Page 140 of Down Beat

FORTY-NINE

Rey

“Coming Undone” - Korn

“Jesus. What are you doing?”

I roll away from the windows as Toby tugs the heavy hotel drapes open.

“We need to leave in five fucking minutes.”

“I know,” I gripe, moving my sheet music to the floor on the far side of the bed so I can continue with it in relative darkness.

He snatches my acoustic guitar by the neck and marches around the foot of the bed. Scuffed boots stop perilously short of my scrap paper. “Move.”

“Yeah, in a minute.” I wave him off before sliding my upper half off the mattress to make an adjustment to one of the chords.

Toby sighs as Emery enters the room. “Take this.” He thrusts my guitar at him.

I’m in for it now.

He takes one step forward as I awkwardly try to worm myself back onto the bed. “Fuck off, bro. I just need a bit more time.”

“We don’t have time,” he grits out through a stiff jaw, lunging for my leg.

I crab crawl backward across the bed until my hands hit the far side.

“We already changed the whole fucking day around just for you.” Toby’s palm connects with my shin.

I kick at him, failing to dislodge his grip as he adds his other hand and pulls me toward him in a vise grip. “I can’t do this,” I cry out in a panic.

He huffs when I stop before him, bedding bunched under my ass. “You have to.”

“Why?” I whine.

He sets both hands on my shoulders and squeezes. “You want a nine to five job, little brother?” His eyes are firm as he ducks his head to meet mine. “If you think this is hard, try blowing that responsibility off. Having to get up every day and go, not just because people expect you to like they do now, but because you have to if you want to eat.”

Kitty. Is that what it’s like for her to push on when life seems determined to shit on her?

“Fine. I get your point,” I gripe, pushing on his chest. “I’ll be out in a few; let me get dressed.”

He steps back, and then promptly marches his ass to the armchair in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing?” I slip my legs off the side of the bed, hands braced either side as I narrow my eyes at him.

He drops his ass onto the seat and sets his arms on the rolled rests. “Waiting.”

“Pervert.”

“Just get on with it.”

Fucker. He knew as well as I did I had no intention of getting dressed. I drag my sorry ass across the room and kick my jeans that lie in a heap on the floor toward the bathroom. He hoists a T-shirt at me that had been hung over the side of his chair. I catch it mid-air, and then toss it down with the jeans to kick the pile into the adjacent room.

We’re doing a Thursday show. Mid-week. I mean, who the fuck wants to stay out mega late before having to drag their sorry ass to work tomorrow?

A few thousand people, it seems.

My motivation is at an all time low, my enthusiasm about as non-existent as the fucks I have to give. The thought of facing that crowd leaves my gut churning, never mind the liquid breakfast I had before I picked up where I left off with the new song last night.