Probably not, I responded, thinking of how I’d escape today’s date before it came for my soul.
Being around people might help. Like the band... or Carson.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the voice in my head that reminded me how much I fucked up in the last five years.
After my parents died, I left Andy.
And my entire life plan with her and Cars.
Took my money and phone, ran home, and was met with so many lawyers. Being four days from my ninetieth birthday, I’d been given an empire at too young an age.
While Windowless Skies was half Dad’s and half Donnie’s, I’d get the half from my dad and all of Vertigo Records when I turned twenty-five. I had everything and ran from it all. Dad knew he’d die someday and if Mom didn’t survive him, I’d be the owner.
When I turned twenty-five next year, I’d be full owner instead of Donnie. Until then, he had control. Until then, I could breathe and not think of the weight promising to destroy what was left of my soul.
Since then, Donnie tried getting me to sign over my half of his band and the company since I didn’t want the responsibility.
I refused.
Legacy or not, my dad wouldn’t want me to sell it off.
Reading over Stony’s text, my stomach clenched uncomfortably. After going home, being forced out of my secret life, and given too much money and power, I lost my fucking mind.
I’d never gotten so high before. It was a numb six months before I even allowed myself to accept that they were gone and so much time passed. I cut. I disassociated. I died inside and couldn’t seem to kill the outside. I barely made it through college and when Grizz saw me high, he forced me to leave the shop, unwilling to have me there and risk the safety of everyone.
They had a funeral and I didn’t remember any of it, even if I was there from afar.
They had a service after and I didn’t go.
They had celebrations of life and I didn’t fucking care.
I was lost.
Still am.
Cars, my best fucking friend—I left him behind too. Shutting out emotions meant cutting ties with everyone and everything that made me even remotely human. Royce made sure to keep Cars afloat, Andy too. But me? I was a goddamn lost cause.
Now, somehow Stony knew Cars, they were apparently friends. Worlds collided when two people I knew met before I even realized it.
When those months passed, nothing stopped me from pushing through college. Yeah, I still got high, drank, and cut, but assignments came first and I fucking powered my way through it. It wasn’t easy, it was a mess, but somehow, I made it.
After getting a business degree, I went full-time with tattooing instead of random sporadic hours, and stayed with Noah and Grizz. Through them, I met Carrig, who introduced me to Stony and Memphis. Along with several others at the shop. One night after hours, we got wasted and decided to start a band. It brought me some relief, the only way I felt anything, letting it out through my lyrics and screams.
While I wrote most of the lyrics, we worked as a unit to truly create perfect notes to match. Without them, we’d be lost souls, searching for meaning.
No, I finally texted back, wondering if he’d argue and give me shit. Somehow, even with cutting out Cars, he somehow convinced Stony to babysit me. It was the only thing that made sense.
I tripped over a knife.
What?
A knife, yeah.
A knife?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
It lodged itself in my chest.
Took it out, bled out.
Fuck.
Fuck!
My mind traveled to the lyrics Memphis wrote recently about loss. We were going to trash them, but before the chorus, when it was near silence, the words were screamed by Stony and me. It fit somehow. We all did.
He misses you.
Tell him to move on. I lifted my fist, wanting to put it through the wall. Rage colored my eyes, forcing me to take a deep breath. I needed a fucking smoke.
You know that’s not possible, Reaver.
Reaver.
That was what they all called me. Not Toland, nor Madden. Not that anyone truly knew about Madden Black. To the group, I was Reaver. It didn’t help that my entire left forearm was inked with the moniker.
People loved trying to touch it, thinking the tattoo meant something when they saw the scars beneath it. My own fucked-up canvas, covering my sorrow. The desolation death left would bring the strongest man to his knees.
I wasn’t strong.
I was barely a fucking man.
Angel didn’t move as I stood, and I didn’t care if she did. She broke the NDA by being here and the ick I felt, not knowing if she cuddled me made me want to scrub my skin until it bled. If she was smart, she’d have left last night when she was supposed to. Part of the NDA she signed stated no one stayed.
She was still here.
We created the NDAs to protect me. For one, being in the spotlight and not willing to fuck the people I took home was a big red flag. I’d be all over the tabloids, talked about like a fucking freak.
Didn’t help that people wanted to know everything about me. Hell, they bothered the guys to get info too, especially asking why I was always single.
An itch took over my skin, the need to scratch and erase last night clawed its way out of me. If I didn’t distract myself, I’d need to cut. If I cut, I’d cause a scene. If I were anywhere near someone who could see and report my need to slice myself open, it’d be a huge fucking deal.
No one knew I cut.
Not my fans.
Not Anthem Riot’s publicity team.
Not the world.
Turning on my TV, I opted to try and distract myself this way. I grabbed a joint in the ashtray nearest me, lighting it up. Taking three quick puffs, I allowed the cancer to sink deeper.
That was what these crutches were.
The cancers to fuck me up till I keeled over.
Immediately, as the sound started, it was unsurprisingly the news covering my parents. You’d think seeing them on the screen, knowing they’d never come back, would get easier.
But of course, they had to put pictures of them at their gothic wedding, black on black with badass decorations. My parents were the raddest people, even if they never were parents.
“It's been five years since the plane of Dox Reaver went down in the Atlantic. Dox and Harley are survived by their son, Toland Reaver. He has been in numerous scandals since the passing of his parents, and has taken fame into his own hands much like Dox.
His Kerosene Kisses tour starts in a little over a month. He’ll be heading to Europe, much like the last—”
I turned it off, the loud humming in my head, veins, and throat beat me until my head rang from the nonexistent noise.
They didn’t know fuck all, and if they’d looked a little deeper, they’d realize how true that shit was.
After taking a piss, my phone rang, interrupting my avoidance and sulking. “Reaver here,” I said, unapologetically bored.
“Madden,” she let out, bringing back emotions and memories better left buried.
“Can’t do this,” I explained, unable to utter her name. If I said it, if I allowed myself her connection, I’d see her perfect angelic features, her plump lips, and the body I wanted to escape in.
“Please, just give me five minutes,” she insisted, her voice sad. It wasn’t strong or confident like the woman who avoided me, took my cock down her throat, and then abandoned me. No, she sounded young, worn down. Small.