Blazed (29 page)

“I'm totally in. So stoked.”

Click.

I text Kristen and write . . .

Hey, just hoping you're okay, doll. On my way to the show with Eddie and Brandon. Eddie thinks you're a babe too! Anyway, hopefully I run into you at Slim's! :)

Putting my phone away, I say, “Dominique is, like, the nicest person in the world.”

Eddie, who's brown-bagging a tall can, he nudges Brandon and goes, “Look at our boy . . . he's glowing.”

Brandon's laughing.

“Just fucking glowing.”

“I am,” I say. “It's just been so different here, ya know. You guys, Dominique, Kristen . . . you guys have been really nice to me and genuine. It means a lot. Not a whole lot of people have ever been kind to me, ya know. So when someone or some people finally do, it means a lot. It's been really
cool to actually enjoy meeting new people for once and to enjoy fucking talking to kids. I've always hated it since I started school. Nobody's ever been nice to me at all, and I don't know what I did but it's just the way it's been, so I'm grateful for you guys.”

“Then stay here,” rips Brandon. “Stay in San Francisco.”

“I can't do that. I will never do that to my mother.”

“Sure you can,” says Eddie. “And she'd understand, I'm sure.”

“No, she wouldn't,” I snap. “It would kill her if I told her I was living with my father. It would actually kill her, or she'd kill herself.”

“Shouldn't be that way,” Eddie goes. “Parents are the worst sometimes. So fucking selfish, and they don't listen even though they say they want to.”

“If something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself.”

“You're gonna have to leave her sometime,” Brandon goes.

“Probably. But it's me living with my father that would slam the nail into her coffin. Me telling her I'm living with him and not her.”

“But you hate him too,” Eddie goes. “You'd be in San Francisco because of us, your bandmates, and Dominique. She'll get that.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head wildly. “No, she won't, and that's all that matters. Me staying here is me picking him over her and if that happens, she's done.”

“That's so fucking stupid and selfish,” Brandon says. “Parents, adults making kids pick between them. Like, fuck you guys for falling out of love like that and squashing your romance. That's what it is, ya know. They've lost the romance and the passion between them. Once you lose the passion with anything, your life gets darker and darker and darker. It's like a freefall or something, and these people just drown themselves in their misery and want everyone to live in their pity parties. Fucking assholes.”

“It is what it is,” I say. “And she's my best friend and she's the reason I'm even playing music and making sick art.”

“She's also the reason you can't be happy,” Eddie says. “And if she really fucking loved you the way she says she does and is supposed to, then she'd support anything you do in order to be happy.”

“I know, man,” I snap. “I know. But I can't break her heart. It's that simple. If it breaks again, it'll be for good and she's over. I can't do that to her. Not after everything she's done for me and saved me from. I can't do it. I won't fucking do it.”

WE SKATE FROM VAN NESS
and market to slim's. About a block before we get there, though, we stop and hide in an alley and share another tall can and a joint and I pop an entire blue.

Side note: When I was grabbing my take for the day from the bottle, I noticed I only had eleven left, and it's made me very nervous and edgy and I haven't stopped thinking about it since the second I did the count.

Anyway, Slim's. There's a huge line out front, and the scene is totally alive. Tons of kids since it's all ages. Pretty kids and smiling kids and dancing kids and kids with great hair and nice eyes and stoked lips and lovely clothes.

Dominique is standing with a grip of people on the sidewalk out front. I recognize Mark and Keisha from the pictures on the band's Tumblr page. I see Dominique's mother too—wonder if she knows me and her daughter have been kicking it so tough and would be angry if she found out, since my father “saved” her and is responsible for them not having to move out of their house.

The three of us, Skullburns now, head straight for them. Dominique looks up and sees us coming at them and
she yells, “Yes! My boy and his band are here!” Then cuts straight through the small circle and jumps at me.

I catch her, but barely, and I'm thinking if her mother didn't know before about us, well, she definitely knows now.

