Page 16 of Punk Rock Reflection
The smile on Tommy’s face withered, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. Unsure where to look, his eyes dropped to the floor for a few brief seconds. “Um. What are you girls doing today?”
Again, Jessi’s gaze shifted between Tommy and Audra, Alyssa, and Kira. “We’re having a girls’ day,” she answered, when it became apparent that no one else planned on saying anything.
“That’s cool,” Tommy replied, meeting their collective stares.
Another quiet moment passed before Kira added, “We’re going to the spa.”
Tommy nodded, unused to the awkwardness and the deadpan looks on everyone’s faces. He felt distanced, as if there were a wall or barrier between him and them. It hurt because he loved them like sisters. “OK. Have fun,” he said, before sulking outside.
He wanted to ask Audra and Alyssa about Jimmy and Damien, but there was too much tension in the room. It was weird and uncomfortable, and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He texted both Jimmy and Damien separately with the same message.
TOMMY: Checking in again. I realize you need time to process. I don’t want to re-hash everything. I don’t want you to be pissed. Just let me know we’re cool. Or if we’re not.
He waited, and, thankfully, a reply came through.
JIMMY: We’re cool. I don’t get it. But like you said I’m processing it.
Tommy let out a deep breath, and some of the tightness in his chest loosened up. He started to type a reply, but another message dinged.
DAMIEN: Yeah. I’m pissed. It ain’t cool.
The tightness returned like a vice, this time bringing a whirlpool with it.
DAMIEN: But I’m trying to deal with it.
DAMIEN: Trying is the key word in that sentence.
The phone felt like a lead weight in Tommy’s hand, and he dropped his arm. He didn’t know what to do, so he walked aimlessly through the garden. Trouble with his bandmates left an acrid ache in his heart. They were his best friends, and he regarded them as family. They never suffered from the drama, personality clashes, and super-sized egos that most bands had to deal with, so this was foreign territory.
He stopped to sit on the wrought iron bench next to a fig tree and hung his head. A heavy sense of dread filled his chest at the idea that things wouldn’t be the same between them and everything he knew and loved would implode. The guilt was killing him, but he needed to be strong.
He didn’t send any more texts or calls to Jimmy or Damien, but three days later he found them in the basement studio with Angel. No one told him they were coming by, not even Angel. He just happened to look out the front window and spotted Jimmy’s Lambo and Damien’s Ferrari in the driveway.
When no one was in the kitchen or the great room, Tommy knew they were in the studio, as if they wanted privacy to talk where he couldn’t hear them.
“What the fuck?” he said, standing at the bottom of the staircase, his outstretched arms and hard eyes conveying his annoyance.
“Hey, man.” Jimmy was unfazed by Tommy’s attitude and approached with his hand extended for a bro-shake.
The familiar greeting and pat on the shoulder made the tension leave Tommy’s brow, until he saw Damien’s expression.
The sneer and narrowed eyes on the guy’s face, along with his spiked leather jacket, Mohawk, and gory tattoos probably would have the toughest thug shy away, but not Tommy.
“I get it. You’re pissed.” Tommy marched toward Damien. “Go ahead. Say what you gotta say. It’s not going to change my mind.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed further, so they were angry slits. “You got no idea. Not a fucking clue how I feel right now.”
“You have no fucking idea how I feel either. You think it was easy to tell you guys I wanted out? It’s the hardest thing I ever had to do. You think I’m not feeling guilty? You think I’m not worried that I’m losing my best friends over this?”
Out of his peripheral vision, Tommy saw Jimmy and Angel watching the unprecedented hostile exchange, their heads moving back and forth between Damien and Tommy as if they were watching the U.S. Open.
“Back off,” Damien barked, and that’s when Tommy realized that he had stepped into the guy’s personal space.
“Look,” Tommy said, taking a step back. “I feel like shit. I wasn’t happy with the monotony of touring and writing music and living up to the expectations of the label. I did something about it. Now, I feel even worse because you guys are pissed off. What was I supposed to do?”
Damien was quiet for a moment and stared at Tommy with his nostrils flaring and his lips pursed together. “I don’t know,” Damien snapped. “I’m just pissed. You would be, too, if I dropped this bomb on you. So, stop coming at me.”
