Page 34 of Tortured Tones

Without your love I’m falling toward the ground.

Sometimes I feel like I’m struggling to breathe,

My mind is racing so fast I cannot see.

My heart is hurting so much it cripples me,

Without your love I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

You pulled me in, loved me hard, pushed me down, broke my heart,

Took me high, made me fall, raised me up, but lied through it all.

Sometimes I feel like I’m traveling a treacherous road,

I’m down and out in this world, feeling all alone.

I’m walking in circles facing every day on my own,

Without your love I can’t find my way back home.

My breath ripped through my lungs, hurting my ribs. I slammed the cymbals harder than necessary, struck my snare with too much force. We’d written this song just after Flint had broken up with Lena, his second serious girlfriend. Every word he’d penned was an arrow through my chest. It was like he’d channeled my heartache over Priah leaving, my grief over losing Aidan, and my fear our band was falling apart. Flint and Slip had been fighting. Phil had been drunk and high all the time. I’d buried my anguish into the depths of my soul to maintain the peace. While Flint took the flack in the media for all the wild partying after our gigs, I was the one smoothing over our issues that weren’t in the spotlight. I kept everyone talking, put out the emotional fires, and stuck Band-Aids on shattered hearts. But mine had been irreparable. I’d do anything for those guys. Anything. They didn’t need to know I was broken on the inside too.

We’d come the closest we’d ever been to losing everything when Phil died. Flint’s depression had put him on a path of self-destruction, and the pressure to write a new album had been at an all-time high. Thanks to ultimatums, we’d survived. Our love and friendship were too strong to fail us. We’d been through too much to quit. But those trying times had been rough. I never wanted to go through anything like them again.

But then ...Charlotte had happened—a road I hadn’t seen coming.

One I couldn’t see the end of. One that didn’t have an end.

Fuck.

We hit my solo that led to the end of our main set before our encore. My feet hammered the pedals. Clutching my sticks tight, I swung and crossed my hands back and forth as I played each drum. Thrashing. Striking. Harder and faster. Harder and faster. The thundering beat and reverberations pummeled my soul and thrummed through my chest. But anger and frustration fueled the adrenaline surging through my veins. Every time I bobbed and flicked my head, droplets of sweat trickled down my face, fell into my eyes, and flew from my hair. But I didn’t stop. Slam. Slam. Slam.

Why, when my band and I were finally in a good place, did everything have to turn to shit?

Why hadn’t Shelby told me about Charlotte?

Why was Ava in my head?

Arrrrgh! Fuck!

I hit, struck, and pounded each drum. Irritation poured through my sticks again and again. Again and again. With a crash on the cymbals, I smashed out the last beat. As the clang rang through the air, I stopped pumping the pedals. I sucked in huge lungfuls of air to catch my breath. My heart hammered my ribs with bone-cracking thumps.

The stage lights flared, shining down on me.

All eyes had turned in my direction.

Nobody moved. Mouths gaped.

A shudder coiled up my spine, prickling my skin.

Ava sat on her chair, leaning forward. Her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes glimmered with heat. She nodded and mouthed,“Wow.”

Flint swung his guitar behind his shoulder and rested his hand on his mic. A combination of concern and bewilderment swam through his eyes. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

I wiped my face on my shirtsleeve. “Guess I was just in the moment, man.” Yep, drumming was my therapy. Had I resolved anything? Come up with any solutions? Nope.

“You gave me goose bumps, dude.” Slip held out his arm, twisting and turning it this way then that.

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