Page 69 of Bulletproof
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Over the nextfew days, Travis had relaxed enough to get some writing done, which was a major accomplishment, since the four-week tour with Bulletproof was at an end. It had been phenomenal, but the last show held a sense of relief for Travis. The pressure of performing night after night would be gone. No longer would the need to overanalyze his performance consume him. Worry about the next show would disappear.
The short-lived sigh of contentment trickled away as the next layer of expectations hit him. Reckless needed to deliver 16 possible tracks for their first full-length album to the label in a few weeks. Travis had hoped to finish most of the lyrics while on tour, but his sleepless nights were filled with an overactive brain that couldn’t concentrate, and his free days were filled witha long-haired guitarist who had stolen his heart. And the lyrics were far from complete.
He glanced around the dressing room at his bandmates and fidgeted while he waited for the small dose of anti-anxiety medication to kick in. He hated nothing more than these moments after sound check when he had nothing to do but wait for the show to start. He decided to make another genuine effortto interact with his bandmates. “I have lyrics. We could run through them now. If you want to hear them.”
Ricky grabbed his acoustic guitar, excited about progress on the album. “Which track?”
“Eleven.” They already had music compositions for the 16 tracks. The first eight had lyrics and were more or less complete and ready to record. The rest were still waiting for Travisto write the lyrics and titles in order to finish out the set they planned to present to their A&R executive in a little less than a month.
Travis opened his notebook, because he was old school. Most people wrote lyrics on a computer or laptop, but Travis still loved the ritual of pen and paper. He quickly read through the words before he signaled to Ricky that he was ready. Travischose to start this track with a melodic tone before shifting into a faster gear at the chorus, and that’s what he loved about it. After the first two verses, tapping his foot and feeling the music in his soul, Ricky interrupted him.
“This isn’t working.” Ricky stopped playing and shook his head. “The lyrics are good, but you have to speed it up, man. Make it more grungy. Sing itwith more attitude.”
“This part of the song is slower. It picks up.”
“What if we don’t want it to be slow?” Ricky asked. “I don’t think any of us envisioned it that way when we wrote the music.”
“You gotta hear the whole thing. The verses are melodic and the chorus is hardcore. A blend.”
Mark huffed, barging into the conversation. “I don’t thinkI want that.” He looked at Ricky and Troy for support. “I agree. The lyrics are good,” his tone softened, “just not the way you’re singing them. Change it. Get rough.”
“Let’s take a vote,” Ricky said, dismissing Travis’ take on the song.
“Would you at least hear the song first?” Travis scowled, his face growing hotter and biting back his temper. “Let me sing it beforeyou vote me down.”
“We’re voting. I say we keep the tempo fast throughout the entire song, the way we wrote it.” Mark raised his hand and looked around to see who was with him. Troy also raised his hand, so everyone looked at Ricky for the deciding vote.
Travis snarled his lip at the wall of opposition in front of him.
“I don’t give a fuck either way,” Rickyfinally said. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“Two against two.” Travis practically spat the words. “That means I do it both ways, and then we present it to A&R to decide which way works best.”
“Let’s hear it.” Ricky repositioned the guitar on his lap and started the song again.
This time, Travis’ voice had a little waver in it. His God damn nerves were shaking hisconfidence and it showed in his voice. He was so tired of the bullshit. He was done fighting for his point of view to be taken seriously. He stopped singing, defeated and too pissed off to continue.
It took Ricky a few notes before he realized that something was wrong. “What now? Are we doing this or not?”
“You guys constantly fuck my head up, you know that? Do you doit on purpose?”
“No. Don’t blame us,” Ricky said, defensively.
“You’re all fucked up on your own,” Mark said, with a laugh.
