Page 65 of Drag Me Down

I don’t want to exist anymore.

Twenty-Nine

Hail

“Hail,youhavetoget out there. You’re on in five,” Sondra orders. She keeps her distance, and a spark of guilt hits me because she recognizes how messed up I’ve been. I emphasize that point as my fist slams into the side of the tour bus hard enough to break skin. I get that pain won’t bring him back, but at least it’s a reminder of reality.

I’ve never been an aggressive person, no matter what the fans believe when I fill up that stage with carnal rage. Normally, I bottle up all of my frustrations and leave it out there for the fans, so by the time the show’s over, there’s nothing angry left tumbling around inside of me.

But it’s our first show since Z vanished off the face of the fucking planet, and his absence is noticed by everyone. The crew has been graveyard silent between shows outside of their normal meetings. Z hasn’t answered any of our calls or texts. And while I’ve been tempted to search for family members online, I don’t think he has much of a relationship with them from the hints he’s given me.

Hell, if I went missing, not only would my parents not know where I ended up, but they probably wouldn’t care. I can hear my dad bitching about the effort of having to peel me out of some back-alley dumpster.

With all the fucking outcries the media is making about us right now, they can’t seem to put their little detective brains together to help us locate Z.

Shaking my throbbing hand with a curse, I catch Liam staring at me from my peripheral. Malek and Griff are already backstage. Both of them have found it difficult to hold a conversation with me, evident in their awkward, stifled body language.

Both are secretly heartbroken, I think. I mean, how else are they supposed to take it when I admit to not feeling the magic on this tour? Not like I have when Z and I create music.

Jesus, why did everything have to go wrong? What was the tipping point? Was it my efforts to make Z feel loved? Or was it his stress performing on stage again? Would it have been right for me to talk him down from facing his fears? I knew he had them, but I didn’t understand the depth of them at that time. I glimpsed the tip of an iceberg that stretched well beneath the surface.

It scares the living daylights out of me that things will never return to normal. And I may never know what happened to him. Whether he’s alive or…

Tears burn my eyes as I stroll to the back of the stage, and I squeeze them shut to keep from bawling.Mykhail Koval caught crying like a baby on stage for his missing gay lover.

Yeah, I’d probably go on a rampage if the media printed something like that.

“You gonna tend to that hand before we go on stage?” Griff asks hesitantly, pointing his drumstick at the blood dripping from my fingertips.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, stalking toward the stage where thousands of chanting fans await.

Liam catches my arm before I make it to the microphone. He pops the cork off a bottle of half-drank vodka and dumps it on my cuts. Then he hands the bottle to the stage crew, proceeding to wrap my knuckles with a strip of his shirt he rips from the hemline.

Clenching and unclenching my wrapped fist, I step up to the microphone. Most shows it takes me a song or two to dig into the level of rage I need to really sell my performance. Today, I’m in hell the moment I open my mouth and unleash the deepest sound my body has ever produced. I want to drag them all down with me. I want them to stand before the devil and receive judgment.

The crowd goes ballistic. Mosh pits open up like whirlpools. Walls of bodies crash together and recede. I’m sure I look fucking feral. Sleepless, drenched in sweat, and still oozing blood from split knuckles.

Everyone who paid to be here will witness the birth of monsters within me, and if they don’t survive them, I don’t really care.

Without Z, I don’t care.

I make it to our second to last song and decide that I’m done. I would give all of this up, the only thing that has brought me joy in this life. All just to wrap my arms around him one more time and tell him that I love him.

To be worshiped by millions of people means nothing if I can’t be loved unconditionally by the one person I care about the most.

Removing my guitar, I start to walk offstage. Griff lifts his sticks in question, but I shake my head.No more.

“Finish it,” I tell Malek, knowing he can carry them through. He’s always had the talent.

I pause for a moment to turn and watch Malek step up to the mic. Someone in the crowd screams out in excitement, and then everyone’s going nuts as he unleashes the war cries of demons upon them.

Handing off my guitar to a solemn Cora, I keep walking until I’m in the middle of a field right off the highway, the chugging sounds of Atonement fading behind me. That’s where I fall apart all over again. Wholly and completely. I don’t think there’s anything strong enough to mend the shredded muscle in my chest.

Why am I like this? Why do I crave love from those fated to wreck me? Can I blame my parents? Or is it just the way I was put together at an atomic level? Does Stasi feel these bullet holes inside of her, too? Torn flesh and muscle from the verbal insults we were delivered in rapid fire as children when we fell short of expectation. Short of perfection.

Liam wore his wounds on the outside. Bruises. Burns. Cuts. Mine were always internal, hidden behind a perfect, upper class smile.

Those wounds ache for Z now. For the demons he harbored. Why couldn't he trust me to help?

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