Page 146 of Down Beat

What do I fucking care? There were two songs left on the set list before we usually pick what we’ll play for the encore on the fly. Way those cunts are dead as a doornail tonight, they don’t deserve a goddamn encore, let alone the rest of the show.

The pounding of boots on polished concrete gives me ample time to brace before my skull meets the painted wall of the stadium tunnel.

“Get your fucking ass back up there now.” A vein throbs in Toby’s temple, his forearm pressed to my throat.

I knee the bastard in the nuts and edge out of his hold as he doubles over. “Get fucked.”

“I already am,” he hollers after me. “You walk, we’re all fucked. Think about somebody other than yourself for a change, you goddamn asshole.”

My shoe squeaks on the floor as I spin on the spot and redirect course back to my brother. “I am! All I think about is her. And you know what?” I shout, leaning over to get in his face. “All that does is remind me how I screwed up.”

“What does this achieve then?” He straightens, one hand still on the jewels. “She wanted you to fight for yourself, to prove to her that you think you’re worth her goddamn time and attention. And what have you done so far? Proved her point by moping around and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s just it.” I step backward, throwing my hands wide as Rick makes his way down the tunnel. “I don’t feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for her.”

Toby shakes his head as though he doesn’t understand.

I grin, leaning forward to push my point. “Look at me, Toby. Look at the fucking mess I am.” I laugh bitterly, checking Rick as he approaches. “She loves this?” I say disbelievingly. “I feel sorry for her because she loves such a worthless sack of shit. What a fucking idiot, right?”

What a fucking fool.

There’s nothing within me, or about me, that’s worth even a second of her time, and yet all I want more than anything else in this world is another second with her. One more fucking touch. One more fucking moment of her lies to believe that she was there to stay.

God, I miss her.

“Rey,” Rick seethes as he passes Toby. “Pull yourself together and get your fucking ass back on that stage before you find yourself a goddamn footnote on the bio.”

“So make me one,” I leer. “I dare you.”

“Rick,” Toby warns. “Now’s not the time.”

“No.” He spins on my brother. “Now is the perfect time. I’m fucking done wearing it for everything he does. This asshole either steps up, or steps out.”

“Out it is then.” I thrust both middle fingers at the idiot and back away to grab my shit from the locker room.

I’m done. Finished.

Fucking over being primped and preened as Wallace’s prize show pony.

What’s the point of doing all this if you spend the hours between salvaging what’s left of your mind to survive another round under the lights?

I want to pick up a guitar because I long to, not because I’m scheduled to.

I want to remember what it’s like to do this for the love of it, to give up everything and go without because this is where my passion lies.

As crazy as it sounds, I fucking envy Tabby and her basic, broke life.

Because after all is said and done, at least she still has a hunger for this. A love for the music.

A fucking darn sight more than what can be said for me.