Page 7 of Thanks for Coming Along

"Of course, I feel like I am Willy Wonka when I eat those. How do they do it?"

"Dark magic? They probably sacrifice poor, defenseless kidney beans to Satan to create those monstrosities."

"Time to get dressed, Eden." A voice spoke behind them. Ronan withdrew slightly, realizing he was leaning into her like a wilted flower to a warm and glowing sun. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. He was beginning to realize this would be harder than he originally thought and for an entirely different reason.

4

Eden

She needed a small village to help her shimmy into her leather pants. They'd resorted to using lotion to lube up her legs, each leg a defiant struggle against the confines of the pants. It was an intense game of tug-of-war, but she somehow managed to wrangle herself into those pants without popping a blood vessel. The end result was undeniable, though. Her ass looked nothing short of amazing in those leather pants, and it made every drop of effort entirely worthwhile. She paired the look with a mesh top, a bra under, and trusty chunky combat boots.

As Eden and her bandmates gathered near the curtain, the faint hum of anticipation permeated the air. Her eyes scanned the audience, taking in the emotions etched on each face—excitement, anticipation. An inescapable grin found its way onto her face. She marveled at the sea of faces, the countless fans who had come to hear her music. It was an indescribable sensation, surreal even after all these shows that so many people were bound together by her music.

Her gaze caught on a tall man adjusting a camera—Ronan. A grin tugged at her lips. His dark, slightly messy brown hair fell over a furrowed brow, and his stormy green eyes were locked on the task in front of him. He moved with a calm confidence, every action measured and deliberate. In just one conversation, he’d managed to catch her attention. There was something magnetic about him—the quiet intensity he carried, the slight curve of his shoulders, as if he bore some unseen weight. It wasn’t often she felt genuinely intrigued by someone. Most people she met were easy to figure out—charmed by her fame, her money, or her looks. But Ronan was different, and that alone made her take notice.

Before signing the documentary contract, she had done her homework. When she reviewed the contract, her eyes immediately latched onto the name of the person interviewing her for the next 10 weeks - Ronan Murphy. Admittedly, she didn't watch the news all that often. She would usually skim the 'Broadcast News Network' homepage every few days to keep up with international events. His name wasn't familiar to her, so she quickly searched the BNN website and found his profile. To her surprise, Ronan Murphy was nothing like what she had expected. She had half-anticipated a gray-haired, middle-aged man, someone bland like white bread. Instead, what she found was Ronan, and he was atotal and complete babe. With his strikingly chiseled features and a look more suitable for a fashion magazine, Ronan could have easily been featured in a men’s shaving cream advertisement, instead of working as a reporter in a war zone.

Armed with this information, curiosity got the better of her. It was well within her unalienable rights to see this hottie in action. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, right? So, she delved into Ronan's videos, watching video after video of him on the frontlines where bombs exploded in the distance. It was humbling, really. Seeing the incredible work he was doing made her feel small in comparison. He risked his life documenting what was happening in war-torn, dangerous regions, pushing the boundaries to give voice to those who needed it most.It was extraordinary, to say the least, staggering. Full-on took her breath away. He ended every broadcast the same way."That's all for now. Thank you for coming along, I'm Ronan Murphy, and this is BNN. Goodnight."

She had been beyond nervous when he had interviewed her. She tried to play it off with quick quips but felt physically ill with the prospect of sharing the personal details of her life. She yearned for connection and understanding, but the walls she had built up over the years were more than complex to knock down.

Ingrid had been a steady presence in her life; she had been there for her since they were teenagers. While Quentin was a newer addition to her life, he had been persistent in trying to earn her friendship. He had been a driving force in turning her life around a few months ago.

She had been in a dark place after her highly publicized breakup. A breakup didn't cover what happened; it was more like a public execution. Eden strung up for all the townspeople to gawk at and throw their verbal tomatoes at. Ingrid and Quentin stood by her side, even when it would have been easier for them to leave her behind. She was grateful they were determined to stay in her life even when she was determined to self-sabotage.

The breakup was a drop in a bucket; her entire existence had taught her to master the art of deflecting questions, redirecting conversations away from the painful inner recesses of her mind. She was terrified of being seen and truly known. She could sing and play the guitar in front of thousands of people, but the idea of sitting down with one person and unveiling the most vulnerable parts of herself scared her shitless.

She’d experienced firsthand how the public eye could tear someone apart, leaving them a shadow of who they used to be. People talked about her like she wasn’t even human, just because she was a “celebrity.” It seemed like the moment you stepped into the spotlight, you became fair game—anyone could say whatever they wanted about you, no matter how cruel, and justify it by claiming you’d chosen this life.

Therapy had helped her immensely. It had taken a long time to unravel the tangled web of her emotions and her past trauma. Her life had never been easy, and her childhood had been difficult, to say the least. Her therapist had said that she had experienced emotional and physical abandonment as a child, something that she still grappled with. Growing up wealthy meant that, from an outside perspective, she looked to be taken care of. But even though she was provided for physically. Emotionally, it was a different story.

