Page 1 of Grave Misgivings
CHAPTER 1
Geo
“Just a little to the left,”Kevin, my manager, directs.
I shift my weight, turning my torso slightly to the left, and the camera flashes.
“No, no. I mean your whole body, Geo. I want you to pull that arm back, show off those fucking muscles and abs you work so hard for.”
I roll my eyes, biting my tongue as I do what he says, even though it pisses me off.
But then again, photo shootsalwayspiss me off. Everyone’s so demanding and brutal in how they talk to you, let alone how they pose you.
You think after ten years, I’d be used to this. But every time it’s like a fresh hell.
I shouldn’t have to show my abs to sell records.
I didn’t need abs when I was part of the Christian Rock circuit.
I shove the thought away, because I know that only leads me to depression. Any time I think about how thingsusedto be before I signed with Casualty Records usually puts me in a funk.
And the last thing I want is to look as pissy as I feel for these promo images CasualtydemandedI get for the upcomingPillars Of RockTour.
Seriously, even Mateo and Felix don’t have to endure this as much as I do.
Probably because they are walking wet dreams, and I’m a fucking forty-year-old virgin. God save me.
Okay, well, I’m not fortyyet,but close enough. My damn birthday is about a month and a half away, and I’ll actually be home in Arizona to perform and to celebrate with my family during the tour.
Though I can’t say I’m thrilled to be going home, either, because I know that’s a clusterfuck waiting to happen too. Because I’ll be nearhim.
My former bandmate, Zebulon Ingram, aka Zeb, is one of those things in life that I am convinced exists to remind me that nothing can be perfect.
That I am not without sin, and I am not without consequence.
Leaving home to pursue this record deal was everything I’d prayed for. For myself, and for us as a band, even though, technically, he was just my guitarist.
But Zeb didn’twantthe fame and fortune, the bright shiny lights.
And he didn’t want tochangehimself.
As far as I was concerned, my image was a fair trade for the fame and fortune. If Casualty wanted to transform me like Katniss in theHunger Gamesfrom a scrawny, nerdy Christian boy next door into a dark, sculpted, tattooed rockstar, I was more than game. This was mydream.
Playing sold out shows, hearing my song on the radio, and experiencing the world on a grander scale than Posdosh, Arizona could ever offer me.
My family thought I was selling my soul to the literal devil, and maybe they were right.
The devil is in the details, after all, and the details are what keep my checks coming in, what keeps me on the label despite my floundering sales as of late.
“Okay, better, but can you lean back a little more and grab your cock?”
I shoot Kevin a look of disdain, gaping at him. “Absolutely not!” I bark, feeling a fresh bout of anger and embarrassment.
Kevin only shrugs. “It was worth a shot,” he replies as the cameras flash.
“Highly inappropriate,” I respond, feeling flustered.
I’m not stupid, I know sex sells, but I also know that part of that has to do with confidence. Confidence I don’t fucking have, because sex is very much removed from my life. That whole fake it ‘til you make it thing... yeah, I am not good atthat—the being sexy thing—at all.
