Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force (14 page)

T
hey might call me crazy
, a moron, an idiot rock star with a drug problem. But they didn't know what it's like. They don't know what it's like to be me. No one does. No one knows what it's like to be anyone else. You can't see inside someone's mind, inside someone's heart, and see what they really like, the real person that they are inside.

But I have my reasons for doing what I'm doing.

Did you ever get completely sick of everything? Even though things seem to be going well, hell, better than well. Really going your way in fact. Ever just want to throw in the towel, say ‘fuck you’ to the world and disappear to Paris or Paraguay or Timbuktu or to Mars or to anywhere?

It started about six months ago for me, when we first started to taste success. We’d half a dozen songs on the UK charts, and even made it to the US Billboard top 100. Shit, we've been played on the radio around the world. And then this chance to play in the States popped up. We met Chad through a friend of a friend of a friend who knew someone who knew someone. They said he was a bit of a sleazeball, but he could really help us make it big. The others were all about it, they wanted to see the big time, the limos, the drugs, the groupies. And I guess I just went along with it, even though I knew it wasn't what I really want to do.

"Please welcome the British bad boy of rock, the Burmese Python, the one, the only, Simon Williams!"

I push through the crowd, there are not many here, perhaps a hundred, maybe one fifty, but putting on any kind of performance - a gig, a fight - in front of anything more than two or three strangers is enough to get the adrenaline running. The feeling here is exactly the same as playing a gig, except I know I'll be coming out of this one a lot bloodier than usual.

I'm led into the corner of the ring and for the first time I see my opponent. He's about ten years older than me, but he's bigger and stronger. I size him up and see he’s carrying a bit of extra weight, a bit of padding that will slow him down and tire him out. I would be faster than him, but would that be enough? I lick my lips nervously as I consider my chances.

Six months ago when I first realized the depths of my dissatisfaction I started to try and change things. I started working out. Going to a gym, a Muay Thai gym. It wasn’t
Lethwei
, but it was as close as you were going to get in Croydon, South london. I didn't tell anyone else. Except
her
, of course. I didn't want anyone else to know what I was up to. I needed a separate life, away from the band. At first it was just something to get my mind off things, but then I realized it was part of what I was looking for. While I hadn't known him, I knew my grandfather had been a fighter. I'd heard the stories of his bare knuckle fights in Rangoon, of his lightning speed and cunning feints that led to a string of victories.

When I began to train I felt like my destiny had been calling me all along and now finally I was starting to listen. Learning to kick, learning to punch, hours with the heavy bags - that was what I had been craving. Shit, now that I think about it, hadn’t I even talked about it years ago back when Matt was in the band? Back before I was even the official bassist? I’m sure I mentioned it when we used to sit around drunk and stoned talking about the future. They laughed, I think, I don’t really remember.

It was about two months after I first started training that I heard about this place, this fight scene. At first my training had no goal, it was just a release. But when I heard about this event I knew I had to be a part of it.

I knew our mini-tour in the USA would be the only chance I'd get in the foreseeable future to try this. If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that when you see an opportunity,
snatch it
. Don't think it will come back around again, that you can delay, you can just wait a little while and it'll be back. It won’t. Every time you see an opportunity you have to treat it as if it's the only one you'll ever get, reach out with both hands, grab it, hold it tight against you, and run with it.

I traded the cocaine, weed and whiskey for sweat, tears, steroids and amphetamines. Some people say that's cheating, but shit, I didn't have long to train. I wasted most of my adult life in a haze of smoke, coke, booze and blues. I'd done so many drugs a few more couldn't hurt, right? And they helped. For two, three, four hours every day I'd slip away from the band and go to the gym. Usually at night, when the others were all getting fucked up anyway. If I came back bruised, bleeding or shaky they just thought I’d ended up somewhere I shouldn’t. They didn’t have a clue. Not a fucking clue.

I remembered a couple of months ago when Neal had taken me aside, and asked if everything was alright. He said I’d lost weight (I hadn’t, I’d just lost fat and gained muscle) and was doing too many drugs. I laughed and assured him I was okay but didn’t let on what I was really up to. It was strange that as I was becoming the healthiest I’d ever been in my adult life people started to think that I was actually on the verge of a drug overdose or breakdown. Maybe they were projecting onto me what they really knew to be happening with them.