She kisses the side of my face over and over and over again as I set her down.

“Yay,” she says. “Hi!”

“Hey.” I look at what she's wearing now and I go, “Wow.”

I go, “Nice, Dom. You really did have a wonderful backup wardrobe plan.”

“See,” she says. “I knew you'd love it.”

“Obviously.”

“You look really cute too.” She grabs my waist and leans into my ear. “Hot,” she says.

What I'm wearing is a pair of skinny tight black jeans with a black bandanna dangling from the right back pocket. Plus a navy-blue T-shirt of one of my favorite bands ever, A Place to Bury Strangers, which says
Kill
on the front of it with a stencil of a pig. I've got my Members Only jacket on and a pair of black slip-ons, and I've tied an American flag bandanna around the ankle of my jeans.

Now here's what she's wearing. This pair of see-through and shredded black stockings that run all the way up to the top of her thighs, all-black Chuck Taylors, this black cardigan, this dope gold chain that hangs to the bottom of her stomach with a pair of mini golden binoculars attached to
it, and then this huge white T-shirt under the cardigan that runs past the top of her stockings. On this T-shirt, though, is a black-and-gray stencil of a tiger face with stitches all over it, and under the face, spray painted on in black, are the words
Tiger Stitches
.

Like, this is getting ridiculous, ya know. How amazing and thoughtful and wonderful this girl is.

It's just too fucking good.

I almost wish she'd do something that sucked, so I could at least have one shitty point of reference to dwell on so I can feel a little bit better when I finally leave San Francisco.

“Dominique,” I say. “That's so fucking sweet of you.”

“I did it myself at band practice. Mark helped me with the stencil. You like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good,” she says. “I made you one too.”

I grab her and pull her into me. “Every time I see you, it's better than the last time,” I say. “And the first time we kicked it, I thought it was the perfect time. Like a hundred out of a hundred, and here we are again and it's just so much fucking better. I never thought I'd have a girlfriend as good as you.”

Fuck!
I think immediately after I've said this.

My hearts starts racing and my mouth gets dry.

Stepping back from me, Dominique says, “What'd you say?”

I stutter.

I'm thinking,
You idiot, Jaime. You goddamn fool. You and your stupid mouth. You and your stupid fucking mouth and tongue and teeth. Idiot!

Wiping the sweat off my face, I go, “I . . .” I stop. Then, “I, um . . .” I stop again. “Like, nothing,” I finally say.

“Stop it,” she says. She's still smiling too. “Just stop it. You know what you said, Jaime.”

I nod. “I do.”

“Oh my god,” she goes, and puts her hands over her face.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her. “I didn't—”

But before I can finish, she throws her arms back around me and goes, “You just made me happy, boo. I've been wanting to say something like that all day to you. Jaime.” She kisses my neck. “My Jaime, my boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.” Even though I think it's a horrible place to go there like this. With me leaving in a few days. It's stupid and I wasn't thinking right. I do feel that way, but I'm not going to be in San Francisco after Saturday. I'm leaving, and it's the worst idea ever to push me and her even closer together given the reality of the actual situation.

She kisses me again and then takes my hand and introduces me to the rest of Vicious Lips, who both look really nice and sharp and pretty as well.

Mark is a little bit taller than me. He's got thick, shaggy brown hair, and his bangs are pushed across his forehead from the right to left. He's super skinny and scrawny, and he's got a giraffe tattooed on the inside of his left forearm.
Mark's wearing a pair of supertight black cutoff jean shorts, a pair of orange-and-white Keds with no socks on underneath, and a gray-and-maroon-striped tank top.

Keisha is a fucking babe. Like, she's actually up there with Dominique now that I'm seeing her in person.

Her hair is dyed purple and hangs down her back. She's super skinny and taller than me and has a nice rack.

What she's wearing is this: A short, tight white dress, a pair of white, shredded stockings, a pair of all-black Chucks, and a huge gold chain with a golden gun attached to it.

