Look for me.
In my dreams, you bend until you break.
I give until I take.
The bad boy made good.
For you.
Tamed by you.
Inside you.
My phone buzzed and I didn’t notice it at first, I was so caught up. Not by my block-printed words on paper. I was seeing past them to when Zoe had curved against me in sleep. If she had turned over, reached for me in the deepest part of the night, even knowing what she’d gone through, would I have been man enough to say no?
Probably not.
Comfort came in all forms. I wouldn’t have been able to deny her even as I took some for myself.
And I craved her now like a chemical burn in my blood.
I shook myself as the phone buzzed again.
Jesus, get it together, man. It’s not like you can’t find a willing woman.
They were waiting for me after the shows. Hordes of them. I had security now. Not big league like I imagined the Oblivion types did, but a guy or two to grant me some space to get to the waiting car. Even so, numbers were thrown at me like confetti. Along with bras and panties and more than a few rubbers, as if I’d neglected to bring my own.
I didn’t want them. I wanted Zoe. And she was as elusive to me as freedom.
“Yeah,” I said as I clicked on my phone.
“Where are you?”
“Letting a load off.”
That was how Sabrina and I dealt with each other. She demanded, and I basically said fuck you in whatever rude way struck my fancy. Then she carried on as if she hadn’t heard me, and I did her bidding.
I almost enjoyed our interplay. Except when her brass balls grew a tad too shiny.
But I still hadn’t thrown a drumstick at her.
Yet.
“You’ve got a set tonight. Surprise cancellation.”
“What happened?”
“Ticket sales were in the toilet so the gig got canceled. You’re up. Nine o’clock. Whisky A Go Go.”
I picked up my pad and stared at the words until they blurred. “What are you on about right now?”
“I told you, Whisky a Go Go. It’s on the corner of West Sunset and—”
“You’re kidding me, right? Of course I know Whisky a Go Go. The Doors played there. Joplin. Led Zepp. Aerosmith. Puddle of Mudd. Warrant. All the greats.”
“Not sure I’d call all of those acts great, but yes, they certainly all did. You’re working with a new drummer tonight, so I’d like to see you get in a practice. We’ve booked you into your usual practice space. You can get there in thirty?”
I looked down at myself. I needed to find some clothes. My notebooks. My guitar. Most were easily accessible in my shitbox motel room, and I’d sorted through my stash of notebooks last night, searching for some gems amidst the dirt and rocks, but they were all black composition style, so I had to discern which were the current and which were garbage.