Seductive Chaos
Page 34
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Because they didn’t have anything to worry about. Jordan and Garrett were loyal to the women they loved.
The girls finally got the hint and turned their attentions from Garrett and Jordan to Mitch and Cole. When Mitch was too absorbed in tuning his bass to give them what they were looking for, their entire focus honed in on the man I had come to see.
The man who would never truly been mine.
And he smiled and flirted and laughed when they rubbed his arm. He gave them exactly what they wanted. He teased and seduced with only a look and a grin. The girls ate it up. And he loved it. I could see it from here.
My chest started to ache and an unfamiliar thickness squeezed my throat.
“Come on Viv, they’re about to start,” Gracie said, tugging on my arm. I was being uncharacteristically maudlin. I felt like hanging in the back and sulking. But instead I tossed my hair around my shoulders and straightened my shirt to hang low over my br**sts. I ran my finger around the edge of my lips, getting rid of any smudges.
Then we pushed and shoved our way to the front where I knew Cole could see me.
Their music started low and languid. Cole’s deep, throaty growl into the mic echoed around the room. The crowd went instantly quiet, the light of a hundred cellphones lighting up.
I knew they were going to be amazing as always, though I couldn’t help but pick up on a very significant difference. It wasn’t anything anyone in the crowd would notice. It was only something close to those on stage would be aware of.
Cole stood out front, his hands clasped around the mic, his eyes closed. Garrett and Mitch stood behind him, their faces turned down to their instruments. Jordan sat at his drums, his mouth set in a firm line as he beat in time to the strains of the music.
They looked like a rock band.
But they each looked miserable. They were musicians that fed off each other. They were always looking and communicating with one another before, during and after every show.
Tonight it was like watching four separate individuals up there rather than one cohesive unit.
There was a major rift going on. And for the first time I truly worried for the fate of my favorite band. Because this didn’t seem like something they’d easily fix.
But then Cole opened his mouth and I stopped worrying about the boys’ drama and allowed myself to get lost in the show.
“I’m here to own you, bitches!” Cole purred, his voice a dark promise. He growled again, Jordan picking up the beat on his drums. Garrett slid his fingers along the strings, making them scream.
“And you’re going to let me. . .because you f**king want it! You’ll f**king love it!” The girls started going crazy and I was getting jostled from behind as a wave of arms and hair and perfume pressed forward, trying to get closer to the man who had us enthralled.
“Can I have you?” he screamed into the crowd and in one voice we all screamed back.
“YES!”
Then the music erupted and I forgot how much the man standing above me infuriated and confused me. I simply became like everyone else. I worshipped him. I desired him.
I wanted him to own me.
Cole curled his hands around the microphone and leaned out toward the writhing mass. Garrett’s head was down, his blonde hair covering his face. His arms taut as he played like he had just made a deal with the devil. Mitch’s face was now tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes closed as if lost. And Jordan was a machine, pounding the drums in an exhausting rhythm.
But we were all waiting for the magic. For Cole to start singing. And when he did I knew, without a doubt, it was something special. I understood why the record label was pushing him forward. Why they were trying to market him above the other guys. Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan were amazing. They were talented and without them, the band wouldn’t exist.
But Cole was something else entirely. He was sex. He was destruction. He was raw and desperate.
My god, he was fantastic!
Festering and bleeding I’m dying in vain
Spoiled and lost, my soul black and stained
You despise, you destroy, you maim, you control,
I hate you for the life you claimed and you stole.
Filth and defile
Loathe and revile
You dig inside and
Kiss my rotten smile.
I murder your memory,
slash it away
I rip your face from my mind,
Whatever it takes.
The blurred lines of the past,
Eat away at the truth,
Chase me, claim me,
Tighten the noose.
Filth and defile,
Hate without guile,
You pull out my insides,
And break my broken smile.
I want your death,
I want your pain,
I want to be bound
I want your chains.
Filth and defile,
I drown in denial,
You rip me apart
You kill me with a smile.
Kill me with a smile. . .
Cole ended on a long, tortured wail that made my insides shiver. This was one of Garrett’s more morbid songs. Thank god he was with Riley now. His new stuff was a lot less scary.
Being at a Generation Rejects show was an experience unlike any other. And despite the tension that seemed to echo from the stage, it was electric. It was frantic. It could be consuming.
And I wanted to enjoy it. And I would have if not for the sea of screaming, and sometimes shirtless women just waiting to become the object of my annoyance and desire’s new plaything.
I stared up at the man making love to the crowd from the stage and wished I could stop craving him. Stop wanting him with every fiber of my being. But it was like asking me to stop watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta. There were some things out of my control.
