Dissent (16 page)

Fourteen

“Fan
mail day,” I declared, dragging a box out from one of the
cabinets and dumping the contents on the table where Jay and Todd
were sitting.

“Augh,”
Jay said, reaching for one and looking at it like it contained
anthrax. “They're always so sappy.”

“Yes,
and we owe it to our fans to respond to their emotional attachment to
our music,” I said, sitting down and reaching for an envelope.
It was actually impressive how much physical mail we still got
considering our heavy presence on social media where we were just one
comment or email away. But there were still some handwritten purists
out there and we tried to answer as many of them as possible. Two
times a month. And I had to deal with a lot of grumbling about it.

“
'Your music makes my life easier,'” Jay read aloud, reaching
for a pen and a piece of paper, carelessly scribbling out a note back
and handing it to Mike who filled out the address and added a stamp.

“Oh
this one is for you,” Isaiah said, handing me one that was,
indeed addressed to me. But with no return address. I opened it
anyway, pulling out the lined paper with big red permanent marker
writing across is.

“'I
want to set your pussy on fire,'” I read, feeling myself laugh
as I ripped it up. “That was eloquent.”

“What
the fuck?” Isaiah burst out, making us jump and look at him.

“What?”
I asked, my brows drawing together.

“You
just read a note that said someone was fantasizing about setting your
pussy on fire and you're totally calm about it?” he asked,
sounding genuinely concerned.

“Oh,”
I said, shrugging, reaching for another note. “Sometimes we get
some really twisted fans. They say the most sick shit they can think
of. But they're usually harmless guys. It's just makes them feel
powerful.”

“And
what is to stop them from wanting to escalate and see what it's like
to do it instead of threatening to?”

“Sanity,”
I suggested, smiling.

“That's
assuming they're sane.”

“Look,”
I said, gesturing to the pile, “this is like one one-millionth
of the communication we have between fans. And ninety percent of it
is heartfelt and genuine. So sweating the ten percent that is gory or
sick is a waste of time and energy. It's not like we can track them
down anyway. They're usually not stupid enough to have a return
address. We've never actually had a problem in person.”

“Well,
there was that one time...” Joey started before catching a
threatening look from Jay and ducking his head.

“What
happened?” Isaiah asked, looking directly at me.

There
was no use lying about it. Hell, if he did a little internet search,
he would find a bunch of articles about it anyway. Besides, his
sexual intentions aside, he was part of the crew now. “It was a
while back. A year or so I think,” I said, sinking back into
the memory like it was yesterday. “We were doing a show in
Philly and we were going into Todd's solo so I jumped into the crowd.
Like I do at a lot of shows. They pull me out a few feet then turn me
around and push me toward the stage again. But I kept getting pushed
out and then a set of hands dragged me down...”

God,
I remember that moment. Going from floating, smiling, enjoying the
sensation to realizing someone was grabbing me, pulling me downward.
As soon as my feet were on the ground, I felt his hands on my
breasts, grabbing hard and punishing for a second before he grabbed
the back of my neck and pulled me to his mouth, shoving his tongue
inside before I could even think to close it. I felt his cock press
against my stomach as he pushed his tongue far enough down my throat
to choke me, his hand grabbing my hair hard enough to pull out a
chunk and bring tears to my eyes. Everything outside of me went
silent.

It
felt like forever. But it couldn't have been longer than a minute or
two before the crowd started reacting. I felt hands pulling at me. I
fought against them, not realizing they were trying to pull me away,
trying to help me. Then he was wrenched off of me and the sounds came
rushing back, the crowd screaming, men fighting, women asking if I
was okay. And through it all, the sound of Jay screaming bloody
fucking murder over the microphone.

All
hell broke loose, the men and women closest to me screaming at my
attacker, then as a mob, flying at him.

Security
broke through the crowd a moment later, one of the men grabbing me
and throwing me over his shoulder, barreling through the crowd as the
others worked on breaking up the bloodbath behind me. I picked my
head up off the security guard's back to see Jay's eyes find me,
dropping the mic, and flying off the side of the stage, treading the
ground between us with a frantic, punishing pace I didn't think he
was capable of.

He
got to me quickly, reaching for me, and cradling me against his chest
as they hauled ass back to the bus, a clueless Burt looking like he
was going to have a stroke.

“Jesus,”
Isaiah cursed as I finished the story. “I hope that crowd tore
him limb from limb.”

“It
wasn't pretty,” Jay said, nodding. “That's why I love
metal bitches, man. They can fucking handle shit.”

“Which
is why you shouldn't treat them like they're disposable,” I
said, throwing a piece of his fan mail at him which included a naked
picture. “One of these days, your luck is going to run out and
one of them is gonna staple gun your balls to your bunk.”

“Sounds
like a woman I would want to marry,” Jay said, nodding.

“Here,”
Isaiah said, handing me another one with my name and no return
address on it. I felt a twisting in my belly when I noticed it was
the same handwriting.

“'I
want to feel you on the inside as I choke you until you pass out,'”
I read, rolling my eyes. “Well, he's a determined.”

“Hey,
maybe it's kinda sweet,” Jay said, all eyes falling on him.
“No. Like... you know... when you cut off the air supply when a
girl is about to come... you know, it makes the orgasm stronger and
shit. Maybe he wants to give you a fan-fucking-tastic climax.”

“Yeah,
until I die,” I laughed, ripping the page.

