
|
TaintedClay's eyes snapped open and he gasped, his body jolting upright to a sitting position. Absentmindedly clearing some of the crusted sleep from his bleary eyes, his brows furrowed in confusion. What had happened? Then he remembered. Kristin. They had made love, and it had been wonderful, and he had felt so alive... But where was she? A quick survey of the room told him that she had left. He sighed, slowly standing up and tugging on his discarded clothing. She probably had to get back to her job... Which reminded him of his. Checking the clock, he swore and headed for the door of the room. He was almost an hour late to soundcheck. Jogging swiftly through the halls, he reached the backstage entrance and walked timidly onto the bright stage, blinking in the harsh light and trying to ignore the annoyed glares of the crew. "Why are you late, Clay?" The words were spoken with a forced neutral tone, syrupy as they dripped through the warm air. He turned reluctantly to face the voice, and smiled apologetically at his tour manager. She looked frazzled and exhausted and ready to strangle him. Dark wisps of hair floated around her pursed lips, and her eyes stared at him accusingly. "I'm sorry Mary." "You should be sorry! And your damn dressing room door was locked so I couldn't get in and bring your skinny butt out here." Clay lowered his head, studying the indentations on the scuffed wood floor. "WHAT have I told you about locking your dressing room door if you're going to sleep? You know you're a heavy sleeper - you didn't respond when I knocked on your door! TWICE!" "I lost track of time. It won't happen again." He assured her. "You don't have to get so ticked off at me. I know you're upset, but-" She cut him off. "Clay, just because the tour has your name on it does NOT mean it's all about you. I'm sure you're very well aware that there are HUNDREDS of people making this go on every night. All we ask is that you show up for soundcheck and the concert. I will NOT have you acting irresponsibly. I HAVE A TOUR TO RUN!" Mary stormed off, muttering obscenities under her breath that he was sure were directed at him. His downcast eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He had visibly wilted, and now he moved to the center of the stage with slumped shoulders, still staring at the ground. Handing him a microphone, a sympathetic woman patted his shoulder reassuringly. "It will be okay, dear." She told him gently. "Mary is just stressed out. Don't you worry." He raised his eyes to meet hers, grateful for the kind words. She smiled and left him standing there alone. The band played a few measures of music, and he flipped the microphone on. Opening his mouth to sing, he took a breath and exhaled a note. "Yeah-" The music stopped. He shook his head, mad at himself for the off-key noise he had just made, and cleared his throat as the band started again. "Ye-" Clay's voice cracked, and he threw the microphone down in a sudden fit of rage. Grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table, he stormed off the stage and through the white hallways until he had once again reached the security of his dressing room. He was just about to slam the door with as much strength as he could muster when Mary appeared before him, looking even angrier than before. "What are you doing here?" She hissed, her eyes sharp daggers. "I can't do soundcheck right now." "Clay, you have to! You-" "Stop it." "You must come-" "Please... Stop it." His hand gripped the water bottle tighter, shaking slightly. She grabbed his arm forcefully and yanked him down the hall with her, headed back to the stage. Clay's stomach rumbled. He was suddenly hungry. So hungry... Mary screamed as he slid from her grasp and crumpled onto the floor. His eyes closed and his head slammed into the smooth linoleum with an audible crack. He didn't move.
|
|---|