Page 26 of Doesn't Count

“Sure.” He says, unconvinced, but at least he drops it.

He opens the back door to the Revolution Music Room, and I follow him inside. We walk down the long hallway to get to the green room where the rest of the band is. I drop my equipment onto the leather couch along the wall and pull my camcorder out. This is the stuff I want to capture, the candid moments before a show. I want to know how each member gets into character before walking out onto the stage in front of hundreds of people.

I switch the camera on, taking in the room. I spot a long table in the center covered in food ranging from doughnuts to veggies and suddenly I’m starving. I keep filming, but sneak a few bites of a bagel, chewing away from the mic.

I try to make myself invisible, but I know the presence of a video camera puts Khaos on high alert. He doesn’t notice me though; his back is turned toward the black wall by the body length mirrors. I see a plume of smoke surrounding him and realize it’s weed from the smell of it. Next to him are the others, they’re sitting on another leather couch, pouring white powder onto the coffee table in front of them.

I zoom in, getting Hypnos taking the first hit. He wipes his nose and jumps up from the couch with a loud “Woo!” He’s swinging his arms back and forth, jumping from foot to foot. He’s amped and the others are soon to follow. I watch each one of them get high, their adrenaline through the roof and I wonder to myself if it’s something they always do before a show.

Khaos stays in the corner, face turned towards the wall, finishing his blunt. It’s another hour before the guys start to get ready. I’m too afraid at this point to ask questions because it seems like they don’t notice me. Even the lead singer hasignored the fact that I’m filming, he certainly looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t told me to stop.

I watch as the guys rip their shirts off, Hypnos tossing his in my direction, landing on my head. I giggle, throwing it right back, earning a red eyed glare from Khaos. He seems perpetually pissed, but I refuse to let it get in the way.

They slip their black cloaks on, the same ones that they wore the first night I was with them. It brings back a sense of fear in me and my smile drops. They put their outfits on like they’re getting ready for a sacrifice, it’s ritualistic.

I bring the camera over to Khaos who’s yet to get dressed. Some small, petite woman is brushing his bare torso with black paint, coating him from the neck down to his waist. As she gets lower, he pushes down against his belt, his muscles contracting as she paints even lower. My breath hitches and I forget I'm even filming because I’m in such a trance. He turns his head briefly and our eyes meet, like he knew I was watching. I don’t look away this time, the camera my buffer.

“Why the black paint?” I call out to him.

Khaos shrugs, “I wear my soul on my skin.”

“Cringe.” I scrunch my face and am met with a small smirk.

It’s the first time I really take note of the lower half of his face now that he has his stage mask on and the smirk he gives me lights a fire in my belly. I’ve gone all this time wondering what it would look like since he does it so often – I can tell by his eyes – and all I can say is that it doesn’t help my fight.

Entranced, I come a little closer, inspecting him completely. He looks nothing like I expected a God to look and everything like the demon he is. His white mask is harsh against his black painted face, red smeared like bloody fingers dragged against the floor. He’s the embodiment of darkness... of oblivion, a black abyss.

My eyes finally fall to his full lips, his strikingly white teethblinding against the black paint just like his mask. It’s a mouth that can do so much more than spit hate, it’s a mouth that every woman dreams of. My gaze trails from his lips to his sharp chin, coated in a light scruff. In this moment, he’s suffocatingly powerful, even if he doesn’t mean to be.

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me.” He says directly to the camera.

As soon as he speaks, my mind comes plummeting back to reality. I lower the camera, shutting it off, reminding myself to edit that part out.

“I don’t kiss.” I tell him.

“That’s right, you’re a prude.” He taunts.

“What is with you? Why do you care so much?” I push.

“I don’t. Seems fitting actually. Even your boss knows that you don’t take risks.” He goads.

I shake my head in disbelief, “For your information, I do take risks. I’m here, aren’t I? Risking my sanity to do your band a favor!”

“A favor? We are paying you...”

“Well, there you go, then. Another reason we shouldn’t be discussing our sex lives!” I add.

He laughs, the fight in him dwindling. “Oh Ash. Humor me for a second.” Khaos grabs the front of my dress and pulls me closer to him. The smell of weed mixed with wet paint makes my knees weak. “Have you really never kissed a guy?”

I shake my head, my limbs numb. His fist tightens in the fabric of my dress like he expects I’ll push him away again.

“Not one?” He whispers in my ear.

“Only one, but I don’t count it.” I admit.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t a kiss. It was the big red button that says do not push and someone was dumb enough to push it, detonating a bomb that left my life in shambles.”

---