Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2) (2 page)

Chapter 2

One year later

The second hand on the clock seemed to be creeping by. Sweat formed a thin layer across my forehead, and I finally made eye contact with the man sitting across from me. He was pious and old. His scraggly grey hair had been slicked back and the metal of his wire-rimmed glasses pinched the bridge of his nose too tightly. He was just staring at me.

To be a trained professional, he sure didn’t hide his judgmental glare and condescending inner dialogue very well.

I just wanted a bogus script for Xanax and Klonopin, and in the process I’d been told I had a problem and that if I wasn’t careful it could ruin my life. So, just to get my pills, here I sat in front of this pudgy, middle-aged man who seemed pissed off at life.

He finally cleared his throat and scribbled something on the notepad on his knee. “So, no suicidal thoughts?”

Damn it. I already told him no.
“No. I don’t want to fucking die. I’m scared of death. I just, you know, I just feel like I don’t have any control. And I can’t handle that.” I glanced back at the clock and sucked in a quick breath. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe; my heart goes all crazy, I start sweating and feel like I’m about to keel over. Everything just closes in, you know? It’s like I’m losing control and just need to jump out of my own fucking skin. I guess that’s normal though, right?”

How could that not be normal, especially when you could barely walk down the street without someone screaming at you or asking you for an autograph? That had to be normal when you have no privacy or control over anything.

There he went to writing shit down again. “And what have you been doing to cope with that?”

I shrugged. “Drugs and sex.”

“Um-hmm. Of course. Both help? Give you a sense of control?”

These ridiculous questions were pissing me off. “Yeah. Hence, why I do them!” I snapped.

He nodded, jotting another note down.

Fuck you and your damn notes.

The chair creaked as he rose and made his way behind his desk to grab a form. Handing it to me, he said, “Read over this and answer all the questions. Be sure you read the question thoroughly and be honest in your response. Everything will remain completely confidential.”

I stared up at him. “You gonna put me in a straitjacket or some shit?”

“No.” He shook his head and sat back down.

Not only was this tool arrogant, but he had no sense of humor.

He peered over his glasses at me, straightening his tie on his mound-like belly. “Would you prefer some privacy while you fill that out?”

Shooting a somewhat insulted glare in his direction, I looked up from my bowed head and shrugged. “You’re gonna read it anyway…”

I pulled the clipboard up and read over the first few questions.

Sexual orientation: heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual.

Shit, I mean, I like women, but I’ve had threesomes with some of the guys, orgies even, but I don’t do shit to any of the guys. Fuck, does that make me bi?
I could feel a bead of sweat roll down the bridge of my nose, and my leg started bouncing. I’d come here for pills, and now I was starting to think maybe there
was
something wrong with me.

A few questions down
:
Did your parents have sexual behavior problems
?
How the fuck would I know that, and why would I want to?

Has anyone been hurt by your sexual activity
?
Well, shit. I’ve had plenty of girls tell me I fucked them too hard, sometimes I’d slam them up against the wall too hard and unintentionally give them a knot on their head. 
Clearing my throat, I tapped the pen over the clipboard, and the doctor glanced up. “By hurt, what do they mean? Like physically because I was too rough, or emotionally?”

An hour later, after finishing that ridiculous questionnaire, I was told I needed to follow up with a sex counselor and to take Xanax as needed for my anxiety disorder. I left the office with a legitimate prescription and with a diagnosis of chronic anxiety and sex addiction.

That was ridiculous. There was no way I was a sex addict. There was no way I was going to a counselor about it either. Those questionnaires didn’t take into account that I was different. My life was not in one way normal. Of course I thought about sex a lot; I had girls tossing underwear at me on stage and screaming that they wanted to fuck my brains out. How would that not make you think about sex?

The doctor had given me a behavior modification sheet with the number one priority listed being, “Eliminate temptation.”

I laughed as I read over that sentence. I was a fucking rock star. How the hell was I supposed to eliminate temptation? The only person who was offered more sex than me was a porn star, and even then, I may have them beat.

If they ever had to run an ad in the paper to hire a rock star, the top three job requirements would be musical talent, hardcore partier, and strong sexual appetite and stamina. I wasn’t a sex addict, I just liked sex—a lot of sex, with a variety of women, and sometimes with prostitutes…because it was just more fun with them.

I was fucked. Literally and figuratively. I just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter 3

I stopped mid-thrust. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple as I opened my eyes to see if she was joking. Her eyes were closed, the thick purple eye shadow caked on her lids sparkling under the dim lights in the bus.

I’d heard plenty of crazy shit, but this was out there—I mean, for someone I’d met just fifteen minutes ago. “You want me to do what?” I grunted, arching a brow.

“Choke me. Just a little.” She didn’t even open her eyes; all she did was wet her lips and toss her head back, continuing to grind over my cock. “You know, just cut the oxygen off for a second,” she panted.