The girls finally got the hint and turned their attentions from Garrett and Jordan to Mitch and Cole. When Mitch was too absorbed in tuning his bass to give them what they were looking for, their entire focus honed in on the man I had come to see.
The man who would never truly been mine.
And he smiled and flirted and laughed when they rubbed his arm. He gave them exactly what they wanted. He teased and seduced with only a look and a grin. The girls ate it up. And he loved it. I could see it from here.
My chest started to ache and an unfamiliar thickness squeezed my throat.
“Come on Viv, they’re about to start,” Gracie said, tugging on my arm. I was being uncharacteristically maudlin. I felt like hanging in the back and sulking. But instead I tossed my hair around my shoulders and straightened my shirt to hang low over my br**sts. I ran my finger around the edge of my lips, getting rid of any smudges.
Then we pushed and shoved our way to the front where I knew Cole could see me.
Their music started low and languid. Cole’s deep, throaty growl into the mic echoed around the room. The crowd went instantly quiet, the light of a hundred cellphones lighting up.
I knew they were going to be amazing as always, though I couldn’t help but pick up on a very significant difference. It wasn’t anything anyone in the crowd would notice. It was only something close to those on stage would be aware of.
Cole stood out front, his hands clasped around the mic, his eyes closed. Garrett and Mitch stood behind him, their faces turned down to their instruments. Jordan sat at his drums, his mouth set in a firm line as he beat in time to the strains of the music.
They looked like a rock band.
But they each looked miserable. They were musicians that fed off each other. They were always looking and communicating with one another before, during and after every show.
Tonight it was like watching four separate individuals up there rather than one cohesive unit.
There was a major rift going on. And for the first time I truly worried for the fate of my favorite band. Because this didn’t seem like something they’d easily fix.
But then Cole opened his mouth and I stopped worrying about the boys’ drama and allowed myself to get lost in the show.
“I’m here to own you, bitches!” Cole purred, his voice a dark promise. He growled again, Jordan picking up the beat on his drums. Garrett slid his fingers along the strings, making them scream.
“And you’re going to let me. . .because you f**king want it! You’ll f**king love it!” The girls started going crazy and I was getting jostled from behind as a wave of arms and hair and perfume pressed forward, trying to get closer to the man who had us enthralled.
“Can I have you?” he screamed into the crowd and in one voice we all screamed back.
“YES!”
Then the music erupted and I forgot how much the man standing above me infuriated and confused me. I simply became like everyone else. I worshipped him. I desired him.
I wanted him to own me.
Cole curled his hands around the microphone and leaned out toward the writhing mass. Garrett’s head was down, his blonde hair covering his face. His arms taut as he played like he had just made a deal with the devil. Mitch’s face was now tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes closed as if lost. And Jordan was a machine, pounding the drums in an exhausting rhythm.
But we were all waiting for the magic. For Cole to start singing. And when he did I knew, without a doubt, it was something special. I understood why the record label was pushing him forward. Why they were trying to market him above the other guys. Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan were amazing. They were talented and without them, the band wouldn’t exist.
But Cole was something else entirely. He was sex. He was destruction. He was raw and desperate.
My god, he was fantastic!
Festering and bleeding I’m dying in vain
Spoiled and lost, my soul black and stained
You despise, you destroy, you maim, you control,
I hate you for the life you claimed and you stole.
Filth and defile
Loathe and revile
You dig inside and
Kiss my rotten smile.
I murder your memory,
slash it away
I rip your face from my mind,
Whatever it takes.
The blurred lines of the past,
Eat away at the truth,
Chase me, claim me,
Tighten the noose.
Filth and defile,
Hate without guile,
You pull out my insides,
And break my broken smile.
I want your death,
I want your pain,
I want to be bound
I want your chains.
Filth and defile,
I drown in denial,
You rip me apart
You kill me with a smile.
Kill me with a smile. . .
Cole ended on a long, tortured wail that made my insides shiver. This was one of Garrett’s more morbid songs. Thank god he was with Riley now. His new stuff was a lot less scary.
Being at a Generation Rejects show was an experience unlike any other. And despite the tension that seemed to echo from the stage, it was electric. It was frantic. It could be consuming.
And I wanted to enjoy it. And I would have if not for the sea of screaming, and sometimes shirtless women just waiting to become the object of my annoyance and desire’s new plaything.
I stared up at the man making love to the crowd from the stage and wished I could stop craving him. Stop wanting him with every fiber of my being. But it was like asking me to stop watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta. There were some things out of my control.
