Page 27 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Like they know in their head that they should appreciate it all and be thankful. This is the chance of a lifetime. Yet, somewhere along their journey, it gets overwhelming. Their lives are under a microscope, and their relationships are broadcast.They’re overly sexualized, scrutinized, and the focal point of negativity. And then they crack.

Is that going to happen to me one day?

Like some foreboding sign from God, the wind picks up around me, hair billowing in my face. I shiver and blink at the sun setting in the sky. I’m lost out here. Is this what I really want? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, hopeful that it’s my brother.

Eli: Are you wearing your lucky socks?

Yes, I saved his fucking number. Why? Because I’m sick. I glance down at my feet, see the pizza slices sporadically printed over the black socks, and frown. I spin in place, searching for him. He’s not outside, and I don’t smell anyone smoking.

Why do you care?

He writes back instantly.

Wanted to know if they still work.

When he and I first started dating, Dreadful only played locally—little bars ‘n shit with maybe thirty people in the audience. We’ve come a long way in just over two and a half years. At our first big concert, I was so nervous that I threw up. Eli took me down Hollywood Boulevard with maybe twenty minutes until we went on. We went to a tourist shop and he bought me these socks. He said I needed something familiar to keep me grounded on stage. I’ve worn them almost every show since, and haven’t thrown up once.

My chest pinches painfully while my eyes mist over.

They do.

He takes a bit longer to reply, and when he does, my eyes bulge out of their sockets.

I’m ending things with Leon soon.

My face twists into a scowl. Is he finally feeling guilty about cheating on him? Because that’s what happened, anyway you slice it. I sure as shit feel guilty. There were multiple points when I could’ve stopped him, but I didn’t. I wanted that kiss more than I care to admit. And now, with this text, my stomach is firing off with flutters while my dick twitches.

No.Justno.

I’m not going to acknowledge this. I know what happens if I do.

Don’t do it, Phoenix.

Good. You don’t want him anyways.

Goddammit.

My hand flies to the top of my head while I pace, watching in horror as he starts to type. I’m an idiot. I’m pathetic, desperate. I’m feeding into this despite all my efforts not to. How long has it been? A week since we kissed? I shouldn’t be this excited over the possibility of Eli being single. I shouldn’t even betalkingto him.

Fuck me. Fuck.

And you know what I want, don’t you?

Not him.

Everything is hot.

I rarely play shirtless, but I stripped after the first song. The strands of my hair cling to my naked back while I beat my drums to death.

Whoever came up with this stage should be shot. It’s long and shallow, so my kit is up on this platform, allowing me to see more of the crowd than I’m used to. It also allows them to see meverywell.

And guess who is right at the front, licking his lips?

I try not to make eye contact. I try to stay with the music and feel the groove in my chest. Jorge iskillingit tonight. Devon’s bass drops are so powerful the tiny hairs on my arms move from the soundwaves. Banging my head to unstick the hair from my back, I flip my head up and catch him gripping the stage. His shoulders are squared, almost statuesque, and people mosh behind him.

Eli’s eyes are onme.

My best friend must feel the tension slicing through the stage, so he jumps up on the platform, effectively blocking me. I shudder a breath and keep playing. Jorge roars into the mic, moving his body to the beat when it shifts into a breakdown. I follow his lead but it’s not to look cool for the crowd. Eli loves it when I headbang. And I’m taunting him at this point.

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