I look over at Lily and give her a nervous grin. She smiles back at me, a warm affection for me showing in her eyes. No one understands our relationship, at least not yet. They will though. They’ll have to

I am motioned to the center of the ring, where the referee waits. I turn to Lily and give her a peck on the lips before putting in my mouth guard and pulling on my gloves. Me and my opponent, a washed up eighties tough guy actor follow the referee’s direction and make our way over. He gives me a nod as we lock eyes, getting our first proper look at each other. I nod back, suddenly feeling very small. The crowd seems larger than before.

The referee shouts some rules though neither of us is paying attention. At least I’m not. I’m too busy sizing my opponent up and down, looking for his strengths and weaknesses. Unlike when professionals fight there's not much information for us about our opponents available beforehand. From his posture I can tell that he is right handed, a vital piece of information, early on, but I can’t tell much more, at least not yet.

T
here is
a ding as the bell rings signaling the beginning of the fight. This is it. It's time to rock and roll. My body, slick with sweat and oil, feels light but strong, fast and dangerous as I eye my opponent. We both stand there with our arms up in the guard position. He feints toward me but I recognize it for what it is. I stay stock-still, not wasting any unnecessary energy and give him a grin, having not fallen for his ruse. That seems to annoy him and he comes for me again, but this time it isn't a feint. I dodge to the left and give him a little jab with my right hand, striking him solidly on his cheek as I skip out of the way of his own attack.

“Come on, you Yank arsehole,” I taunt.

I am springy on my feet, bouncing forward and back left and right as we go at each other. It’s a full minute before he gets his first strike on me. I try another jab but this time he’s ready for it and knocks me out of the way. I stumble and he delivers a solid straight punch to my jaw. My head rings.

I step back, woozy, and then he was coming at me again, this time with a solid kick, aimed right at my sternum. I know that if it connects I will have the breath knocked out of me and it’ll be game over. I stumble backward and manage to move out of his strike just in time, his kick reaching its apex a hairs breadth away from me.

The bell signaling the end of the first round can’t come soon enough.
Ding ding ding
. Finally. I walk slowly to save energy. In my corner Lily hands me a glass of water. I’m shaking all over, overdosed on adrenaline

"You're doing great," says Lily.

"No I'm not." I say.

"You've got more energy than him, look at him," she gestures across the ring and my eyes follow toward my opponent. He’s sitting on his stool, panting. "He's exhausted. He's too heavy, he can't keep this up. All you've got to do is wear him down, you have the stamina, he doesn't."

Is she right, I wonder. Or is she just trying to encourage me? She leans in and presses her plump lips against my forehead, holding them there a long time before finally pulling away. Fingers squeeze into my shoulders and she urges me up. It’s time to get back in the ring. I decide to see if she is right and find out whether my opponent really is as lacking in stamina as she thinks.

In the second round I dance rings around him, months of skipping and running paying off and I soon see that Lily is right. He is breathing heavily while my breath holds steady. His moves become slower and heavy, and soon I don't even have to move quickly to avoid them, getting in my own little jabs along the way.

When the second round ends I can see the frustration on his face. I am smiling this time when I arrive back in my corner, bright eyed and leaking confidence. Lily was smiling too.

"You've got this," she said.

"Have I?"

After feeding me some water she gives me another kiss on my forehead and I wish it was on my lips instead. She’s the most amazing girl I've ever met - her eyes, lips, gorgeous red hair, perky breasts. She’s the total package. Except for her one vice, her one little problem, that is. Still we were going to fix that together.

A sudden thought flashes across my mind. How are the boys doing? They must be on stage now, without me. It’s odd to realize that the band would be playing all of our songs, including the ones that I had helped write, without me. Is someone else in my spot, I wonder, playing my songs and joking with the band.

