Page 91 of Five Summers

Suddenly, the lights come back to life, bathing the stage in a warm orange glow, and the audience erupts in thunderous applause.

“Creep! Creep! Creep!” they chant, their clapping echoing throughout the stadium.

I stand with Ace, Nate, and Theo, the other members of the band, as we look out over the endless sea of phones poised ready to capture this last song.

But it’s fucked up. The last song they want to hear isn’t even our song. It’s only a cover.

Last year in one of my drunken states, I sang Creep to the audience just so I could feel close to her. But all that did was create some fucking viral video. Sales went up. Management loved the money and told us we had to sing that as our sign-off song for every performance. It pisses me off because it breaks my heart for so many reasons. Not only because it was my mother’s favorite song, but it’s a constant reminder of the girl I left behind.

However, I’ve never been one to follow the fucking rules, neither has the band and I don’t see that changing any time soon. We’ve already generated millions for the label, so we couldn’t care less about their orders.

However, what caught me off guard after I sang that song was the moment the lights abruptly went out, and the entire crowd began chanting “Creep,” repeatedly. It was then I realized I couldn’t let our fans down. Whenever I sing that song, it just hits me with a wave of sadness and guilt for what I did to her. Thank God, I'm usually wasted, so it's easier.

Willis, our stage manager, brings out my guitar. It’s the one that I cherish, the one that Poppy gave me. He carefully places it down on the stool in front of the mic while I quickly finish the last of my water, or rather, Vodka disguised as water. I’ve always had a deep love for playing the guitar, but ever since the labelsigned us up, I rarely get the chance to play it because I’m always on vocals.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, I make my way over to the stool and put my precious guitar on my lap, preparing to play. As my fingers strum the strings, the crowd erupts into a thunderous roar. Every chord I play, the crowd gets louder, and then it happens every fucking time, nothing but silence as I deliver the first line into the microphone.

As I sing this song, memories trickle in. That first day when I saw Poppy sitting on the side of the road. Of how we sang it together that night on the rock to my mother. I didn’t know it back then. I was a dumbass, but that night when I first heard her sing this song, it changed my fucking life. The memories of the way she poured her heart out, and I saw how vulnerable she was. That tough girl with a sharp tongue had her vulnerabilities, just like me. Just thinking about it causes a pang in my chest.

When I hear my voice falter, I push those sad painful memories aside and do what I need to do, and that’s singing this song to our fans.

As Nate skillfully handles the drums, Ace joins me, his guitar slung across his shoulder, filling the air with its melodic sounds. As I look around, I see Theo not far behind me, playing bass. Though not related by blood, these guys have become my brothers, and I know they will always have my back. We understand each other. They get me, but only Theo comprehends the underlying reasons for my behavior when I first met him.

Over these past few years, I’ve had it with the record label trying to control things, doing anything to make headlines to get more sales. I don't give a damn about meeting their expectations anymore. Despite having wealth and fame, I still experience a sense of emptiness. People only hang out with us because we're a famous rock band with a sick record of twenty number-one hitsall over the world. Groupies merely allow us to fuck them so they can boast about hooking up with someone famous. However, there is an undeniable void in my life, and deep down, I know exactly what it is, even though I struggle to admit it aloud.

When the ache in my chest becomes unbearable, I find solace by drinking my sorrows away.

Ace has often referred to me as my father, and because of that, our arguments often escalate into physical confrontations. However, the reality of being a number one-selling rockstar is not at all what I had imagined.

I realize now that the record company couldn’t care less about us as long as we generate profits for them. Our songs, no let me rephrase that. My songs, the ones I pour my heart into, aren’t mine anymore. The label completely fucked us over when we signed our first contract. I despise how my life has unfolded, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

They have complete ownership over us, dictating our every moment basically, from the moment I wake up to the second I fall asleep. The only way I can regain some sense of control is by doing things my way, even if it attracts attention for the wrong reasons. Screw them.

Ace is always going on about how we're gonna lose our contract. Who cares if they threaten to rip it up? We are the hottest band at this label, even the fucking planet, and they’d be stupid to miss out on the millions we make for them every year. So let them fucking try.

As the last note of the song sounds, the audience erupts in applause that echoes throughout the entire stadium. It has been an incredible night. I cherish the sensation of being on stage, doing what I was born to do. Only one more show tomorrow night, and then we'll take a two-week break before our eight-week Australian tour.

My eyes lift and I see a drop-dead gorgeous blonde in the front row. I give her a flirty smirk. She fearlessly lifts her shirt, exposing a huge rack. Not bad. Not bad at all. Tonight, she will be my source of enjoyment. Groupies like her are always eager to please. And tonight will be no exception. She will worship me. This is the typical behavior of these groupies. She will surrender on her knees, her mouth yearning to satisfy.

I point towards her, motioning for our security Neil, who is well acquainted with my preferences and knows exactly what I’m looking for. He understands the type of person I want to spend my evening with - a blonde with considerable assets.

It’s well-known that our band relishes in the company of women and enjoys partying. After all, we are revered as rock gods by the world. People no longer perceive us as mere individuals, so it’s only natural that we indulge ourselves and have fun with groupies. They willingly offer themselves to us, so why shouldn’t we partake in the fun? So, I'm gonna get high and have a good time. Seriously, what else am I supposed to do?

The four of us move to the front of the stage, acknowledging the applauding crowd with a final wave goodnight. Then, we turn and exit the stage.

Out in the hall, Nate and Theo lead the way, eagerly hoping to choose a groupie to share. Meanwhile, Ace, my trusted companion since our school days, patiently walks at my side. His face says it all, telling me I've had way too much to drink.

“Great show tonight, man,” he says, giving me a reassuring pat on the back. I can sense that he wants to say more, but he’s hesitant, afraid of once again triggering a negative reaction from me.

“You good?” He asks me that question every time, fully aware that singing that song brings a deep pain to my heart. Back in our younger years, I told him that it’s my mother’s favorite song. But he doesn’t know the real reason for my pain.He doesn’t know that it’s because of Poppy, the only girl I’ve ever loved. I messed up big time with that amazing girl and treated her like she didn't matter.

“Yeah,” I lie, absentmindedly rubbing the hollow feeling in my chest. “I’m ready to party,” I say, avoiding eye contact with Ace so he doesn’t see right through my bullshit.

"We totally crushed it tonight," he says, like he knows he should change the subject.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I shrug. “The guitar solos seemed a bit off.” I give him a smug smile.

“Fuck you, man.” He jokingly traps me in a headlock with his thick tattooed arm.

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