The venue's lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness. Eden could feel the crowd's restlessness building. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her senses sharpened. Her skin prickled, and her eyes burned with anticipation; this was a feeling she knew well. In the dark, the band members found their positions: Beck took his place behind the drums while Finn and Reef flanked the stage on either side. The audience's roars pierced Eden's ears. Standing at the center of the stage, towards the front, she was enveloped in the pitch darkness. The reverberating screams of the crowd washed over her, and she let the sound seep into her skin. The palpable energy thickened the air, and her breath quickened in response.

Then, the bright lights suddenly beat down on her head. The screams got impossibly louder when the band became visible in the bright lights. As the chords of the opening song started, she felt a film of sweat covering her hairline, her fingers moving smoothly with muscle memory on the guitar in her hands. Eden felt complete when she played live. She could feel the energy the crowd was radiating, the excitement they emitted. It was a living, breathing thing.

Music allowed her to channel her pain into a language that transcends words. In each chord strummed, each note played, she found a release, a way to navigate her mind. When the people closest to her betrayed her or when people who had never met her slandered her, she turned to music as a lifeline; it was a buoy that kept her afloat in the harshest and coldest of waters.

Her electric guitar was a steady weight in her hands as she pressed the steel strings until her fingers ached. The drums behind her pumped through her chest and shook her legs. It felt like an external heartbeat bringing her alive again. Her voice rang out in the speakers as she sang the lyrics. She saw the crowd singing along with her song and couldn't help but beam as she heard their voices joining in harmony with the words she'd written. The bright stage lights shone into her eyes, momentarily blinding her, but she could discern the documentary crew's camera operators scattered around the stage. Additional cameras were positioned on the sides.

Amidst it all, she caught sight of Ronan, camera in hand, behind the barrier separating the stage from the crowd. His moss-green eyes appeared to glow, and a surge of warmth radiated from her chest. It was probably from the heat of the stage lights. As the song climaxed, the crowd began to jump in rhythm.

"Do you guys know what the wall of death is?" Eden yelled to the crowd. A thunderous, resolute "YES!" echoed back from the crowd. Reef's persistent guitar riff pulsed through the air as Eden addressed the audience, the security guards in the pits exchanging anxious glances. Security seemed less excited by the prospect of the audience dividing down the middle into two halves on either side of the venue, with each half running towards the other, ultimately colliding in a chaotic mass.

Carefully, she set her ruby red Squier electric guitar down on the sleek black stage floor, stepping away to fully engage with the crowd.

"Should we try it?" Eden goaded the crowd, fully embracing her Eden persona, a slightly amplified version of herself. Interacting with the energy of the crowd was her favorite. "YES!" The audience thundered in response, the volume of their collective voice rising steadily. Eden strolled to the front of the stage, the cheers swelling even louder in anticipation. She grabbed the portable microphone off the stand; its cool metal felt weighty and familiar in her hand.

"I need you to split down the middle for me." The crowd obediently parted, creating a narrow runway for her. With the mic firmly in her grip, she dropped off the stage and effortlessly scaled the barrier into the sea of fans. The security guards scrambled to maintain order behind the barrier, their eyes locked on Eden's every move.

"Everyone!" Eden called as she walked through the crowd, the screaming growing louder as she was now eye level with the crowd. Countless faces whizzed by her as she jogged to the end of the split in the crowd, the raw excitement of the fans electrifying the air around her. Her heart thundered in her chest while the euphoria washed over her, her head feeling light as she reveled in the palpable energy of the moment. Hundreds of hands reached out to touch her arms and legs as she reached the end of the divide in the crowd.

"When the beat drops, I need you all to go fucking insane!" Eden's voice erupted through the microphone, cutting through the deafening roars of the crowd. The intensity of their cheers reverberated in her eardrums, making her feel like they might burst at any moment.

As her band kicked into action and the music surged around her, Eden launched into the verse, and just before the chorus was set to hit, she yelled, "1, 2, 3 GO!" The crowd surged together, crashing into her. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she teetered on the edge of fear and exhilaration. All she could do was laugh, her senses enveloped in the mingling scents of sweat and beer. Eden jumped along with the crowd, becoming one with the frenzied sea of fans. Their screams reached a fever pitch. After catching her breath, she belted out the final chorus while standing among the mass of the crowd.

"Can you send me back to the stage?" Eden called out, a willing crowd member hoisting her from under her arms. More joined in, collectively carrying her through the crowd of bodies, a chorus of hands pushing her above the audience back toward the front of the room. As she approached, her security guards reached out, hoisting her back onto the stage.

"We aren't done yet!" she screamed, igniting another explosive reaction from the audience. The night was just getting started.

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