Maybe they didn’t get anyone at such short notice. Perhaps I should have told them in advance what I was going to do. But if I had? They would've tried to talk me out of it, of course. And would I have had the confidence to argue with them all, to stick to my guns when they all started yammering at me at once? Probably not. So it was better to do it the way I did it - slipping away and leaving them in the lurch so I could follow my own selfish dreams. I could still hardly believe Chad had supported me in that. He was one inscrutable motherfucker.

I’m breathing strongly but calmly as the bell rings for the start of the the third round. I’m either going to spend another round really wearing him out, or, if I get a good opportunity I’m just going to go for it and knock him the fuck out. Really go to town on his old actor ass.

I skip back and forth in front of him and then duck as he makes a treacle-slow roundhouse punch toward my head. I can't help but grin. This guy is seriously out of steam.

Another slow punch this time from the left. I consider stepping in and giving him a solid job on the nose and try to get past him, but I was wary that he would grab me. If he wrapped his arms around me I could be in trouble. Better to slowly wear him down then make a move when I’m guaranteed a victory.

As I step back I realize my mistake. His slow left punch was a feint, and he wasn’t near as tired as he’d been making out. With a spring of his strong legs he rockets himself forward toward me. I am slightly off balance from my step backward and when he flies into me, his entire bodyweight behind him, I don't have a hope of standing up.

Both my feet leave the ground as he barrels into me with his shoulder hitting me in the sternum and winding me badly, all the breath in my lungs bursting out between my lips as my mouth opens wide in an ‘O’ of astonishment. As I fly through the air all I can think is,
oh shit, oh shit, oh shit
.

I slam into the floor of the ring. It gives a little, bending down then flexing up again just at the moment my opponent crash lands on top of me. I’m crushed between his heavy weight and the floor bouncing back up into me and as the last few wisps of air leave my lungs I wonder whether I will ever breathe again.

My opponent straddles my waist and I hold my hands up in a futile effort to block the blows that I know will soon be raining down. His eyes flash and a wicked grin spreads across his face. “Yank asshole, huh, limey?”

Then it comes. Once, twice, three times he hits me hard in the face and I’m done. The last thing I can sense is the referee trying to stop him as he hits me again and I fade away to blackness.

W
ell here’s
some breaking news for you.

Last night I met the biggest bitch in the wo--

Wait, that isn’t it.

L
et me try again
.

T
onight it became
apparent that the Full Force has hired a monkey as its bassist. No wait, that isn’t true either.

Here’s the truth: A monkey would have been a
better
bassist than the washed up stringy haired manic eyed moron they had playing with them last night.

There was no chemistry, no rhythm, no love, no
force
. It was an un-fucking-mitigated disaster. Garbage.

The Full Force, if you are reading this, you’d better find Si, and
FAST.

C
heck
my blog tomorrow EARLY in the a.m. for the next secret tour location! And let’s hope they can put on a better show than they did today.

Si: Please come back, please, please, please!

H
ugs and kisses

xxxRockItGirlxxx

"
L
ily
," I said to her, my voice filled with that curious mix of anxiety and anger that only a parent or guardian of a wayward charge really knows.

"Hi, Ava," she said, looking at me with morose eyes. She was clutching the hand of Si who had been carried into the room but was now slowly regaining consciousness. He was a bruised and battered mess, but he’d live. Probably.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

Si made a noise. He tried again and managed to get some words out. "Sh-- Sorry. It's all my fault."

"Damn right it is you limey asshole. If you hadn't just had your ass handed to you I'd do it myself." Si let out a groan that was probably meant to be a self-deprecating laugh.

"What the fuck is going on with you, man? What was all this about?" asked Lonnie.

Si gave a feeble shrug from his prone position. When he spoke the words came out slowly. "I've just had it, you know? Had it with all that shit. I'm not interested in it anymore. I've lost it, Matt, I've lost it."

"So you decided to... what... become a celebrity punching bag?"

He let out a chuckle that made him wince.

"Well I was supposed to be making the other guy my punching bag. It didn't quite work out that way though."

"And what the hell were you doing running off with my sister?" I asked, glaring at him.

Si turned to look at Lily. She turned to look at me. They both dripped guilt but I couldn't quite figure out what was going on.

"Tell her," said Si, "she deserves to know. Especially now, after this."

