Death of a Rock Star: A Boy in the Band Novella Read Free Page A

this, my gaze catches on a girl. Her face is heart-stopping and looks about as haunted as I feel. She’s gazing down at the candles, not really seeing them I suspect, or maybe wondering like me, how the fuck they are staying alight in this slow painful rain. She’s wearing striped pyjama bottoms tucked into huge combat boots that aren’t even fastened and a black biker jacket with an image on the back that is unmistakable. I’d know that jacket anywhere. It’s Jamie’s, which means – she’s her . She’s Jamie’s mystery girl.
    My heart is ricocheting around like crazy. With anger and I’m ashamed to admit, with crazy lust. For a moment I regret that my cock decided to behave on the way over here. I wish I’d fucked the nameless model senseless just like I needed. Maybe I wouldn’t be aching now at the sight of my dead friend’s girl. No, not his girl, his fucking downfall – I have to remember that. Seeing her now though, for the first time, I understand. I thought Jamie was crazy for letting a girl get to him like she did. Now I get it. She’s that kind of beautiful. The kind of beautiful you’d die for.
    So utterly and effortlessly stunning – even in her quiet grief, standing there in a dead man’s coat and shoes, she shines so fucking bright. I’m blinded.
    As furious as I am with her, as much as I want to hate her, I still feel completely fucking captivated. My eyes don’t want be anywhere but on her. I want to confront her, to call her every terrible name under the sun. I want to hurt her for what she’s done. I want to see her heartbreak. But equally, I want to know her, to lose myself in her. I want to lay myself down at her feet and let her destroy me too. I want her. Fucking hell! I want her so bad.
    It’s instantaneous. That strange fated feeling you get sometimes when you look at someone and know that, if you let them, they’d have the power to own your soul. But it doesn’t matter how much I want her, how much this feels like fate. I can’t have her. I promised. That’s the killer blow. And if I can’t have her I may as well throw all my energy into hating her. Promises fucking promises – they’re a bitch. But now that I’ve finally seen her, I see everything so very clearly. Jamie was desperate to keep this girl to himself. What a fucking mug! You can’t keep a girl like her. She’s like stardust, and us guys, we’re the star struck fools that she’s blazing past.
    There’s so much darkness swimming around in me I want to blow it all right back to hell. I don’t want to feel anything. I’m thinking Benzos and I’m thinking enough to knock me out cold. Viper is my go-to dealer in London and has been since my time at St Martins. I deleted his number on my phone after my slip. Oddly enough I know it by heart.
    The girl casts her eyes out to the night. Searching. I hunch myself over and watch her warily, but her gaze doesn’t hook on me. I feel like a stalker watching her like this. She’s twisting her hair, playing with it like it’s a fucking stress toy. She twists it into a tight rope over one shoulder, then lets it drop and unravel. She does this over and over. I’ve definitely drunk too much today. I’ve gone all fucking caveman, wondering how it would feel to bury my face in those waves of rain drenched hair, what she would smell like.
    She looks up at the house. It’s in darkness now. Jamie’s Mum and Dad were here earlier. I saw them on the evening news. I wonder if she did? Such unlikely parents of a fallen druggie rock star – retired teachers, about as upstanding as you could get. I wonder what it would be like to have parents like that, normal parents, who care. The Stepwitch would have thrown a fucking party had it been me. Their statement was heart-breaking to watch – their unconditional love burning so bright in their harrowed faces. They begged Jamie’s fans not to glamorise his death, but to see it as a terrible, unfitting end to his story – to