“But
what a way to go!” Jay winked at me.

“You
guys are so fucked up,” Isaiah said, shaking his head, but he
was laughing.

It
was true. We took some getting used to. Our humor often leaned toward
the dark or morbid. We weren't politically correct. We thought that
everything could be funny given the right light. Jay was always one
to push the limits of people's comfort zones and we all just jumped
onto the bandwagon easily. Out of habit. And a shared interest in the
macabre.

“Don't
worry,” I said, reaching for a note that was three pages, front
and back, “we will corrupt you sooner or later.”

Isaiah's
eyes found mine, full of a meaning that I was praying no one else was
picking up on. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Look
at these fucking tits,” Jay said, holding out the picture he
had been staring at for the guys to see.

I
laughed, rolling my eyes. “Hey Burt,” I called, glancing
out the window. “How long until we get to D.C. ?”

“Eh,”
he said, looking down at the GPS, “maybe another hour depending
on traffic.”

“You
guys have a show tonight, right?” Isaiah asked.

“Yeah,”
I answered, reaching for a piece of paper to respond to the emotional
letter I got from a girl who claimed our song about cutting saved her
life. Sometimes music did that. Sometimes it saved you. In a very
literal way. “But we don't go on till almost ten.”

Burt
parked the RV at a park just outside of the capital, letting us out
to grab some food and stretch our legs. He took off toward his bunk
for a nap, making us promise to grab him something to eat.

“Where
are you heading?” I asked Jay as we all walked toward the front
of the RV park.

“I'll
go grab the food. If we let you go, it will all be salads and
broccoli and shit.”

He
had a point. “Alright,” I said shrugging, reaching for a
pamphlet on the campgrounds. “I think I am going to take a
little walk. I feel restless.” It was more than restless. I was
feeling tense from all the immobility. We stayed on the bus as much
as physically possible because it made for faster travel. A lot of
entertainers will stop every night or two at a hotel. We were trying
to keep a tight schedule. But the lack of exercise equipment or a
pool or even just a trail to walk was making me feel frazzled and
sluggish.

“Alright,
keep some energy for the show,” Jay said, walking away, Joey
and Mike following behind him.

I
turned, making my way toward the woods quickly before I got waylaid
by someone. I took down the path at a punishing path, enjoying the
tightness in my chest, the objection of my thigh muscles. This was
what I needed. Stage shows were physically taxing but eventually left
me exhausted. Not like exercise which always gave me extra energy to
keep going on. I felt the sweat trickling down my neck as I pushed up
and incline which, according to the trail, led to a private little
lake.

I
was twenty minutes up the incline, dropping onto my knees, and
sucking in air. No wonder this trail was marked difficult. My calves
felt like they were on fire. My heart was throbbing painfully in my
chest. I pushed myself up, forcing myself forward, and praying I
would reach the lake sooner rather than later. I was a complete ball
of sweat and misery.

“You're
almost there.”

I
shrieked, swirling quickly, my hand clutched to my chest. “Jesus
Christ, Isaiah,” I said, finding him a few feet to the side.
He had his t-shirt off, thrown over his shoulder.

“Didn't
mean to startle you. I wasn't exactly being quiet, you know. You
should have heard me.”

Heard
him? I couldn't hear anything but the whooshing sound of my pulse in
my ears. “How the hell did you already get to the lake? You
couldn't have left more than five minutes before me.”

He
shrugged casually. “I'm an experienced hiker, I guess.”

“You're
not even fucking sweating!” I objected, looking at his tight,
toned chest and stomach, a huge scar running up his side.

He
laughed, falling into step beside me. “Come on, I think you
need to go cool off.”

He
was right. It was only another five minutes before the trail leveled
off, then sunk down a sleep hill where a nice sized lake was situated
with mature trees and big rock formations.

I
took off at a run, stopping by the side of the water and stripping
off my boots.

“You're
not going in with your clothes on are you?” he asked as I
started toward the water.

“Yeah,
that was the plan. Why?”

He
shook his head, holding his hands out. “Nothing. It's just
going to make for a miserable walk back is all.”

He
was right. Damn him. If there was going to be anything more
irritating than the hot walk there, a walk back with heavy, clinging
clothes and dirt getting stuck all over me was only going to make me
grumpy. And, normally, I would be all too happy to strip out of my
clothes and jump in. It was Isaiah that was stopping me. Which was
stupid. The first time we met, I was stark freaking naked. Hell, he
had had his face buried between my legs a couple of days ago. But I
couldn't get over the strange fluid sensation in my belly that I
could only describe as self-consciousness. It was foreign and almost
debilitating.

“Come
on,” Isaiah said, shrugging. “It's not big deal. I'll
take my clothes off too,” he added with a smile.

Oh,
no. Nope. That was not going to help. At all. If anything, that might
just make things worse. And besides, both of us... naked, within
fifty feet of one another... yeah, that probably wasn't a good thing.
It most definitely was a stupid, reckless, awful plan.

Unfortunately
though, I was a sucker for stupid, reckless, awful things.

I
turned to face the water, my back to Isaiah, pulling off my shirt. My
hands went to my pants, slipping the clingy material down my clammy
legs until I stood there naked. There was something about being naked
in nature. Most people, due to social convention or nosy neighbors,
never get the chance to experience it. It's like your soul recognizes
the rightness of it. Like it knows your skin was always meant to be
kissed by the sun. To be gloriously unashamed of your bare form.