Rock My Body
Page 2
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“Wish I could, but I can’t let my girl down. Besides, it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her.” He gives me a quick jab to the ribs. “Stop frowning, Sunshine. We’ll do something soon. Promise.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what you always say, but it never fucking happens. Just go the fuck back to your girl and forget about me.”
Trip’s brow furrows. “What the fuck’s with the attitude? Are you pissed that I’m happy.”
My lip rises as my face contorts with disgust. “No, I’m not pissed that you’re happy.”
“Then what the fuck is the problem? You’ve been nothing but a drunken asshole most of the time I’m around lately, so why in the hell do you even care that I want to spend some time with my girl? It’s obvious that you’re perfectly capable of partying on your own. You don’t need me for that.”
I blow out a rush of air through my nose. Starting a fight with him wasn’t my intention. But doesn’t he see what spending all his time with his woman is doing to the band?
Do any of them see?
Jesus, it’s like we have three fucking Yoko Onos, yet no one sees the problem here except me. These women are dictating the future of this band. It’s all going to fall apart, but it’s like all of them are too fucking pussy-whipped to see it happening right before their own eyes.
Noel and Riff walk over toward us, both wearing perplexed expressions.
“What are you two dipshits fighting over now?” Riff mocks. “Can’t you assholes just kiss and make up. The tension between you two lately has been fucking ridiculous. What’s up?”
Trip shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong. My brother is just acting like a chick here, crying about how I never spend time with him anymore.”
I scrub my hand down my face, not wanting to waste any more of my time. “Fuck it. I’m out of here.”
I can’t get into this with them. None of them will ever see things like I do, so there’s no point in even trying to reason with them.
I turn toward the exit, and I hear the guys calling my name but don’t bother to turn around. If none of them care what happens to Black Falcon then why should I?
I’m done being the goddamn babysitter of the group: keeping everyone on task and writing eighty percent of the music. It’s time I start living my life and forget I give a fuck, too.
The pounding in my skull irelentless. Holy fuck. What in the hell did I get myself into last night? The last thing I remember is being at the club that Lou, one of the roadies, dragged me to. Everything else is fuzzy as shit.
I rub my eyes as I try to remember, but a loud buzz echoes around the room and keeps me from focusing on anything but the God-awful sound.
What the fuck?
I peel my eyes open and blink hard as my gaze lands first, on a brick wall, then, a small window with bars on it. I push myself up slowly, studying the unusual window as I try to get my bearings. After my eyes slide around every inch of the room and find nothing but bars surrounding me, blocking my freedom, my heart rate kicks up a notch, and the panic sets in.
How in the hell did I wind up in jail?
I push myself to my feet and wobble a split second before I regain my balance. Whatever I drank last night is still obviously in my system. My feet shuffle toward the bars, and I wrap my fingers around the cold steel. I strain my neck to look down the long hall, but all I hear is the sound of other prisoners talking. I need some answers.
I press my head against the bars. “Guards? Hey? Guards!”
Heavy footsteps fall down the concrete hallway, each step coming closer to the small cell I’m stuck in.
A gray-haired guard dressed in a dark blue uniform that’s a size too small wears a scowl on his plump face as he sets his stern eyes on me. “You need something?”
My shoulders stiffen, and I’m instantly riled by his tone, especially considering I don’t have the foggiest idea why I’m here. “Yeah. What in the hell am I in here for?”
The guard sighs heavily. “DUI. We picked you up last night on I-95 swerving all over the lanes.”
My shoulders slack and I push back from the bars but still hang on and drop my head. “Fuck. Does my brother know to come and get me?”
“Doubtful. You were too toasted to make your phone call last night. You kept fighting us off you, so we tossed you in here to sleep it off. You’re welcome to that call any time. Call anyone you’d like.”
I take a deep breath. When Trip finds out about this, he’s going to flip his shit. Usually, I’m the one thinking about how things like this will affect the band, not him—hell, not any of the others. Riff is known for giving out golden tickets to chicks who hang out backstage to sleep with him. Trip never gives two shits about anything, and Noel…well, he’s no angel either. Back in the day, me getting this DUI would’ve just been something we laughed off, but now that they’re all on the straight and narrow, I imagine they’ll give me the third degree over this.
But what choice do I have? Who else can I call?
After a long moment, I push away from the bars and look the guard in the eye. “I think I’ll make that call now.”
A few hours later, I’m finally at the front desk, gathering all the personal items I had on me when I was booked.
