Page 32 of Bulletproof
CHAPTER EIGHT
Travis stared at the circles under his eyes, not as dark as they were yesterday. Actually, they were almost unnoticeable. He pulled on his cheek to inspect the white part of his eye, less red than they’dbeen in days. The afternoon spent with Derek and Bulletproof by the pool yesterday was a revelation. A loner his entire life, Travis never experienced the fun-loving horseplay of a close group of friends. It had been a nice break in the hectic schedule and one of the most relaxing days Travis had in a long time. He ran his hand over the mound of his butt cheek and it brought a calming smile tohis lips. But it didn’t last more than a few moments.
A sleeping pill had helped him sleep last night, but did nothing to calm the tornado whipping inside his head today. He leaned on the sink in the bathroom of the dressing room he shared with his bandmates, only minutes before they needed to head to the stage. He listened to his bandmates through the door, unfazed about the performancethat lay ahead. Once in front of the audience, Travis’ nerves disappeared and the high of it eradicated his anxiety. The performance was always fresh and filled with adrenaline. But now, with the show looming in the imminent future, nausea and fear made him tremble.
It had started late last night, after he and Derek returned from the tattoo shop. Worry about today’s show, along witha ton of other shit that ate away at him, had crept into the corners of his mind around midnight. By 1:00 a.m. he had needed to leave Derek’s suite and return to his own room to deal with his anxiety in private. The same concerns always haunted him. What if he forgot the lyrics, missed a cue, or simply fell flat? He worried if his voice would be strong enough and if his performance would hold theattention of the crowd. He worried he wasn’t good enough. Thoughts crowded together and made him dizzy. The turmoil in his stomach rose like a volcano and spewed vomit from his lips, hitting the sink with a vile splat. His hands shook on the vanity as his gut clenched so hard he groaned from the pain.
After he rinsed his mouth, he sat on the closed toilet lid and buried his face ina damp towel. He stuck his earbuds in and playedRx (Medicate)by Theory of a Deadman, his go-to song when his nerves acted up. When that didn’t help, he playedNovacaineby 10 Years. Feeling a little less stressed, he pulled the earbuds free and took a few deep breaths. The voices of his bandmates filtered through the door, and he listened to them discussing his stage fright, assuming he couldn’thear them.
“It’s normal,” Ricky said, in Travis’ defense. “Plenty of performers and celebs freak out before a show. As long as he delivers on stage, that’s all that counts.”
“For how long?” Troy, Reckless’ drummer, asked. “I’m worried that it’s only a matter of time before he crashes and burns. He’s out of control sometimes.”
“I say we give him an ultimatum,”Mark, the bassist, said. “Either he gets his shit together or we’re gonna look for a singer who doesn’t have a death wish.”
“I don’t know,” Ricky replied. “That doesn’t seem right. Technically, he hasn’t fucked up.”
“On stage,” Mark argued. “Off stage, he’s a wild card. He’s got no control. Now he’s hooking up with Derek MacAlister, another wild rock star who’s just ascrazy as Travis. Who knows what kind of shit they’re gonna get into together? We worked too hard to get this record deal. I don’t want it fucked up because of Travis’ stupidity.”
“But do we have a record deal without Travis?” Ricky asked.
As Travis listened behind the obscurity of the bathroom door, anger rose in his belly like a rogue wave. It washed over his chest andflew up into his throat until it had nowhere else to go and exploded in his brain. He kicked open the bathroom door, startling his bandmates. He marched into the dressing room, fists clenched so hard his short nails left half-moon marks on his palms. “I can fucking hear you, assholes!” His eyes landed on Mark, the instigator of this fucked up treacherous conversation. “Don’t ever fucking threatento kick me out of the band! This ismyband! If you don’t like it, you take a fuckin’ walk! I put Reckless together. Don’t ever forget that!” He poked his finger in Mark’s chest. “And if you ever say anything about Derek MacAlister again, I’ll knock your fucking head off!”
Mark shoved Travis with force and strength that Travis didn’t expect, and he stumbled backward.
“Back off!” Mark barked. “You’re a fucking wreck. Straighten your shit out. We’re on top of the world right now and you’re gonna screw up everything. You’re out of control. It’s only a matter of time before you derail this band.”
