Page 13 of The Sounds of Her
Madison gets up, causing me to take a few steps back. I don’t want to touch her, even an accidental brushing of fabric. The woman makes me want to vomit.
“If you wanted it like this, you should have got me to sign it before you let me fuck you. If it’s about more than intimate relations, as you call it, you don’t need to fucking worry. I have no intention of discussing that ever again. Not with you, not with anyone. So take your NDA and shove it in that empty black cavity in your chest, Madison. Stay the fuck away from me, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
I storm out of the room and building as fast as I can. My heart is pounding and the need to puke swirls in my gut. I didn’t think the woman could sink any lower. Fuck was I wrong.
DiMarco, my security guy, is chatting with another worker from the studio, when he spots me, he heads over.
“Finished already?”
“Yeah, all done,” I take in some deep breaths, trying not to let him see how distressed I am. “Let’s get out of here.”
I’m not in the mood to see anyone right now. I have a lingering feeling of nausea in my stomach. Now the anger is dissipating, it’s replaced with sadness. I don’t know how to articulate what I’m feeling. I can’t name it, and I definitely have no way of explaining it to anyone.
DiMarco starts the car and heads for my Spanish style home in the Hollywood Hills.
After turning off my phone, I do an hour-long workout in my gym, then get into the shower. I lean my palms and forehead against the wall of the enclosure and stare down as water swirls around my feet, running towards the drain.
I have plenty of people I can turn to. People who love me, who would support me through this. But I meant what I said. I won’t tell anyone.
My eyes burn and the back of my throat gets thick. I try not to, but I can’t stop. Grief consumes me and tears spill over my eyelashes, mingling with the water pounding down on the top of my head and running over my face.
I throw my head back and scream until my voice goes hoarse, and drop onto my ass, my back against the freezing cold glass. Time ceases to register with me as I sit beneath the spray, trying to hold myself together.
I have to be on the top of my game, for the fans, the rest of the band and everyone else who orbits BreakNeck. This is the last time I will deal with this, I’ll get it all out of my system now.
Glancing down at the tattoo, I realise I’ve sat under the water for far too long, which isn’t great for new ink. I stand and turn off the water, step out, and grab a towel. Fortunately, the tattoo doesn’t have any damage. I dry off and walk into my bedroom and, standing naked in front of the mirror, I check the tattoo again. There are only small glimpses of the fret board and strings showing through the rips. Chez didn’t realise how symbolic this tattoo is.
I need to get these feelings out of me and after I grab a pair of shorts and stalk through the quiet house, I go straight to the music room.
It rivals the studio at the label, I have a full recording room set up including soundproof booths. I head over to the couch and snatch open the drawer of a unit beside it, pulling out a pad and paper.
For the longest time, I’ve not been able to get anything out of my head onto the page. It pours out of me now. The grief, the anger, the complete and total emptiness, like something has been ripped from out of me and I will never get it back. If I get it all out now, then I’ll be able to move on. I’ll be able to put a brave face on. Fake it till you make it.
I sit for hours, filling page after page with lyrics. I hear the music inside my head and after I’ve written till my hand cramps, I grab the guitar and put music to the words. By three AM, I have four songs, two of them are all wrong for us, but the other two are good. Really good. I know Adam will like them. They’re dark and represent my spilled-out guts, but Adam can weave BreakNeck into them.
I scoop everything up and put it away, setting the guitars back on their stands. I haven’t eaten or drank since I got back, so I grab a large bottle of water and a banana, about the only thing I can stomach.
My thirst and hunger partially dealt with, I fall into bed, putting one arm up so it’s over my eyes. I tell myself this is the last time I will think about it.
I’m a fucking good liar.
“You wrote all this last night?”
Adam sits across from me at the table on my back patio. I called to see if he wanted to listen to something and he came straight over. Elsa and Jenna have gone for spa treatments, and Nick is somewhere with his assistant Janie. Probably looking for more photoshoots. He thinks he’s a model now.
It’s hot in LA so Adam is in shorts and a sleeveless top, me too, but I’m bare chested. I grab the jug of OJ and pour myself another glass.
“How’d you break it?” Adam asks, his eyes still moving over the lyrics.
He hasn’t said one way or another if he likes the songs yet. In the end, I gave him three of them. One of them is way too personal and darker than anything I’ve written before. I won’t be able to hide my actual feelings bleeding into that one.
“Dude, you know there is no rhyme or reason for when it comes,” I say, hoping he’ll buy that.
He glances over the top of the notepad, meeting my eyes, then back to the lyrics.
“This one, Devil for Eternity.”
He says nothing else, sets the pad down, grabs a pen and starts making notes. He writes his thoughts down, then hands me the pad.