month ago illuminates my face as I move about backstage. I type and walk, but then delete and reword what I want to say.
None of it seems good enough though. None of it conveys any of the shit I want to talk about with her. Or how much I miss someone I barely know.
Except I do know.
So I delete the text field again and settle on simple instead.
Me: I’ll be at Moonman arcade until they kick me out tonight. If you’re nearby, come find me.
I smile, push my hair back, and snap a selfie.
Me: In case you forgot what I look like.
I press send on the pic with the caption and slide the device back into my pocket. My gaze settles on Ian’s questioning brow.
“Let’s go.”
Fuck, I hope this works.
20
CEDAR
I’ve always had a propensity for gore, passion, and horror.
Morticia Gomez is my role model.
An artist at heart, the macabre has called to me since I was a kid. So much so that my parents have had me in therapy at a very young age.
Some call it waking up and choosing violence.
Which I do.
It helps wing my liner and keep the douchebags away. Can I say that I’m wrong for that?
Nope.
It also helps justify my attitude, because let’s face it; I could maim and bury a body and then help the family look for the missing person.
No one wants to chance that shit when I get all feisty.
Like right fucking now as I watch my conservative best friend comment on my favorite band I dragged her out to see as if it would be her speed.
Judging by the complete lack of color on her face, it’s even less her thing than I thought.
“Ari, what’s going on?”
She stands next to me stock still after having just been getting into the blaring music. Her hips were actually moving along with the rhythm, her head bobbing to the beat. Not entirely a first, but definitely never have I seen her act like this in public where people other than myself and her younger sister can see her.
Now … she clutches her metaphorical pearls and keeps repeating praise to a deity that I know she doesn’t believe in.
“Ari.”I’m a little more forceful in my attempts to get her attention, mine no longer giving any fucks about the men on stage singing out my favorite As Above classic.
“Oh, my God.”
I lean and catch the questioning brow from Aurora only to answer with a shake of the head. She ditches her boy toy and coming around to my side of the smaller table, snaps her fingers in front of her sister’s face.
“Oh, my fucking God.”
