Black Heart Still Beats Stories
Ruin
Her banshee-like screams filled the house. I crouched down against the wall, pressing my hands to my ears, trying to block it out.
It never worked though.
Once my mom got into one of her fits, she wouldn’t stop until she was passed out from drinking a bottle of vodka. Sometimes, I thought about lacing her tea with the damn stuff. At least then she’d pass out quicker and I wouldn’t have to listen to…
“Where the fuck are you, you disgusting little—”
“Levi, I’m scared.” My baby brother Rafe crawled into the gap between the closet and the wall and snuggled into my side.
“S’okay, Rafe, she’s just in one of her moods again.”
“Why does she hate you so much?” He stared up at me with his big gray eyes, and my insides twisted up.
Mom did hate me.
Made sure to tell me every day of my life.
I was almost nine, so there had been a lot of days.
A loud crash followed by the sound of glass shattering echoed through the house, and Rafe whimpered, pressing further into my side. Slipping my arm around his shoulders, I hugged him tighter. “Try and block it out,” I whispered. “Try and think happy thoughts.”
“Sing to me,” he croaked.
“Rafe, buddy, come on…”
“LEVIATHAN!” she shrieked, making us both flinch.
“Please, Levi.” He tugged the hem of my t-shirt. “I like it when you sing.”
He might have, but our mom sure didn’t. She’d washed my mouth out with soap twice last month when she caught me humming a tune in the shower. I’d puked for three hours straight.
“You know I can’t,” I sighed, dropping my head back against the wall, the words cutting me up inside.
“Please…”
“Okay, buddy, but I have to keep it quiet.” I couldn’t tell him no. No kid should have to witness the things he did, to hear the vile and twisted things she said. It was different for me, I’d always been the subject of her hatred. But not Rafe. He was her favorite. Her sweet and gentle Raphael.
“Sing the one about the rainbows,” he whispered, “I love that one.”
I inhaled a sharp breath, letting it fill my lungs. If she heard me, it wouldn’t end well for me, it never did. But I couldn’t deny my little brother. And singing…
Well singing made all the bad things disappear.
Levi
BLACK HEARTS STILL BEAT POSTPONE TOUR AMID SEX TAPE SCANDAL.
TEN DAYS AFTER THE TAPE WAS LEAKED, THERE HAS BEEN ONLY ONE STATEMENT FROM THE BAND’S LABEL, RAZORSHARP RECORDS.
BUT THE REAL QUESTION ON EVERYONE’S LIPS IS: WHERE IS LEVI HUNTER?
I threw my phone down on the coffee table and ran a hand over my head, feeling anger ripple up my spine.
Ten days.
Ten fucking days since my life blew up in front of my eyes, and the press were still chomping at the bit. They were like sharks circling, waiting for the first scent of blood.
I’d fucked up.
The grainy video of me snorting a line of coke off Riley’s stomach was evidence enough.
Conniving fucking bitch.
The band’s ex-assistant—she had been fired when it came out that she was leaking private information about us to the press. What nobody realized at the time though was she had an ace card up her sleeve.
An ace card I’d forgotten all about because I’d been off my face on a lethal concoction of liquor and drugs. She’d set me up and like the reckless fucking idiot I was, I’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
“Motherfucker,” I yelled, kicking the table. My boot collided with the wood, sending the thing toppling over. Pain ricocheted through my big toe and shot up my foot, but I barely flinched. The anger in my veins doused some of the other shit running through my head, but it wasn’t enough. My blood craved something else.
Something stronger.
Hunger pulsed through me, my skin itching for a hit. Coke. Crack. Molly. I didn’t discriminate. Right now, given half a chance, I’d snort, smoke, or swallow anything I could get my hands on...
Except, the label had me on house arrest like I was a fucking toddler in timeout.
Johnson, my bodyguard stood guard at the door, watching me like a hawk, with another two guys out in the hall.
Alistair, the band’s manager, said it was for my own good. I called it some kind of mental torture. I’d been cooped up here, in an apartment on the edge of the city, for almost ten days.
After the story broke, everyone expected me to explode. To plummet headfirst over the thin ledge of control I walked every day of my existence. They expected me to reach for the bottle or slip our security detail and go hunt down a dealer to score whatever drugs I could get my hands on.
I’d surprised them—and myself—when I’d done neither of those things. Instead, I’d punched the wall, split my knuckles wide open in the process, and then shut down. But as the pain subsided, the urges stirred to life. So I was shipped here, and told to stay put until the label could figure out what to do about Riley.
My patience was wearing thin though. If they didn’t let me out soon, I’d be forced to take matters into my own hands. Because I needed to do something.
For a guy like me, carrying the kinds of demons that haunted me, sitting around was like a fucking death sentence. Being on alone with my thoughts wasn’t therapy, it was my own personal version of hell.
Too much time to think.
Too much time to reflect and dwell.
Too much fucking time to remember.
My mind was a dark place to be at the best of times, but after almost two weeks of being locked down in this apartment, my thoughts were borderline morbid.
The blare of my cell phone cut through the unrelenting silence. I snatched it up and barked, “About fucking time.”
“How are you?” My brother’s voice filled the line.
“How do you think? I’ve been locked away here—”
“It’s just until Ali and the label deal with Riley.”
I sneered. “Because I’m a liability, you mean.”
“Levi,” Rafe sighed. “The whole world saw you snort coke off her body. The video went viral—”
“Don’t fucking remind me.” I sank back against the couch and let out a frustrated breath.
“I didn’t know she would do that.”
“Yeah, well it’s done now.” His voice was thin. And I hated it. Hated that yet again, I’d disappointed my little brother. But it was the story of my life. Rafe was the good one, the righteous one. And I was the thorn in his side. The devil on his shoulder.
“We need to look forward.”
Forward... yeah, right.
This was just another black mark against my name. I was already on shaky grounds with the label. But what did they expect signing on someone like me?
Someone with a heart as black as the night and a soul full of torment and nightmares.
I was the label’s poster boy for a reason. And it wasn’t for my squeaky-clean reputation and charity work.
But where they needed me and the band to make them their millions, I needed them to allow me to keep performing. It gave me an outlet, a way to channel all my anger, the pain festering inside me. It was cathartic; for those few minutes while the beat thrummed through me and I lost myself in the lyrics, I was free.