Page 96 of Deliverance

That’s why I suck it up, shove this fury that fills me to the brim aside, and go on with my life. Just like I’ve been going for the past ten years.

Wake up. Get out of bed. Have breakfast. Play drums. Record albums. Only, now, this routine is spiced up by occasional text message exchanges with Drew.

As agreed, we’re taking it slow.

Literally. Since she’s horrible at responding and I feel like I’m in high school again, courting a girl I have a secret crush on, a girl who’s way out of my league, a girl I know I’ll be pursuing until I bleed and hurt all over, because I’m a masochist. I deserve pain for everything that Ihaven’tdone. And it’s not lost on anyone in the studio. Even placid Luca jokes about my attachment to my phone.

“It’s unhealthy, Shaw,” he says to me during one of our brainstorming sessions.

Stevie, who’s straddling a chair next to me, cranes his neck in an attempt to see my screen.

“Only if it’s porn, brother!” Leo snickers as he paces around the room, knuckles pressed to his ribcage, frown marring his brow.

We’re in a live room, trying to piece together the last two tracks. Everyone’s here, and although the ideas are rolling, the tension is palpable.

Sadly, so far we’ve got nothing solid. It’s definitelysomething, but the parts don’t fit well.

“Let’s change the tempo after the second verse,” Toby offers. He’s on the couch, hugging his Black Metal ESP. I’m not a huge guitar freak and can probably knock out just a few decent chords, but Toby’s guitar is a thing of rare beauty and I can appreciate a nice instrument when I see it.

“Nah.” Leo shakes his head and continues to pace. “Tempo stays the same.”

“Why not?” Jacob asks. “I think it’ll sound much better.”

“It could work if you want to convey intensity,” I agree, my gaze returning to the phone clutched in my hand. Somehow, right now I’m more interested in hearing Drew’s opinion about the latestStar Warsmovie than hearing another dumb suggestion on how to improve a song that doesn’t need any improving. Mainly because the song seems out of place and sounds like it’s ten years old.

“We did it on ‘Salamandra’,” Leo retorts.

“So?” Stevie questions with a shrug. “We also use the wordlostin every other song we put out.”

I hear a snort coming from Luca. He’s watching us with an expert eye, his expression somewhere between amused and bored.

“Zander’s right, though,” Jacob chimes in. “Changing the tempo will give the track a nice boost. It starts to lag after the second chorus.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Leo halts right in the center of the room and pins his bassist with a deadly stare. The vein in his forehead looks like it’s ready to pop.

“You said it yourself, you want us to be upfront about shit. So I’m being upfront with you about the song. It’s missing flare.”

A few long, intense moments pass in silence before Leo comes back—with a fucking vengeance, “Well, why don’t you write a new goddamn song with flare and all that other bullshit you think my songs are missing?”

“Wow, Red Bull much, bro?”

“More like candy.” Stevie coughs the words into his fist, sinking deeper into his chair. His remark goes unnoticed by the rest of the crew.

“Dude, come on!” Toby tries to diffuse the situation. “No one said your songs suck.”

“This dick bag just did.” Leo points at Jacob.

“Who you calling a dick bag?”

Things escalate at the speed of light, but as much as my conscience wants me to step in, I don’t feel that playing referee in a band that’s not mine is a good idea.

I’m not even sure why I’m here.

“He didn’t say your songs suck,” Toby blurts out. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading too much into it?” Leo scoffs. His gaze sweeps around the room and freezes on Luca, then darts over to me.

“We’re just brainstorming, man,” I explain, unease curling my stomach. Stevie is an insensitive ass, but for once, he might be right. I’m ready to bet my left arm that the Bleeding Faith frontman is back on E. “Five heads are better than one.”

---