Page 15 of In the Stars

“Okay.” She licks her lips and looks at me with so much heat I almost think she’ll incinerate me on the spot.

And I feel dead inside.

Shaking away the unhappiness that starts to snake through me, I grab the rolled up one-hundred-dollar bill, put it to my nose, then sniff the line of coke that’s laid out on the woman’s right tit. I tip my head back, not wanting to waste any of my high when my nose starts running. After a few beats, I do the other line in the other nostril.

“Mm, fuck,” I groan and close my eyes, the effects of the cocaine coursing through me. “This is some good shit.”

“The best I’ve ever had,” the woman says, and I hear her sit up and do a line. When she’s done, she climbs on my lap, her soft breasts pressed against my chest. “Now fuck me for the next few hours.”

I grin and open my eyes. I palm her left tit and flick my thumb over her nipple. “I think I can do that.”

A marathon sex session later, we’re both lying on our back, breathing heavily. “Wow,” she murmurs, laying her hand on my chest. “Better than I could have ever imagined. You fuck like a demon.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say, cringing away from her touch. “Time for you to go.”

Unlike most of my groupies, she doesn’t get pissed at the dismissal. “I figured. I’ll remember this night forever.” She tries to touch me again, but I dodge her hand. “Thanks, sugar. I’ll be at your show tonight.”

I grunt, and she gets the hint, sliding out of bed and getting dressed.

That same unhappiness rolls over me as before I fucked that woman into the mattress. Being sober always makes my mind wander to places they don’t need to be. Singing “In the Stars” last night was a mistake. It’s getting harder and harder to take the edge off.

Fuck, I need a fix.

I roll out of bed and go to my guitar case, pulling out the bag of pills. I’m not sure what pills are in here, but they’ll do the job.

Grabbing my bottle of vodka from the floor, I toss three pills in my mouth and chase it with a hearty swig. The sting of the alcohol barely registers. I gulp down more before I sigh and lie down.

Thankfully, my mind blanks, clear of everything but the lyrics for my songs. I purposefully push away “In the Stars”. I haven’t sung that song since my first tour. Thoughts of it always sent me spiraling, my feelings toward…him…jumbling up my mind.

“Fuck,” I groan again and grab my vodka, chugging the rest of the bottle. I need memories out of my head. Being dragged back to the past sends me on a bender, and I can’t afford that until the end of this tour. Then I’ll get blitzed out of my fucking mind until it’s time for me to act like a functional human being again.

The liquid barely passes my throat when exhaustion hits me. I grin lazily when I feel it sinking into my bones, pulling me under until there’s no hope to be free. I allow it to take over me.

Blissfully.

“Ryder,”I hear through a haze of wool stuffed in my ears. I wave the voice away like it’s an annoying insect and turn over, wanting to drift off again.

“Ryder!” The voice is louder and penetrates the fog of the drowsiness I was floating in. I sit up quickly and swing, my fist meeting soft flesh. A loud thump and a shout ring in my ears.

When I get my bearings, I look over to the floor and see Zed climbing to his feet, rubbing his reddened cheek.

I blink slowly, trying to make sense of why I’m in Zed’s bed. “Wha…” I glance around and realize that, no, I’m not in Zed’s bed. He’s in my room, and he’s not happy.

Grunting, I grab the empty liquor bottle, tossing it to theside in search of another. My head throbs, thumping in time with my frantic heartbeat. “What are you doing here?” I climb off the bed on my hands and knees and search for more booze or pills or…fucking anything.

Zed scoffs behind me. “Put some clothes on, Ryder. The show starts in fifteen minutes, and you already missed sound check.”

That’s unimportant right now. Nothing matters but stopping my head pounding and my mouth from being as dry as the fucking Sahara Desert. If I don’t get a fix, I’ll be sick, and that can’t happen before a show.

A heavy sigh greets my ears, but I don’t allow it to affect me. Zed sits heavily on the bed, the groans of the springs filling the room. “Ryder…look at yourself. You…you need some help.”

“No I don’t. I need vodka.” I find a bottle in my suitcase and open it quickly, chugging a quarter of it. With a sigh, I sit down on the floor and pull out another bottle of pills. Zed watches me with eyes filled with an emotion I fucking hate, so I look away and crack the pill bottle open. Since I have a show, I only pop two.

“Ryder. After the show, I’m going to get you some help. I didn’t think you were this bad. All rock stars do a little coke here and there, have a joint to level them out. But this.” He stands up and waves his hands around at my filthy room. Clothes are spilling out of my suitcase, one of my guitars is leaning against the wall, a string broken when I tried to tune it and snapped it off, vodka and tequila bottles litter the floor, and baggies from the coke I scored yesterday are empty and strewn about.

My eyes pass over the mess I made, but I can’t take it in. I’mfine. I don’t use that much. Last night was just a bad night, and I had to get thoughts of…him…off my mind. “It’s not that bad,” I say, struggling to rise from the floor. “You could help me, you fucker,” I say, crawling back to the bed to push myself to my feet.

“I’mtryingto help you. After this show, I’m calling the label and telling them we’re putting your next album on hold. You’ll check into a program and get clean.”

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