Page 10 of Bonds We Break

That’s what I do.

I destroy things.

DOWNSTAIRS AT THE back of the hotel, Ruin’s tour bus idles loudly, the sound echoing off the brick of the hotel.

“I like the way my band’s shirt looks on you,” Keelin says. I discarded my torn tights and replaced my blood-stained shirt with one of Ruin’s merchandise shirts. The way he says it is if it marks me in some possessive way, but I don’t say anything.

“What the fuck took you,” Keelin’s bandmate, Rob, pauses when he sees me, “Holy shit, Mia Stone.” He greets me as he stumbles off the bus. He looks as though he enjoyed himself last night. His hair is unruly and his eyes are a little bloodshot. Rob and Adam were always the ones that hung out with us the most when they opened for Mogo. Rob is easygoing and doesn’t let band drama get in the way of his good time. Keelin was always quiet, preferring to hang out on his own bus.

Rob looks from me to Keelin curiously, because we obviously came down from the room together. Keelin grabs my hand, making sure Rob knows exactly what has taken place between us. I pull my hand free to greet Rob.

“Sorry about the band,” he says as he gives me a sympathetic wave.

I’ve heard enough condolences lately, as if it were a funeral. I suppose that’s what it is - a death of something that was once a living, breathing thing. Rob doesn’t say it, but I know he’s thinking it.

I am the reason for the death.

I am the killer in the crowd.

I keep my gaze steady, not letting it bother me.

Ruin has a show at the Whiskey tonight, and then they are headed out on a short tour.

Keelin grips my hand again and pulls me onto the bus with him. The bus smells like a mixture of dirty laundry, feet, and leftovers. The scent is so familiar I have to force down the memories that threaten to invade my mind. The rest of the band is hanging out at the breakfast nook, playing a game of paper football.

“Sorry about Adam,” I say, as I take a seat on the torn cushion.

“Better off without him,” Keelin snorts.

“What happened?” I ask, curious.

A look passes between Rob and Keelin before Rob answers, “Creative differences.”

The bus lurches forward and I grab onto the table for support.

“You wanna perform a song with us tonight?” Rob asks enthusiastically, and I can feel Keelin kick him under the table.

CHAPTER FOUR

Force of Nature

THE WHISKEYIS packed, and the boys are in the dressing room getting ready. I feel as though I don’t belong. This is not my show, this is not my band, and I don’t like the possessive way Keelin is always holding my hand and touching me. What once felt so good is slowly making me uncomfortable, and my stomach clenches in knots.

“You should totally do a number with us,” Rob mentions again, even though I shyly declined earlier. We used to mess around on tour and even crashed their show once for fun. The fans loved it.

“She doesn’t know our songs,” Keelin interjects, and I look at him incredulously.

I don’t want to perform, let alone with them, but Keelin’s objection raises my hackles. I almost want to do it just for spite.

“Sure you do. We could do that one from the old album,” he snaps his fingers, “Taking the Fire.” His excitement seems to rattle Keelin. “That’s the one you used to crash our show and jam with us.” Thinking about all of those fun times makes it hurt even more that it’s over.

“We didn’t rehearse that,” Keelin argues, and Rob shrugs, but he’s still looking at me expectantly.

I narrow my eyes at Keelin and he backs off.

“Up to you,” Keelin caves, but I can tell he’s still against it. In fact, he is dead set against it, and I think I know why. He feels threatened. Now I get why he wanted me in his bed so badly; It’s because of who I am. He thinks he’s dominating me, proving that he’s the lead singer now. Holding my hand is like pissing on his territory.

“Get your asses on stage!” someone yells as they walk by the dressing room door. The band piles out and I follow, but when they get to the stage, I veer towards the floor. I make my way in between the mass of bodies, glad to be distracted. The sound of a drumbeat sparks chaos in the crowd, and the noise drowns out the noise in my head.

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