“One wallet, a set of keys, two hundred and fifteen dollars in cash, four guitar picks, a sheet of folded up paper, and one cell phone,” the middle-aged brunette clerk says as she hands me all the items. “Sign here and here, and you’ll be on your way.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what you always say, but it never fucking happens. Just go the fuck back to your girl and forget about me.”
Trip’s brow furrows. “What the fuck’s with the attitude? Are you pissed that I’m happy.”
My lip rises as my face contorts with disgust. “No, I’m not pissed that you’re happy.”
“Then what the fuck is the problem? You’ve been nothing but a drunken asshole most of the time I’m around lately, so why in the hell do you even care that I want to spend some time with my girl? It’s obvious that you’re perfectly capable of partying on your own. You don’t need me for that.”
I blow out a rush of air through my nose. Starting a fight with him wasn’t my intention. But doesn’t he see what spending all his time with his woman is doing to the band?
Do any of them see?
Jesus, it’s like we have three fucking Yoko Onos, yet no one sees the problem here except me. These women are dictating the future of this band. It’s all going to fall apart, but it’s like all of them are too fucking pussy-whipped to see it happening right before their own eyes.
Noel and Riff walk over toward us, both wearing perplexed expressions.
“What are you two dipshits fighting over now?” Riff mocks. “Can’t you assholes just kiss and make up. The tension between you two lately has been fucking ridiculous. What’s up?”
Trip shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong. My brother is just acting like a chick here, crying about how I never spend time with him anymore.”
I scrub my hand down my face, not wanting to waste any more of my time. “Fuck it. I’m out of here.”
I can’t get into this with them. None of them will ever see things like I do, so there’s no point in even trying to reason with them.
I turn toward the exit, and I hear the guys calling my name but don’t bother to turn around. If none of them care what happens to Black Falcon then why should I?
I’m done being the goddamn babysitter of the group: keeping everyone on task and writing eighty percent of the music. It’s time I start living my life and forget I give a fuck, too.
The pounding in my skull irelentless. Holy fuck. What in the hell did I get myself into last night? The last thing I remember is being at the club that Lou, one of the roadies, dragged me to. Everything else is fuzzy as shit.
I rub my eyes as I try to remember, but a loud buzz echoes around the room and keeps me from focusing on anything but the God-awful sound.
What the fuck?
I peel my eyes open and blink hard as my gaze lands first, on a brick wall, then, a small window with bars on it. I push myself up slowly, studying the unusual window as I try to get my bearings. After my eyes slide around every inch of the room and find nothing but bars surrounding me, blocking my freedom, my heart rate kicks up a notch, and the panic sets in.
How in the hell did I wind up in jail?
I push myself to my feet and wobble a split second before I regain my balance. Whatever I drank last night is still obviously in my system. My feet shuffle toward the bars, and I wrap my fingers around the cold steel. I strain my neck to look down the long hall, but all I hear is the sound of other prisoners talking. I need some answers.
I press my head against the bars. “Guards? Hey? Guards!”
Heavy footsteps fall down the concrete hallway, each step coming closer to the small cell I’m stuck in.
A gray-haired guard dressed in a dark blue uniform that’s a size too small wears a scowl on his plump face as he sets his stern eyes on me. “You need something?”
My shoulders stiffen, and I’m instantly riled by his tone, especially considering I don’t have the foggiest idea why I’m here. “Yeah. What in the hell am I in here for?”
The guard sighs heavily. “DUI. We picked you up last night on I-95 swerving all over the lanes.”
My shoulders slack and I push back from the bars but still hang on and drop my head. “Fuck. Does my brother know to come and get me?”
“Doubtful. You were too toasted to make your phone call last night. You kept fighting us off you, so we tossed you in here to sleep it off. You’re welcome to that call any time. Call anyone you’d like.”
I take a deep breath. When Trip finds out about this, he’s going to flip his shit. Usually, I’m the one thinking about how things like this will affect the band, not him—hell, not any of the others. Riff is known for giving out golden tickets to chicks who hang out backstage to sleep with him. Trip never gives two shits about anything, and Noel…well, he’s no angel either. Back in the day, me getting this DUI would’ve just been something we laughed off, but now that they’re all on the straight and narrow, I imagine they’ll give me the third degree over this.
But what choice do I have? Who else can I call?
After a long moment, I push away from the bars and look the guard in the eye. “I think I’ll make that call now.”
A few hours later, I’m finally at the front desk, gathering all the personal items I had on me when I was booked.
“One wallet, a set of keys, two hundred and fifteen dollars in cash, four guitar picks, a sheet of folded up paper, and one cell phone,” the middle-aged brunette clerk says as she hands me all the items. “Sign here and here, and you’ll be on your way.”
