Page 23 of Filthy Rock Stars
Mare points at my keyboard. “What do you say? Try it again from the top?”
CHAPTERSEVEN
SHADOW
It takesPrince three days to text me, three days where I wait impatiently, staring at my burner phone in the recording studio.
Adrian is driving me nuts. He dissed Kissing Dirt again, this time in a video interview. He and Elle both shut me down when I tried to complain about it, and the song he wrote this week is fucking cheesy as hell. I manage to keep my mouth shut for a while, but then Elle makes another smartass comment about my hair, and since I don’t let anyone out-smartass me, I point out she has the same haircut as Weird Al. Then I accidentally tell Adrian what I really think of the song.
Shit.
I don’t know how success and fame and all this crap is supposed to feel, but this can’t be it.
Growing up, my parents always told me that it was up to me to provide for them one day, that they were raising me and so I owed them. My dad had an accident after I was born and couldn’t have any more kids, and apparently, they aren’t the adopting type.
Hell of a pressure to put on a kid, especially a kid like me.
I wasn’t particularly good in school, and I never joined any clubs. The stuff I cared about, like noisy metal bands and sci-fi movies, my parents told me was a waste of time. By high school, it got to the point that they yelled at me about it nearly every night.
How the hell are you going to make a living with an attitude like that?
You’re sitting on your ass with a book again? I’ll sell your guitar if you’re going to be lazy.
If you don’t stand up straight and act like a man, no one will ever hire you.
A fucking constant stream of bullshit, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as the crap that they yelled at each other.
Whatever. It’s not like I expected to make a career out of aliens and loud guitar, either. But they practically devoted their parenting to telling me how worthless it all was, everything I cared even a little bit about.
How worthless I am.
So everyone was shocked when I hit it big, myself included. The loud guitars paid off, even if the aliens didn’t. It felt good to prove everyone wrong, and I can’t lie—bailing my parents out of debt and setting them up gave me a uniquely smug sense of satisfaction.
The money, the glamour, the celebrities, it all felt really good at first, like it proved something.
But now I look across the loft at Adrian and Elle. I think about how everyone in my life just keeps yelling at me and giving me shit for nothing, for being me.
Everyone but Prince, that is.
And I think to myself that this can’t really be everything my life is about. Can it?
It’s right after we all huff off to our corners of the loft that my phone finally buzzes. I yank it out and fall back on the couch.
Prince: Hi! I hope this isn’t too soon to text. I had a bonkers day
Instantly, the tension knitting my brow washes away. I can hear Prince’s gentle voice in my head, and the effect is as strong as a shot of whiskey.
Me: Oh yeah? Your big opportunity?
Prince: I went for it. I think it went really well!
Prince: Sorry. I don’t know why I’m texting you this
Me: Don’t apologize. I’m glad you texted me
Me: What are you doing?
Prince: Walking in circles downtown, trying to burn off some energy