I stroll down the hall, letting the substance speed through my veins like a freight train with no end in sight. That is exactly what I needed. Two girls pass me on my way to Denny’s room, both of them awe-struck, eyes wide, whispering to one another.
“Hi Ladies.” I smile with a half wave. This isn’t a new occurrence, it happens fairly often.
“Holy shit, are you Rhyit Denson?” The cute brunette asks. Her friend looks like she’s going to faint, her face is white as a ghost. “L-lead singer of The Plight?” Her stutter makes me smile wider.
“I am.” I reply, extending my hand to shake theirs. They both eye my hand like it’s a snake about to bite them. The brunette is the first to come to from her trance. Her small palm meets mine, and she stares at it like I might disappear. I squeeze her palm lightly and let her hand go. Her friend looks at me and timidly places her palm in mine.
“Nice to meet you.” I say. “Always great to meet a fan.” I smile wider, hoping to calm her down before she gives both of us a heart attack.
“Nice to meet you too,” she replies, pushing the hair that's fallen into her face back behind her ear. “We’re huge fans. You guys were absolutely amazing at the show last night.”
I clutch my heart theatrically, making them both blush. I’ve been a master flirt since age three, ask my mom. “Thank you, seriously. It means alot.” I reply. “I’ve got to go, but take care okay?” I start to walk away from the girls when the quiet one clears her throat after I’ve made it two steps.
“You and Pistol should get back together. You guys were the cutest couple,” she says timidly. While her voice is meek, her words are a fireball straight to the gut. I spin around, ready to spew venom at this teenage girl as rage bubbles just below the surface of my skin; she doesn’t know shit. It’s at that moment I remember, no one knows. Bristol did the most selfless thing anyone has ever done for me. She walked away, broke my heart into a thousand pieces, and didn’t tell a fucking soul why. She didn’t tell the press I was giving my dick out like Oprah on her favorite things tour. She didn’t tell anyone that I was snorting mountains of coke every night just to stay awake enough to play the songs we had written together. She didn’t say shit.
“Tell her that.” I say instead of spewing hateful comments at teenyboppers.
“When we saw her at the show last night, we thought she was there for you,” the brunette replies with hope glimmering in her eyes. Is this where we’re at right now, people randomly asking if Bristol and I are going to get back together? But hold the fucking phone…. Did she say Pistol was at the show last night?
“At the show? What show?” I ask as the door to Denny’s room opens.
Boston steps out into the hallway, his eyes skate from me to the girls and then back to me. “Jailbait.” he mouths.
“I wasn’t trying to fuck them.” I scoff, offended that he would assume I was trying to pick up chicks in the hallway, especially underage chicks. I’m not a classy individual, but I do have standards, they must be a solid dime piece and over eighteen, the rest is semantics.
“Mmmhhmm.” He nods, “Get the fuck in here.” He rolls his eyes at me and returns into the room. Annoyance radiates off of him, I can feel it ten steps away.
“That’s my cue, bye ladies.” I continue my steps to the room, giving them a two finger salute. Was she at the show last night? No way.
Chapter 5 Rhyit
The room is eerily silent when I enter. No one even looks up from their palms as the door clicks shut behind me. Boston and Denny are staring at their hands like they hold the secrets of the universe. There’s a black cloud hanging over all of them, and the tension in the room is high enough to be palpable.
“Jesus, who’s in jail?” I ask with a laugh. No one laughs at my joke as Garrett enters the room from his adjoining suite. His face is solemn and emotionless as he takes the steps leading to the center of the room.
“Now that we’re all here,” he states, glaring at me from his perch. Who the fuck is this guy, and what have they done with my fun-loving manager? “We need to decide how we are going to handle this with the press? Do we call off the tour?” Horror strikes my features like a bitchslap.
“Handle what?” I spit. “What in the actual fuck is going on?” I fling my arms out, letting them fall back down, clapping my thigh. What are they talking about?
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Denny says, rising from his seat by the window. His hand grabs my elbow, trying to sway me into his seat. I pull my elbow from his grip aggressively and turn to Boston.
“Bos, tell me what is going on? Where’s Alex?” I ask, realizing he’s missing from this impromptu band meeting. I spin around the room, assuming he’s perched against the wall, his usual MO. Four sets of eyes find mine as I ask where Alex is again. Emotion clogs my throat when no one answers again. All of them stare at me with a haunting look. I know that look; I saw it in Bristol’s eyes when she told me she couldn’t be my lighthouse anymore.
“Where’s Alex?” I whisper, my eyes fill as wave after wave of emotion rolls through me.
“Alex,” Bos starts, his eyes watering too, “is gone. He overdosed last night, man.” A sob breaks free from my chest at his words. My throat burns as I try to keep my composure. I’ve lost enough people in my life to never need a lesson in heartbreak again.
“No.” I wail, fear ripping through me like an earthquake. “Bullshit. That’s a shitty fucking joke you guys.” I’m frantic at this point as I stalk to the bathroom, assuming he’s in there chalking up a line for us, getting his dick sucked by some groupie. I wrench open the door to find the room empty. The hole in my chest opens further, he isn’t there.
I stalk into Garrett’s room next, praying to whoever is listening that Alex will pop out from behind the door, playing one of his usual pranks on me. Alex is an original member of The Plight, he was there when I was a snot nosed kid with big dreams and an ever bigger ego. He’s been there for all the highs and lows of this ride, every heartbreak, every fight with Bristol… everything. He is my rock, the one person outside of my family and Tol who knows me, the real me way before I donned the persona Rhyit. When I was still Andrew with the lanky body and braces, when my dreams were so damn big people called me crazy. I knew this life was for me before I ever put a Fender in my grasp. Alex knew my dreams were big enough for the both of us, and he learned how to play guitar because he was shit at drums.
I stand in the middle of the empty hotel room with my arms at my sides, letting every ounce of grief wash through me. Every late night spent in his grandmother’s garage, playing like we were already rockstars, every gig we played in bars we weren’t even old enough to legally be in, every memory floods me like a tsunami. I don’t know how long I stand there watching every good and bad time, like a snapshot reel playing before my eyes.
“Just give him some time.” Garrett whispers to someone in the doorway. I hear the footsteps behind me but don’t have the energy to turn around. I close my eyes as large arms wrap around my shoulders. A sob rips through me as the tears continue to roll down my cheeks. My knees give out and I sink to the floor, the weight of losing Alex too much to carry. I didn’t realize I was crying until I feel the wetness pool at the base of my chin. Boston’s grip on my arms tightens as I let myself continue to sob for the life cut way too damn short. Quaking of the chest at my back does nothing to help the emotion running rampant, tearing me apart. Boston chokes on a sob as we kneel, holding each other in the middle of an empty hotel room grieving our friend. My best friend. My bandmate. My brother.
“The fucking 27 club.” Boston says with an audible swallow. Alex celebrated his 27th birthday a couple months ago. He followed his idols Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. I just wish I could hear him call me Andrew one more time.
Chapter 6 Rhyit