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"Let's have a little fun tonight, huh?" I smirk at them, my white teeth shining in the bright light.
My hand slips into the pocket of my jeans, my fingers curling around the small piece of plastic that is myeverything. I pull it out, barely glancing at it as my fingers slide over theR & L. My eyes close and I take a shuddering breath, wishing so badly that life was different, wanting to sayfuck youto fate for screwing me over.
Begging for my ballerina to come back to me.
Please come back to me, Luna.
Opening my eyes, I start one of the fan favorites, a dark song I created last year that the guys ate up like candy. The words flew out of me, flying onto the page from my broken pen as I scribbled on the thin lined paper.
I stop on a slow note, and the crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and jumping. My head spins from the coke, and I feel jittery. A fucking mess. I want another bump, and I want Brandy. But she’s not what I really want. She's just the closest thing. It makes me hate myself, to be honest. Pretending. Acting like Brandy is the one I want, even though that’s furthest from the truth.
But I settle.
I'll settle for the rest of my life, because the woman I love broke my heart and tore it to shreds. She lifted it from my chest and threw it into the lake. It sank to the bottom, lifeless. Bloody.
So fucking ruined.
Because, what else am I supposed to do? My broken soul doesn't even want to find second best. I don't want anything that isn't her, but my empty heart needs to be filled, so I fill it.
I fill it with mindless drugs and mindless women, until I can't think, and I can't see. My life darkens until I black out, and I start again the next day.
We play a few more sets, until sweat drips from my face and down my arms to my wrists. I grab a cup of water nearby, downing half of it and tossing the rest into the crowd. They go wild, their arms flailing in the air as they try to catch every last drop. The cup bounces from their fingers, each hand trying to catch something that I've touched.
It's weird. That I'm wanted like this. I like to pretend it isn't real.
Sometimes, I like to pretend none of it is real. I mentally go back in time to the lake. To the night on the beach when I laid with Luna, our feet digging into the sand, my hands gripping the grains as they rushed through my fingers. The sound of the water crashing against the sand. The sight of the stars, hanging so low I felt like I could have reached up and grabbed them out of the sky. I wish, and I pretend.
Because the alternative is coming to terms with my reality.
And that's just not something I can do.
Ever.
After the show, the stage crew loads up our things and packs them up, getting ready for our next stop.
I find Brandy instantly, and she's already ready and waiting for me. In a pair of black shorts and a slinky tank, her dark hair tossed over her shoulder in messy waves. She lines her eyes too dark, the thickness making her look messy, too much of a road whore. She should treat herself better. Too bad I don't care. Not about her, or about our relationship, or whatever the fuck it is.
"You played fucking great, Roman," she says as I walk up to her.
I say nothing, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her out the back. No one is here, we have enough security now that we can come and go without being flocked by groupies.
We walk through the night, straight to our RV. The sounds of the crowd in the distance, but the back gated off to where the only sounds I can hear are my heavy boots and her heels clacking against the ground.
The guys are off somewhere, probably finding their own groupie to fuck. Brandy sticks with me. She travels with the stage crew. Her dad grew up on the road, traveling her from place to place, working with larger bands as their stage crew. It's all she knows, and she's good at it.
I pop open the door, and Brandy rushes in, instantly pulling out a small white baggie from her bra. "I thought you'd need a pick-me-up."
I take it from her hands, pulling off the rubber band and walking to the small dining table. I slide my wallet from my back pocket, grabbing a credit card from one of the slots. Pouring some coke on the table, I slice up two lines. Bending down, I take them both, snorting the grainy, rough powder through my sinuses. My fingers go up, squeezing my nostrils as the burn hits my head. My eyes automatically shut as my entire body flushes hot.
I can hear Brandy beside me, lining up her own line of cocaine. I listen as she snorts it, and then her front presses against my back, her breast pressing into my shoulder blades.
I spin around, grabbing her around the waist and setting her on the table. She grabs the button on her shorts, popping it through the hole and shimmying them down her thighs. The table is wobbly beneath her, the smooth, lightly colored wood only held by two small hinges.
I don't care. I pop my own button, taking out my cock and grabbing a condom from my wallet before sliding my jeans down my legs. I rip the foil package open with my teeth, sliding the condom on with quick motions. Brandy is already ready, her legs spread as she touches herself between her thighs. Her wetness dampens the table, making a small wet spot form on the light wood.
I slide her forward, her ass easily sliding through the wetness beneath her. I plunge into her, grabbing onto her thick ass, my fingers digging into the meat of her backside as I thrust into her. She moans, her head tossing back and her dark hair brushing along my fingertips.
I flick her hair to the side, not able to deal with the feeling of the dark strands. Not wanting to associate her with my black-haired, gray-eyed Luna.I can't.Not tonight.