After them, Dominique introduces me to her brother Jamal. He's fucking ripped and has a tiny Afro with a Z in his 'fro, and when he shakes my hand, he stares me dead in the eyes and his face stays straight.

Dominique's mother gives me a hug and says it's nice to see me again and that she's so happy that Dominique has been so excited and happy all week.

“That's cool,” I say. “I have been too.”

When I say this, I look back at Jamal. He's still grilling me with his eyes and it doesn't bother me, but I don't fucking like it either.

Before me and Brandon and Eddie jump in line to get inside, Dominique takes me to their van so I can store my backpack in it. I jacked my father for another bottle of red wine, and since they're checking bags at the door, I'll lose it if I try to get it past them.

When she's done locking the van back up, she runs her
fingers up and down the side of my face slowly. I'm leaning against the van, looking up at her, just in awe of her beauty and her smile.

“This is the most excited I've ever been about anything,” she says.

“It's gonna be great,” I say. “This is so huge for you guys. And you're gonna kill. I mean, you signed two fucking copies of your EP when we walked over here. Kids know who you are, they love you.”

“I'm not talking about the show,” she says. “I'm talking about this. Here. Me and you.”

“Oh,” I say. Then, “Dominique, I'm excited too, but—”

“You're leaving,” she snaps. “I know. You don't need to keep saying it. I know you're not gonna be in San Francisco when next week starts, but I don't want to think about that until you're gone. Until I text you to hang out and you can't because you're three thousand miles away. I'll think about it then, but right now, I want to enjoy you being here. Cos that's what's real right now.”

“All right,” I whisper. “You look so pretty tonight.”

“So do you.”

“Where are we going after the show?”

“I ain't telling you that, dude. It's a surprise. But we're gonna take my acoustic guitar with us, and it's gonna blow you away.”

“I can't wait.”

“Me neither,” she says, then leans into me and we kiss
and we keep kissing and keep kissing, and I even put my hand over her pussy and press on it a couple of times and she bites my bottom lip and moans.

She says, “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you at my show.”

“You should get in there.”

“Kay . . . ,” she says. “See you inside, Jaime Miles.”

We kiss again, and this time she puts my hand over her pussy and I rub on it until she bites my bottom lip so hard it bleeds.

“Vicious teeth,” I say, as I wipe the blood off with my hand.

“Vicious pussy, too,” she says, then turns around and runs inside the venue.

BY THE TIME WE FINALLY
get inside, It's nearly filled to capacity, which Eddie says is at least six or seven hundred. Place is huge. Two levels even. It's fucking electric in here too. That MGMT song “Kids” is blasting from the house speakers, and Brandon is singing to it as the three of us make our way to the backstage area. I've never been in anything like this. Not even close. It seems even more intense than that last LCD Soundsystem looked in
Shut Up and Play the Hits
.

Since I have an all-access wristband, I can escort these guys with me. It's pretty fucking cool. Even though I always thought that people who make such a big deal about having this kinda access were jerks and booger pussies, it's totally cool to see pretty much everyone out in the crowd staring at us while we head back there, wondering who the fuck we are and why the fuck do we get to hang tough backstage and what they'd probably do to trade places with us.

Right when we get inside the area, Eddie turns back to the crowd and yells, “Devil Feeder!” and flashes the rock horns.

“Skullburns!” Brandon yells, and when he turns back
around, he bumps into this super-skinny guy who's, like, flamboyantly gay but dressed supersharp, and he's really handsome, too.

“Well, hey there,” he says, grabbing Brandon's arm.

“Hey,” Brandon says, then stops walking and starts talking to him.

Eddie throws his arm over my shoulder and says, “I snuck in three one-shooters of Jack Daniel's in my underwear. I'm pretty excited about that.”

“Let's mow them scuds down,” I say.

“Atta boy.”

Right before we descend these stairs that lead to the greenrooms, I look back at Brandon again and he's really chatting up that dude now. He's laughing and keeps bumping into him and he's blushing.