A rush of anger barreled through Travis and sent his head spiraling with disbelief. When the fuck were they going to stop taunting him? He opened his mouth, ready to blast his bandmates for their lack of support, but nothing came out.They stared back at him, waiting for him to continue, while he struggled to form a coherent sentence. Thoughts were whipping around in his brain like a tornado and they needed to slow down so he could speak. He stammered a bunch of syllables before he gave up all together. “Fuck this bullshit!” He threw his hands in the air and stomped into the bathroom and closed the door. He splashed cold wateron his face, but it did little to calm the rising heat in his cheeks. He wished Derek was here to talk to, to calm him, to tell him everything was going to be alright, but Bulletproof had a meet and greet. Besides, Travis was determined to deal with shit on his own. Apparently, it wasn’t working out so well tonight, and he really needed Derek.
With Bulletproof’s busy schedule, heprobably wouldn’t see Derek until the end of the night. He took a few deep breaths in order to calm down, then paced the length of the small bathroom, stopped, closed the lid on the bowl and sat down. He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the app with his vocal exercises. Unable to concentrate, his voice fluctuated off-key several times, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop thinking abouthow hard he had worked on those lyrics and how quickly Mark wanted to dismiss his take on the song. Frustrated, he abandoned his vocal exercises and exited the bathroom. He found his notebook and tucked it under his arm. As he prepared himself a cup of the lemon-honey mixture Brandon had shared with him, he felt the watchful eyes of his bandmates on him. He ignored them, determined to finish hisvocal exercises, and get a grip on his escalating temper. He snubbed his nose at them, head held high, and returned to the bathroom with as much pride as someone could have under the circumstances. The walls closed in on him as soon as he shut the door, so he returned to the dressing room. Everyone had been talking, but stopped as soon as they saw him. Without looking at any of them, he sat in thechair and scrolled through his phone. He re-read some of his text messages with Derek, for no other reason than to find solace in an exchange with his lover.
Bored and impatient for the show to start, his mind started to drift. After a while, his knee started to bounce, and he chewed on his bottom lip, growing more anxious with each agitated breath. The room grew hot and sweltering,and Travis wanted out of there, but he needed to keep it together because his bandmates were watching him, as if he was a ticking time bomb. The whole fucking room was on edge. He stuck his hand in his pocket and wrapped it around the prescription bottle. He pulled it free and looked at it for a moment, debating whether or not to take another pill. After staring at the amber bottle for severalseconds, he popped a full pill into his mouth and swallowed it with the tea. He took a whole pill, not the half that he usually took to calm his nerves, like he had 30 minutes earlier. It was a larger dose than he’d ever taken, but he needed it. Slowly, his knee steadied and his fingers settled on the arm of the chair. No longer did he care that his bandmates watched him. He didn’t give a shit ifthey stared hard enough to bore a fucking hole right through him.
Slightly euphoric, with his scalp tingling, Travis felt confident as he headed to the stage. His muscles were slack, void of tension, and the ease in his stride hadn’t been there before a show in a very long time. Now Travis understood why the doctor insisted the pills would help and that he should take the full doseregularly. He didn’t know why he fought taking them for so long.
He ran on stage, grabbed the mic and sang the first verse of the first song. The fans cheered, fueling his self-assurance, and he strutted across the apron. When the first song was over, he greeted the crowd with exuberance. “Hello, Phoenix! This is our last show with Bulletproof, and we’re stoked to share it with you!”As he transitioned into the second song, he felt lightheaded. The glare of the bright lights blinded him and sent spots in front of his eyes. He listened to the music and his vocals through his earpiece, but it sounded as if someone else was singing the lyrics. And then his mouth stopped working. His speech slurred, distorting his words. The lyrics became an incoherent mesh of syllables that madeno sense. A shiver ran over his skin. His worst nightmare – that he would lose his voice on stage – had just materialized, and he watched as if looking at himself from outside his body. He looked at the faces in the audience. He could see each one clearly, all staring at him with a judgmental squint in their eyes. They waited for him to regain his momentum, which was only going further off kilter.He didn’t dare turn to his bandmates, but he heard the music continue as if nothing was wrong. As if they didn’t need him to perform. The song could, and did, continue whether or not he sang the lyrics.
Perspiration spilled down his cheeks in thick streaks. Transfixed to the stage, unable to move his feet, he helplessly watched the gaping stares of the audience. As if someone flippeda switch, he regained control over his limbs and bolted off stage, and ran right into Derek.