I guess she wanted to let me know she was serious, because she furiously bucked like a bull on top of me. My hold on her perfect ass tightened, and I fought to hold onto her.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t be a puss!” She grabbed my hands from her ass and placed them on her neck. The movement caused me to lose my balance, and we stumbled against the window.

She shot me a horny-ass dare of a look. “Do it!”

I shrugged and continued meeting her hard thrusts with my hips. Her heel dug into the top of my ass and, figuring what the hell, I squeezed just a
little
on her neck.

At that moment, that question from the looney-doctor’s form a few months back flashed through my head.
Have you ever hurt someone from your sexual behaviors?
Fuck trying to control this. It wasn’t worth it. It felt too good. It gave me back all the control I’d lost when I signed my contract with the record company. After all, it was
just
sex. Why control something that’s part of nature?

I swallowed those thoughts down into my stomach and rammed into her with as much force as I could, my fingers still laced around her throat.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Do it harder!” Her order was coated with a satanic growl, like at any minute her eyes were going to start twitching and her head was going to rotate all the way around.

This girl was fucking insane. She slammed herself down on me harder, almost causing me to lose my balance again. I really wasn’t having to do much work, aside from play-choking her, just a little.

“Do it! Before I get off!” She was like a demon-possessed Barbie doll with a hungry cunt.

I tightened my grip and she moaned, her body roughly working me over. I could feel everything inside me gathering in my stomach, spreading out in my crotch, and I lost my shit completely. I blew my load, and I guess the excitement of it all kind of blocked out the fact that my hands were constricting her neck—really,
really
hard now.

“Fuck, babe!” I growled, and suddenly I felt her body go limp.

My cock was still twitching from the orgasm, and she wasn’t moving.

“Hey. Hey!” I shouted as she languidly slunk down my chest, her back screeching against the window before she fell onto the couch in the tour bus.

Reaching down, I grabbed her arm and held it up. “Hey?” When I let it go, it fell weightlessly onto the seat. She wasn’t moving at all.

Adrenaline pumped through me instantly and I chanted, “Holy fuck! Holy fuck! Holy fucking fuck!” I wiped my hands down my face, my jaw completely unhinging as I stared at this naked girl lying lifelessly in front of me. I had to do something. I just had no idea what. I was high, I was naked, and now I was scared as shit.

I don’t know what was more pathetic: the fact that I had no idea how to handle the situation, or that my go-to for advice was Jag Steele, drug addict and man whore extraordinaire.

“Help! Fucking, Jag! Dude! Help me!” I shouted. “Shit. I’m gonna go to jail. Holy fuck, I’m a murderer! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!” I wailed, turning circles in the small area. “Jag!”

Jag came barreling down the tiny hallway, his hands covering his dick and his balls smacking against his thigh. “What the fuck, man? I’ve got two bitches back there naked as fuck, I was face deep in—” He froze as soon as he saw the girl who was still motionless on the couch. “What the
hell
did you do? Rush?” His eyes flew up from the girl to me, wide with fear. “What. The.
Fuck
?”

“I don’t know! Dude. She wanted me to choke her and—”

“Choke her? You fucking choked a
fan
?” Jag let go of his dick and his hands flew up to his head, his eyes now bulging.

“Man, I didn’t want to. She insisted. She fucking threatened my manhood. She called me a puss, shit! Holy hell. This is bad!”

I paced. Jag paced.

Maybe I should have listened to those damn instructions. Maybe I should have stopped fucking, because now this sex shit had caused me to murder a fan while my cock was in her.
I’m not a murderer. So not a murderer.

Jag spun around a few times, reciting the word “fuck” over and over again. Then he hurled himself toward the unconscious girl and yanked her from the couch to the floor, her head smacking the carpet with a thud.

“Dude! What are you doing?”

“Shut the fuck up, Rush. CPR. We gotta try CPR!” Leaning over her body, he grew hysterical and clamped down on her nose, his eyes pulsing open as they shot back up at me. “Oh, fuck. What the hell do you do?” he panted. “Do I breathe in her mouth first, or pump on her chest?” He looked up at me for instruction.

I frantically combed through my hair. “How the hell am I supposed to know?” My stomach churned, threatening to spew out all the liquor and Xanax I’d taken before, during, and after our show.

By this time the two girls Jag had back in the bunks had staggered out, still naked, and were tiptoeing toward us, giggling.

The brunette’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping as she gasped. “Oh. My. God. Is she dead?”

“Holy shit, Rachel. I think she’s dead!” the other girl managed to squeak out before letting loose a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream.

Both the girls were screaming and backing their way against a wall. Jag yelled at them to calm down, and then the door to the bus flung open. Stone started up the stairs, stopping dead in his tracks when he took in the sight of me, Jag, a random chick unconscious in the floor, and two other girls now screeching their fucking heads off in the back of the bus—all butt-ass naked, may I add.

