Page 4 of Bound By Song

The bartender glances my way, and I nod for another drink, hoping to drown the bitter taste of deceit and shame.

A movement at the end of the bar catches my eye. A woman sits alone, her posture a blend of confidence and vulnerability. Her eyes, a deep shade of blue, meet mine, and there’s a flicker of recognition – two souls seeking solace in the chaos. I find myself drawn to her, not just by the allure of her presence, but by the promise of distraction she offers.

I approach her, the alcohol in my system lending a false sense of bravado. I never normally approach women – they come onto me – and especially not omegas, which this woman clearly is Irealise as I get closer. Normally, I have no desire to spend time with or around them, but tonight I’m feeling reckless.

What’s one more crazy act of rebellion? I’m meant to be a rock-god. It’s what we’re known for, right?

We exchange words – trivial pleasantries that neither of us will remember come morning. Her laugh is a soft melody, a stark contrast to the dissonance in my mind. She places a hand on my arm, her touch warm and grounding, and for a moment, the storm inside me calms.

She smells fine. Nice even. Something soft and sweet and floral. It does nothing to stir my inner alpha, but it doesn’t repulse me either. She’ll do.

We leave the bar together, the cool night air a sobering counterpoint to the anticipation building between us. Her apartment is a modest space, sparsely decorated but imbued with a sense of comfort. We stumble through the door, a tangle of limbs and whispered desires, promises neither of us intend to keep come morning.

The night unfolds, two strangers finding temporary refuge in each other’s arms, but it’s nothing to write home about, barely even worth remembering. I certainly didn’t knot her, and she didn’t ask. But as dawn’s first light filters through the thin curtains, reality crashes back in.

I disentangle myself from the sheets, from her, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Looking down at her, I feel nothing. I don’t even know her name, but there’s no guilt on my part because I never gave her mine either. She either knew exactly who I was or simply didn’t care.

Guess we both got what we wanted. Unlike my situation with Lena, despite her claims that I was simply using her for a good time.

Dressing quietly, I take a moment to study her face – serene, untroubled by the chaos that defines my existence. That’s when a pang of envy tugs at my heart, but I push it aside.

As I step out of the dimly lit apartment building, the early morning sun pierces through the haze of my hangover, each ray a sharp reminder of the previous night’s debauchery. The city’s usual morning bustle feels like an assault on my senses, every sound amplified, every movement too swift. I fumble for my phone, the screen lighting up with a barrage of notifications – missed calls, unread messages, and a flood of social media alerts.

My heart sinks as I skim through the messages. Fans are livid, their tweets a mix of confusion, betrayal, and anger. “How could he walk off stage like that?” one reads. I laugh at the next comment accompanied by a shit emoji, “When you’ve gotta go, you gotta go, man.” But another stings deeper: “We paid to see a full show, not your tantrum.” The realisation of the magnitude of my actions begins to set in, each message highlighting my failure and just how badly I screwed up. I let my temper get the better of me, bottling up my anger and resentment through the whole show until I just…exploded. The fans don’t know that by leaving I did the best possible thing in the moment, but the fact remains, it shouldn’t have even come to that.

I think I need to get help. And it’s not just about Lena.

I let Xar’s words get to me, stewed over them until I reached breaking point and then I just had to get out of there. It was leave and get drunk, or finish the show and get high. And one of those outcomes would have been way worse than the other. For everyone involved.

Despite the downward spiral I seem to be on, I have no desire to end up back at rock bottom once more.

Me and Xar might not be getting along great right now, but I couldn’t do that to him again. If the fans knew, maybe they’d cut me a little slack.

Then again, maybe not. It’s not like I deserve their understanding.

Among the sea of notifications, one stands out – a message from Liv, our manager. “Emergency meeting at the label’s office, 9 AM sharp. We need to discuss last night’s incident.”

On a Sunday? Fuck!

A quick glance at the time shows it’s already 8:15 AM. Urgency surges through me, momentarily overshadowing the throbbing in my head. I have to get right across the city in under an hour? Damn near impossible, even on a Sunday.

Flagging down a cab, I replay the events in my mind. Xar’s accusation about Lena, my impulsive decision to leave mid-set, the mindless escapism that followed. Each choice, a step deeper into the mess I’ve created. The cab driver’s radio murmurs in the background, snippets of a news report filtering through: “In other news, fans were left disappointed last night when Ruin Bound’s performance was abruptly cut short…” I sink lower into my seat, shame washing over me and pressing me down like a physical force I can’t fight.

I’ve fucked up. Badly. And I need to fix this. Somehow.

Arriving at the label’s office, I barely have time to compose myself before being ushered into the conference room. I had the cab pull over and ran the rest of the way to make it in time. Well, ten minutes late, but that’s practically early for me.

Liv stands at the head of the table, her expression a mix of concern and frustration which makes me feel even worse. I’ve behaved like a dick, made her job harder, and yet she’sworriedabout me. She’s been with us right from the start and has been nothing but kind, patient and supportive while I’ve repeatedly fucked up. She deserves better. As do my pack.

Dane nods to me. Xar is already seated, his gaze fixed on a point far beyond the room, jaw clenched tight. He doesn’tacknowledge me at all, even thoughI’mthe one sporting a cracking black eye, but I guess I can’t blame him.

The air is thick with unspoken tension.

“Sit,” Liv’s voice is curt, leaving no room for argument. I comply, the weight of my actions settling heavily on my shoulders. She takes a deep breath, as if steadying herself, before speaking. “Last night’s stunt has cost us all – financially and reputationally. The fans are outraged, the label is furious, and we’re on the brink of losing major endorsements.” Each word is a blow, the reality of the situation sinking in deeper. Fuck. I never even considered the wider repercussions. I didn’tthinkat all. Just reacted and tried to take the smoother road to ruin, the slower burn rather than jumping into the full blaze.

Pick the edge that doesn’t cut as deep, take poison which will kill you slowest, and cause the least amount of chaos for those you leave behind.

I didn’t think. I was rash and impulsive and wrapped up in my own pain. I traded the temptation of oblivion for something that would let me drown in my pain, but I let everyone down and now I might have cost my bandmates, mypack,everything we’ve ever dreamed of.

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