I let Hayden's voice in, but I refuse to accept anything else, continuing to block out the crowd while I find myself somewhere deep down and drag her screaming out the other side. By the time my fingers begin to move across the strings, I've got a smirk on my lips and a pair of dark sunglasses on my face. Don't know where those came from, but who cares? I could play in the dark; I could play blind. I don't need to fucking see to know that I'm rocking the crowd's collective face off.
I keep my gaze narrowed to a pinpoint in front of me, locking onto Wren as he swings his head down and smashes the stage with his feet, further riling up the sweaty, heaving mass in front of us. Hayden's already got them in a frenzy, sliding her fingers down her belly and teasing the edge of her pants. She knows how to put on a show; that's for sure. Lucky for us that most people think she's the hottest fucking piece of shit on two legs. In a genre dominated by cock, we've got the one thing that lets us breakthrough the walls of a stubborn crowd – a sexed up leading lady. I'm not proud of exploiting Hayden, but she seems okay with it, and I'm the first to take advantage.
“Forget,” Hayden breathes, kissing the microphone, sucking it back with a heavy breath. “Forget me forever. I've destroyed you one too many fucking times.” Her chest rises and falls as she moans into the mic, drawing cheers and swirling up a mosh pit below the stage. Arms and legs fly out and flail about, lost in an ecstasy that transcends the physical and pulls the spirit out through your fucking nostrils, a modern day mummification through sound.
“Bleeding, broken, buried beneath,” I growl into the mic stand, doing my best to harmonize with Hayden and not overpower her. A part of me wishes I could, that I could take over the stage and stand under that spotlight, woo that crowd, bring them to their knees with my voice. The rest of me knows that'll never happen. I don't know if I've got the strength to spill my guts on stage like that. The guitar is hard e-fucking-nough; it teases the soul and nips at the spirit, but when I'm standing back here, I can at least pretend they don't see me open and bare before them. Ignorance is bliss, right? “Torn and trembling, take me in your arms, but know that it'll be the last time. The last. The last. The last FUCKING time!” My scream echoes out and paralyzes the crowd, sliding through the gray matter between their ears, soaking in, tainting them with my poison.
Wren slides across the stage, and I move to meet him. We're just two dancers joining up for a waltz, spinning in circles with our music, stepping into one another and moving back. Our spines line up and we sink into that shit, fucking our guitars and grinding them into their crotches as we bleed pain and suffering and longing into the crowd. It's my music after all, so it's just reflecting what's inside. Hayden might sing it, but it belongs to me. Me. Me. Me.
Through my sunglasses, I see a face just offstage, hiding in the shadows with a smirk.
Turner. Turner fucking Campbell is watching me screw this crowd with my axe, and I can't breathe. For a moment, I'm afraid my fingers are going to slip, and I'm going to blow this whole gig, but the inner me, the one I dragged out, turns up the notch on my smirk and slides my tongue across my lips. Oh my god! What the hell am I doing? I flick it out and suck it back in, melding into Wren, sliding against him like we're screwing back to back. And I don't even like the guy. I don't like either of these guys, but I can't stop myself. The music's taken over me, and will do what she fucking pleases.
I watch Turner watching me, and see that his brown eyes are glittering dark, like a night sky filled with stars. It's so off-kilter with his personality that it really throws me for a loop. Once again, I find myself having trouble hating him. Seem to be having a lot of trouble with my loathing abilities as of late. Guess when I get onstage, I am just fucked.
Our duet ends and Wren pulls away leaving me cold. And in the middle of an impromptu solo. Shit.
Luckily, Amatory Riot has functioned as a unit long enough for the others to follow me, modifying our song right then and there. The crowd goes fucking wild, and the air escapes my lungs. The lights overhead shift and I find myself bathed in color. My eyes shift to search for Turner again, and I'm glad I'm wearing these shades. If he knew I was looking for him, I'd never live it down.
A gasp goes up on my right and Turner appears out of nowhere, snatching my mic from its stand and grabbing Hayden around the waist. He makes a little come on gesture at me and then leans forward and grabs my lips with his.
I don't stop playing; I can't. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop the burst of fucking power that's just taken hold of me. I'm both a victim and a master to it as it draws my hands along the neck and plucks strings with a violent fervor that both scares and amazes me. Hot wet heat takes over my mouth and pulls the rest of the inner me out, and then I'm kissing Turner back hard and fast and furious while the world's most intense riffs are just pulled straight through me, cutting me up and bleeding me over the stage.