“Uh…Jules! Jules! Juuuuuules!” Stone screamed out in a full panic, his arms bracing his body in the doorway.

I swallowed the bile that was trying to rise in my throat, and then my heart relentlessly banged against the wall of my chest at the thought of Jules walking in to see all this shit. This would just solidify the idea that I was disgusting in her mind: a sexual pervert turned murderer.

Within seconds, Jag had plastered his mouth over the girl’s parted lips and was furiously beating on her chest, her boobs bouncing with each hard pound.

“Dude,” I yelled, pulling wads of my hair back in my hands. “What are you doing? That’s not chest compressions, you’re fucking beating her!”

Just as Jag leaned back over to place his mouth on hers again, I heard Jules let out a sigh at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, what the hell have you guys done now, you—” She shoved Stone out of the way, his body slamming against the inside of the bus, and then she fell silent. “Oh. My. Holy…” Air rushed out of her lungs as her eyes scanned the inside of the bus, taking it all in. When her eyes landed on Jag’s bare ass up in the air as he attempted to do CPR on the girl, Jules let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek.

So there we were: two naked rock stars, three naked girls—one unconscious, two now crying—Stone standing slack-jawed on the stairs, and Jules screaming in the entrance of the bus. And we were still right outside the venue.

Suddenly, the girl gasped and then moaned a little. Jag scooted away from her, his chest heaving from the adrenaline.

Her hand clumsily rubbed over her face as she sat up. The second her eyes focused, a look of confusion flew across her face. “What the—did we have an orgy or something?”

No one said anything. We were all still shocked, terrified, mortified, and just as confused as her.

“Wicked!” she whispered enthusiastically, rising from the floor. She looked over the bus, then pointed behind me. “It’s been great, but could someone hand me my clothes?”

Stone leaned over, picked up the girl’s clothes, and handed them to her, his jaw hanging open the entire time.

I cleared my throat. I figured I needed to say something to her. “So you’re okay?”

Her face wrinkled and one brow pointed up. “Uh, yeah. Totally…oh,” she snickered, “I guess the passing out thing scared you?”

I nodded, and Jag tossed his hands up in the air before raking them down the sides of his face and mumbling, “What the actual fuck?” under his breath.

Jules stepped off the stairs. Glancing over at Jag and his two naked girls, she said, “Why don’t the three of you go put some clothes on, please. No one needs to see that shit.”

Jag turned, still muttering under his breath as he placed his arms around both girls.

“And you,” Jules glanced at me, her eyes straying down to my limp dick for a brief second, “need to put some clothes on too.”

She exhaled and turned to the girl I’d choked. “So you’re okay then. Not hurt? Perfectly fine?”

The girl slipped her dress over her head and fluffed her blonde tresses. “Oh, yeah. Couldn’t be better, I mean, I just got laid by Rush Wilder. Dream come true, bucket list item checked off.”

“Right,” Jules said, sucking her bottom lip in, her eyes slowly trailing over to me. “Right.” She covered her eyes and groaned, “Would you
please
at least put your underwear on?”

“You know I don’t wear underwear. I like to let my junk breathe.” I looked around and found my jeans, pulling them on just to please her.

The girl finished dressing and hugged me before trotting down the stairs and disappearing into the sparsely crowded parking lot.

As soon as the doors to the bus closed, I could feel Jules staring at me. I didn’t want to look up and make eye contact with her because I knew she was about to lay into me and, maybe more importantly, because I was embarrassed.

Keeping my eyes trained on the floor, I took a few steps past her, but she grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me around.

“Rush? What the hell? What was that?” she hissed.

I shrugged and forced myself to look at her. “Dunno.”

She was pissed and, for a second, I thought, maybe just a little hurt.

“What does it matter?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Seriously? You can’t do shit like that. When James finds out he’s gonna blow up.”

“Don’t tell him then. And I was just doing what he’s told me to do time and time again, fucking fans, giving them what they want. He can’t say shit.”

Her eyes fluttered and another groan rumbled from her chest. “Unbelievable.”

The moment was too perfect. I just couldn’t stand it, I had to cash in on the opportunity to make her even more pissed. “You just mad it wasn’t you? Huh?”

“No, I’m just mad because you make my job a pain in the ass.”

About that time, a rhythmic banging came from the back of the bus, followed by a shrill moan. I could barely make out Jag incoherently talking dirty to the girls he was no doubt screwing at the same time.

Jules slapped her hand over her face and her shoulders fell. “I feel like I would have less encounters with sex if I were a damn fluffer on a porn set. You guys are just...” Her lip curled up and her nose crinkled. “Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.”

So she still thought I was gross, and she had just confirmed my thoughts that we got more sex than porn stars, and all that did was let me know that I really didn’t have a problem. I just got offered a lot of sex and took up on most of the offers. That’s not a problem, that’s a blessing.