Lily let out a sigh then looked up at me. "He and I..." she paused, then tried again, "We didn't just meet at the show. That was staged. We met online a year ago."

"What?!" I yelled in shock.

I saw Lonnie raise his eyebrows in surprise too. Even tough guys could get surprised.

"He's been helping me. You know, deal with stuff, with shit."

"Deal with what? Why didn't you come to me for God's sake?"

"I love you, sis," she said looking up at me, "but sometimes you just want to talk to a friend, you know? Not your m--, I mean, not your big guardian sister."

Was she about to call me her mom? Christ, is that what I was to her? Had I really pushed her that far that that she now thought of me as a mother. A distant parental figure rather than her sister, her friend, the person she could come and talk to in confidence no matter what was bothering her?

"But what? And you guys started, what, cyber-dating?"

"Cyber-dating?" they both blurted out and laughed. Apparently cyber-dating wasn't the right nomenclature. Whatever.

Si turned to me, his puffed lip and swollen eye not distracting from the serious look on his face. "We're going to rehab. Together."

"Rehab?" I said, confused. "Together?"

He nodded.

"Don't worry, he's paying," said Lily to me. As if it was the
money
I'd care about.

"What do you mean rehab? Why?"

Lily looked down and shuffled her feet. Embarrassed. Guilty.

"I... I started..."

"What? Tell me!"

"I've been taking pills, Ava."

"Pills? What the hell does that mean?"

"Oxycontin. Remember after I had my wisdom teeth out I was on some pain meds? Well when they ran out I wanted more. And this guy at school..."

“Who the hell is he? I’ll kill him,” I tell her.

“It doesn’t matter, Ava. I’m done with it now. Done.” She reached out and grasped Si’s hand. “We’re both quitting everything. Together.”

I nodded dumbly. Barely comprehending. I could hardly believe my little sister had been on drugs without me knowing.

"I don't know what to say." I really didn't. I felt like my world had been flipped upside down three times in the last few days. By her in hospital, by Lonnie awakening feelings I didn't know how to have, and now with this -- this drug shit.

"We'll be alright. I promise."

I couldn't get my head around it. Not at all. Not even the
we
shit. How the hell were they a
we
. When did they become a
we
? It was ridiculous. Shit, I hadn't even had a
we
since I was in high school, unless what I had with Lonnie now counted. Did it? I wasn't sure yet.

Lonnie squeezed Si's shoulder. "Rehab, huh? Chad Chad is going to be pissed, you know."

"Chad Chad? Do you know how little I care what that arrogant little twat thinks? Fuck him."

Lonnie let out a chuckle. "I'll break the bad news to him later. He's going to be pissed."

"You know he knew about this, right?"

"What?" said Lonnie, eyes wide.

"He helped arrange it. Thought it'd be good publicity. He's right of course, but he didn't get it when I told him I was sick of the band, sick of the music. The twat thought I'd be running right back, as soon as my fight had spread across the internet and given the band more publicity.”

“You getting beat to fuck is good publicity?”

“All publicity is good publicity, that’s what Chad Chad ‘such-a-plonker-they-named-him-twice’ Price says.”

“Why the fuck did he have me hunting you down if he knew where you were going to be?”

Si shrugged. “I guess he figured having a big bad biker hunting for me would be more publicity. He’ll do anything for another tweet or inch of newsprint.”

“Twat.”

“Yep.”

I could see Lonnie was pissed off, but he wasn’t as pissed as me. That fucker Chad knew where my sister was and didn’t tell me, just on the off-chance that the band -
he
might get a bit more publicity. What an asshole.

My hand slipped into Lily’s and I gave it a squeeze. She was still my little sis, my charge, my burden.

She looked into my eyes. “Give us a couple of weeks, in the rehab. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Like hell I don’t. I’m going to be right here for you sis.”

She nodded. “It’s a closed facility though.”

“Well then I’ll be right outside the gate.”

She laughed, but I could see there was a hint of annoyance on her face. Too overbearing for you, sis? She should thank her lucky stars she was going to rehab, otherwise I’d be going full on gestapo on her ass.