When I kissed her, it didn’t feel like I was falling off a cliff and had to brace for the impact. I never felt as though if I didn’t have her, I’d die. Nope. That kind of crazy wasn’t good for anyone.
Sophie wasn’t like Gracie and I had convinced myself that was a good thing.
My feelings for Gracie had never been rational. I would have walked barefooted over broken glass if she had asked me to. She wanted me to donate a kidney? Sure. No problem. Anything for Gracie-run-over-my-heart-Cook.
And that wasn’t healthy.
No, with Sophie things were quiet and easy. Like drinking a glass of warm milk.
Shit. Had I just compared my girlfriend to a glass of warm milk?
What I meant was she was comforting and low key. Like a blanket or—
Never mind.
I had known Sophie since we were teenagers.
Sophie made sense.
Gracie…
Well, she was a non-issue.
So why did just the mention of her knock the breath from my lungs and make me feel like dry heaving?
Because I was fucking *.
“I spoke to G the other day, she’s coming up with Viv and Maysie for the show on Saturday,” Garrett remarked off-handedly just as we were finishing sound check for this evening’s show.
We were currently touring with Tidal Wave, a lesser known band that was just starting out. It was a far cry from how things were just eight months before. Then we had been at the height of an almost sold out tour with indie rock darlings Cuban Cadillac. Our album was selling and things were going really well.
Then they weren’t anymore.
I didn’t know what had happened. None of us did. All we did know was that after the huge success of our debut album, the sales for our follow up were lukewarm at best.
Just when we thought we had made it, we realized pretty damn quickly that we were just another flash in the proverbial pan. Soon after our second album disappeared from the charts, Cuban Cadillac told us that we were being replaced with Total Distance, a clichéd pop rock group that had just hit big with a single called Highway Heartache.
We were dumped for a group of dudes with girl hair and sparkly jeans adored by thirteen year olds everywhere. Our pride took a serious hit.
Yeah, we still had our hardcore fans. The ones who followed us from show to show and bought everything we put out there, no matter how crappy it was. But the fly by night fans, the ones that had gone crazy for Perfect Regret and had bought thousands of copies of Current Static hadn’t exactly hung around for our next album.
And Cuban Cadillac, another struggling band trying to hold onto their fickle audience, hadn’t been interested in sticking around to help us ride the wave.
Tate at Pirate Records had been a little pissed when we had been kicked off the tour. We got the barrage of threats about our future. We were told that unless our sales increased they couldn’t justify keeping us on their roster of talent.
In other words, Generation Rejects’ days appeared to be numbered.
And we were all trying not to get depressed and pissed about it. We told ourselves over and over again that it was just the business. And in some ways I had been prepared for the down swing. My cousin Josh had warned me before we had gone on the road all those years ago. Josh had been working as a club promoter for years and had seen his fair share of bands rise and fall.
“Mitch, man, you need to grow some thick skin on your sack. There’s gonna be some crazy high times. You’re gonna have bitches throwing themselves at you. You’re gonna have people wanting your autograph. You’re gonna feel wanted.” My cousin had taken a drag off his cigarette and looked at me like I was about to go off to war and might not come back. He was so damn serious.
“But then one day you might find it’s all gone. And those same bitches will be clamoring for someone else’s dick. And they don’t want your autograph anymore. And that label that seemed so supportive and willing to help you get your name out? Yeah, they’ll kick your sorry ass to the curb without thinking twice.”