Travis was enraged. Mainly because everything Mark said mirrored every fear inside his head. He was a fuck up, just like he’d been told his entire life. Hisunsettled thoughts had his head spinning. He was trying his hardest to deal with the craziness and the pressure, which at times was too much to handle. He wanted the fame and success just as much as the rest of them, but he was teetering on falling into a black hole, swallowed up by all of it. “You think it’s so fucking easy, Mark? You go out there and be the frontman. You engage the crowd. Youwrite the lyrics. You walk to the front of the stage and sing them.” The words left Travis’ mouth so fast he could barely take a breath. “I’d like to see you try it. I’m up all fucking night worrying about everything and working on lyrics. And Derek is the only one who shows me any kind of empathy and tells me that everything’s gonna be alright. He’s the only one who calms the tsunami of anxietythat rips my gut apart. Maybe you’re just jealous that someone as famous and talented as Derek MacAlister is interested in me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“No. You’re the asshole. You’re all assholes. Derek and the guys from Bulletproof have been better friends to me than any of you have been.”
“Fuck you.” Mark snarled. “If you’re so enamored by them, then go joinBulletproof. Go. Get outta here.” Mark shoved Travis again, not as hard as last time, but Travis stumbled backward and tripped over someone’s tennis shoes. He fell to the floor, clearing the contents of the credenza and sending beer bottles and soda cans to the floor. Enraged, he shot to his feet and dove at Mark. A fist to his jaw stopped him like a sledgehammer. His head snapped back, bloodfilled his mouth, and his ears rang from the force of the blow. He swung and hit Mark square in the nose, causing an explosion of pain to shoot through his hand. “Fuck!” He shook out his fist and bent over at the waist from the pain, just as Mark rushed toward him. His cheekbone collided with Mark’s skull as if he had hit a cement wall. A gong went off in his head. Pain and white spots blinded himas his eye swelled closed. He barely heard Ricky and Troy yelling, their voices sounding as if they were underwater, as they pulled him and Mark in opposite directions.
He pulled himself free and cleared his head just as the band’s tour manager entered the dressing room.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Travis and Mark both started blaming the other andhurling insults back and forth.
“Quiet!” the tour manager shouted. “You’re supposed to be on stage in five minutes.” He looked at the blood dripping from Mark’s nose and at Travis’ swollen face. “I think you both better go to the hospital.”
“I’m fucking fine.” Travis pushed past everyone and stomped out the door toward the stage. He had no idea if the rest of them werefollowing him or not, or what he would do if they weren’t. He couldn’t exactly go out there and perform without a band behind him. Fury and determination had his blood pumping so hard he didn’t let it deter him. He’d figure it out once he was on stage. Anger had never consumed him so fully, so whole-heartedly. Not even when he was a kid and one of his foster parents beat him with a leather beltfor something their kid did – something he took the blame for – had he felt such blinding fury. He kept walking, spurred on by the anger seething in his veins.
Heavy footsteps made Travis turn quickly. For a second, he thought he was getting jumped from behind by Mark, but it was all of them following him to the stage. Ricky and Troy were directly behind him, acting as a buffer betweenhim and Mark, who had a wad of tissue stuffed in both nostrils.
Travis stomped onto the stage. All nerves and jitters gone, replaced by hostility and attitude. A spotlight shown down from the rafters and the crowd cheered. Fans in the first few rows quieted and stared at his fat lip and swollen eye. A warm, harsh metallic taste filled Travis’ mouth, and he spat a wad of clotted blood,mucus and saliva onto the stage floor. He lifted his right hand to grab the mic, but it was numb and useless. Fuck it. He’d use his left hand. He took a step closer to the edge of the stage and brought the mic to his lips. “Rock and roll is all about blood and guts. It ain’t pretty. And I’m giving it to you right here. Raw and unfiltered.”
The music started, and he sang for the nextthirty minutes with his right hand curled like a wretched old woman’s and one eye burning and sealed shut. His lip was bloody and bruised, his words a little slurred, but he delivered a performance that no one would ever forget. The fans screamed louder than ever before. Girls sat on their boyfriend’s shoulders. Fists pounded the air. Reckless T-shirts waved like flags. Crowd surfers tumbled towardthe front of the stage. The audience was alive, fueled by the authenticity of hardcore rock and roll.
When Reckless’ set was over and Travis left the stage, Mark came up to him. “Respect. You commanded the crowd. A lesser man would have walked off after the fight.”
It wasn’t an apology, but respect was all that mattered. Travis didn’t tell Mark it was OK or not to worryabout what had happened, because those were bullshit auto-replies. Travis was still pissed as fuck and the remarks weren’t going to be forgotten – ever. He’d probably replay the whole scene in his head for countless hours, another reason to rob him of sleep between the hours of midnight and six a.m. “Did I break your nose?”
Mark nodded. “I think so.”
A crooked smile passedover Travis’ lips. “Good, because I think I broke my hand.”
