Page 77 of Disharmony

We all know there’s only one way this can end.

We can’t have relationships or get close to people. It’s our only rule. We can’t risk what we’ve spent years building, but I can’t remember the last time I wanted to get to know a woman like I do Ash.

Sure, I’ve fucked fans before. At the end of every Basilisks concert, screwing a chick in an alleyway or dressing room is like my end of show ritual, but this is the only time we’ve ever let anyone inside Buggy. Buggy is special. It’s our place. A place only reserved for us… and Ted.

Ted has been with us since the beginning. He lived in his mom’s basement and found us after many hours of net surfing. By day, he works at a fast-food chain and originally offered to be our agent free of charge in exchange for free entry to the gigs he books. As soon as we started earning, we paid him.

As the Lionhearts, we’ve seen our fair share of Starnote agents and managers, but Ted isn’t like them. He’s driven by his passion for music over profit. But we still can’t trust him with our real identities. We can’t be too careful when we have so much to lose.

This is why Ash being here is a big deal. She stands on her tiptoes to look at our coffin beds. They were Venom’s idea, and they came out pretty neat. I get a whiff of her scent as she flicks her long black hair over her shoulder. She smells like watermelon and laundry detergent. I want to wrap my hands around her middle and bury my head into the small of her neck to breathe her in.

How has Ash Cooper got under my skin and made me crave her? I like fucking, not getting close to people. Fucking is a release: an angry blowjob, a rough fuck against a wall before we have to leave. I have never wanted anything more than that as Ripper or Damon.

Zed is still pissed at me for the Alexa Frost incident. We had a mutually beneficial arrangement. Alexa’s modeling work was drying up, and a heightened profile would help her stay relevant. Starnote thought a stable girlfriend would help with my image during my time as a Camp Harmony mentor. The problem was, Alexa wanted more.

Our occasional meetings for the paparazzi’s benefit culminated in an evening where she threw herself at me and took my rejection to heart. Part of her had started to buy into the illusion we were a real couple. It’s hard enough to live a double life, but adding the complexity of a fake girlfriend took it to another level.

I saw a few warning signs but chose to ignore them because it was better for me. When Damon Archer has a girlfriend, journalists are less likely to seek a story about his latest conquest. When I met Alexa for our final date, I caught the crazy bitch searching through my cell phone when I’d left our table to greet a friend. That was the final straw.

“Who is she, Damon?” Alexa’s usually pretty face contorted to make her look like a possessed demon. “Who is Vanessa?”

I’m a dumbass for leaving my lock code as 12345, but I’m not a complete idiot. Vanessa is a name I made up to cover Ash’s identity. She wears Vans and it’s the first name that came to mind. After our argument, Alexa sold her sob story to the papers without telling me. It ensured she’d get regular work for the next six months, but it royally fucked me over.

“Buggy is amazing,” Ash says, jolting me back to the present. She plays with her hair, something she does when she’s nervous.

“Sit down and make yourself at home,” I say. I head over to the minibar and hold up a bottle of beer. “Do you want a drink?”

“She’s under-age,” Zed hisses. Hold up, how does Zed know that? He corrects himself seamlessly, “How old are you, Ash?”

Her cheeks turn a fiery red. “Eighteen.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she replies, unable to look me in the eye. “I’ll stick with a soda.”

“Soda it is,” I say, kicking myself.

Does she think I’m a creepy old guy trying to get her drunk to take advantage? I hope not. I want her to trust me. To trust us.

twenty-six

Ash

I loiter with Ted in a backroom, slouching on an old green chair while the guys get ready to go on stage. Ted is madly scrawling to complete a sudoku puzzle with a stopwatch at his side. Apparently, he’s training to win a world record. Ted is strange, but he knows what he’s doing. When we arrived at the venue, he knew exactly how to navigate the situation.

“Fuck,” Ted curses, throwing his pencil as the stopwatch beeps before he finishes. “I almost had it.”

“Do you want some help?” I volunteer, pointing at a blank square. “That’s a five.”

He snaps the puzzle book closed and turns to face me.

“Why are you here?” he demands. The change of subject takes me off guard. I get the sense he’s been waiting for an opportune moment to ask. “What’s a girl like you doing traveling with a band like the Basilisks?”

“A girl like me?” I cross my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think I don’t recognize you or know who you are?” Ted asks. “I saw your video. You’re a kid wanting to be a popstar and, now you’re running around with a metal band. What gives?”

“First,” I hold up my index finger, “I’m not a fucking kid. Second, you don’t know me at all. Watching a two-minute video doesn’t mean you know my life story.”

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