I nod the security guys away, and go into another song not requiring I play my guitar. I don’t miss a note, a beat, a stride. I pull the girl’s body against me. She’s bouncing and moaning, so I pat her ass and slip my fingers into the back of her panties. She stills. No one can see what I’m doing up here. The stage is dark and smoky. I touch her cunt. She’s wet and hot. My fingers dip into her channel and she clings to me as I slow the song down, so I can do this to her.
She sobs into my neck and jerks against me, coming on my hand. The moment she finishes I release her and she sags. Two men from my local security detail get her at my signal and escort her off the stage.
I rock out, bringing the tempo back up. We’ve glided seamlessly through the fourth song. I’m in my element here. I get girls off onstage and, fuck them senseless, off.
Try as I might, I can’t refrain from glancing at Georgie. I’ve made it to the sixth song without doing it, but now, I have to. She’s standing there, rapt with adoration, clueless to what went on with that fan. Though I don’t want her hurt, I wish she would’ve seen. She might’ve found the strength to do what I can’t manage and turn away from me.
Then, again, maybe not. She sucked my dick because she wants me to like her. Keep her. I feel so fucking low. I’ve never touched an under aged girl in my fucking life, and yet I allowed her to suck me off. Again. I’m fighting whatever I feel for her as best I can. I combat the memories of the feel of her the only way I know how—with other women. Nothing I do expunges her from my thoughts.
She’s going to fucking destroy my career. I can’t remind myself of that enough. Music is all I have. My family might hate me, but I’m needed because of my talent.
If I fuck her, I’m fucked. I know it.
I look at her again and she’s staring at me like I own the world. In many respects, I do. During the second set, I’m switching to the mike on my headset. Until the last two songs to bring the crowd down, we will be going at full speed.
Two songs later and we’re taking a five minute break. I head straight for Georgie. Before I reach her, I see that she’s green and sweating. She’s coming down from her high and into a hard fall. She’s done a lot of drugs these past few days.
She clutches my arms. “I need a hit,” she says, desperate.
I snatch the water from Quint, ignoring how the guys now ring us, staring at Georgie.
“Get me some blow,” she cries, hugging me with all her might. “Now.”
“Get her to my hotel room, Kiln. No matter what she says—or offers—don’t go anywhere else but to my suite.”
I disentangle her arms from around my neck. It’s time for me to return to stage. I have to push her out of my head. She’s struggling against Kiln, begging for her purse.
Kiln sweeps her into his arms and carries her off, ignoring her wild blows. I hear myself digging a deeper hole for her. “Give her something to calm her down.’
I turn back to the stage, determined to focus my energies on the remainder of the concert.
Georgie
I’m dying.
My mouth is as dry as a chip. I’m cold, then hot, then cold again. My fingers shake as my stomach seizes up on me. I’m coming down and it isn’t a good one. Crowell gave me something bad and no one is listening to me. Kiln, the big, muscled beef head, is manhandling me to an elevator.
I can’t scream around the material tied around my mouth. I’m pounding his back and he’s ignoring me. I’m under a blanket, just like I was when he carried me out of the stadium. I didn’t comprehend the chaos around me. People were flinging my name about and I didn’t understand why. I couldn’t follow the words. My head was spinning too much.
I only know I’m being taken to an elevator because I asked him where we were going when he pulled me from…the backseat of the Escalade. I think that’s my transportation. That’s how I was picked up, anyway.
The elevator dings. A key card clicks into place and beeps in good will. I’ve always wondered how that works. What genius managed to find a way to have a piece of plastic connect and work a lock’s tumbler?
I bounce and squeak, then bounce again landing on a mattress. The cover is thrown off me. Kiln grabs at my gag untying it, shaking me when I struggle. When he picked me up, he was nice. Now, we’ve had a return of the basics—his being an asshole.
He lifts me by my arms and settles me against the pillows, straddling me.
“If you keep still, I’ll give you something to feel better,” he whispers, his voice soothing me and calming my racing heart.
I’ll do anything if he makes me feel better. I’m scared and alone and hurting inside. Not knowing why I feel bad for all the pain I have. When all is said and done, my life is spectacular.
I just have no connections with anyone. My mother. Sometimes. When she remembers I’m alive. I want a connection. I want someone to want me and worry about me.
The only way I know how to make myself stop being a silly crybaby is escaping. I need it now more than ever. I don’t have Crowell anymore. I won’t even be able to take him into my mouth because I do it wrong. He says the next time I want a fix, he’s going to fuck me in the ass.