Blood and Guitars (11 page)

Then I went back into the loft, plugged my
iPod into the dock in the corner and put on some music while I
retrieved my paints. I stared at the large blank canvas laid out in
front of me and chewed on my bottom lip contemplatively. Several
minutes passed while I tried to think of something else to paint,
but the image burning in my mind refused to back off to make room
for something more sensible. Without consciously planning it out, I
began mixing colors and started to brush paint onto the surface of
the canvas with sweeping motions. Within minutes I had the basic
shape of a stage that dangerously resembled the one from Carlie’s.
And I wasn’t stopping there.

I strolled into the recording studio with a
smile on my face and a small stack of papers. O’Shea and I had
recorded our vocals for “Midnight Poison” the day before and things
had gone really well. I hadn’t heard everything put together yet,
but I was sure the song was going to be a hit, especially with
Karatz’s magic touch. I found everyone in the control room but
Jonas, who was apparently posting some video footage of us online
for the fan club.

“You’re in a good mood,” O’Shea observed.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” I asked.

“I don’t have everything on ‘Midnight Poison’
worked out yet,” Karatz said. “But I spent a few hours piecing it
all together last night after you left.” He was sitting on his big
black leather chair, rolling from left to right in front of the
soundboard.

“Let’s hear it,” Chase said
enthusiastically.

I watched as Karatz made a few adjustments on
the board and then turned up the volume on the monitors from his
computer screen. He started the playback and I listened intently.
The guitars sounded incredible. It started with just rhythm guitar
which, thanks to Karatz’s suggestion, was actually O’Shea and I
both playing rhythm in two parts combined. When my voice flooded
the room, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It
was better than I had imagined.

We listened to the rest of the song in
silence, although Chase was now dancing around behind us, and then
in a succession of high fives and manly slaps on the back,
expressed just how much we liked it.

“The rest is in the details,” Karatz said.
“I’ll have it finished by the end of the week. But you guys did a
great job. It sounds amazing.”

“Thank you … thank you.” Chase gave a little
bow. “I’ll be here all week.”

“Don’t remind me.” Jonas rolled his eyes at
the drummer.

I chuckled and sighed happily. “Oh yeah, I
have a little something here I’ve been working on.” I took the
first two sheets of paper in my stack and handed them to O’Shea.
Then I walked over to Chase and handed the next two to him, saying,
“I took your advice. Again.”

“Which was what … exactly?” Chase questioned,
not sure if he wanted to own whatever it was I was about to blame
on him.

“I had some stuff I needed to sort out.” I
handed Jonas and Karatz their copies. “Specifically, Nikki. She
really did a number on me and I’ve been trying to pretend none of
it ever happened without working through it. To make a long story
short, I wrote another song called “Sweet Disguise” and let’s just
say I’m feeling much better about the whole thing now.”

Everyone was silent for a moment as they read
over the lyrics. I waited patiently for their responses. O’Shea was
the first to speak up.

“It’s about time. Why don’t you show us what
it sounds like?”

I smiled and headed into the live room to
find my guitar. Since all of our instruments were there, it only
took a few minutes to get ready. Karatz gave me a mic and was in
the process of setting one up for O’Shea as well when I began
strumming the chords I had written about my last relationship, if
you could even call it that.

I’d met Nikki on a plane, believe it or not.
I’d been traveling with the band to LA to make an appearance on a
late night TV show and she ended up next to me in first class. I
know, it sounds like the stuff of movies, but as you can guess, the
ending wasn’t so happy. I hadn’t had a serious relationship since
Catalyst had made it big. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have a
girlfriend, but everything about dating was hard once we had
success. It was hard to meet people in a real setting and have
actual conversations, let alone get to know someone well enough to
be in a relationship with them.

Hindsight is 20/20, and so looking back, I
can see all of the things that I refused to see then. Nikki was an
aspiring actress who was moving to LA to get her big break. She was
from a small town and had seemed really innocent and genuine at the
time. She was also really cute, with long blonde curls and brown
eyes. We’d talked the entire flight, and although she obviously
recognized me and knew the band, it didn’t bother me. I realized
that if I was going to have to try to find people who weren’t fans
to date, then becoming more successful as a band would only hinder
my chances at having a girlfriend. I had blindly followed my heart
and called Nikki two days later. We’d started dating, although it
was often long-distance. It was nice to have someone to call during
a long day on the road, or after a gig. Nikki was all too willing
to fly out to see me, wherever I happened to be, and so I often
brought her out to shows and events that I was expected to attend
and then she would go back to California to work.

I can admit to myself now that I was just a
vehicle to get her where she wanted to be: the limelight. I became
aware of that slowly, and so it was easy to ignore the feeling in
the pit of my stomach that was warning me to get out. After the six
month period that I acted as an accessory for her at all the big
events and award shows, she had managed to network well enough that
she no longer had a need for me. She landed her first big movie
roll and dropped me flat on my face. Within a week I learned that
she’d been dating some hot shot actor on the side for a few months.
Although deep down I had almost seen it coming, I had started to
care about her. It’s hard to invest that much of yourself and then
find out it was all a lie. Worst of all was having the entire
ordeal plastered all over every magazine and reported on every
entertainment news show.

So, with a bruised heart and in serious need
of a distraction, I had hit the road with Catalyst and toured for
almost a year. Life on the road had been good for me, as had
spending time with the three guys I consider my brothers. The music
from ‘Recycled Coma’ made for a great live show and the fans had
eaten it up like candy. My lack of girlfriend had taught me to
focus on the fans and I gave a hundred and ten percent of myself
every night on stage. It paid off, too. We sold out a ton of shows
and the record went platinum. In short, having my heart broken had
been good for the band.

I didn’t speak about Nikki, and none of the
guys brought her up. It was easier to ignore what had happened and
get lost in the rush of touring. But now, almost fifteen months
after the breakup, I was trying to write for the new record, which
meant getting inside my head. I realized I needed to vent my
frustrations and get it all out there. Otherwise, Nikki was still
getting the best of me.

Don’t get me wrong, I was over Nikki in the
sense that I didn’t want anything to do with her, but the little
boy in me wanted revenge. If telling the world what she had done to
me in a song would give me some closure, then why shouldn’t I?

Still strumming my guitar, I sang the words I
had written. Once I’d shown everyone what it sounded like we set to
work adding the other instruments to the mix. Karatz helped piece
things together and took some of the transitions I’d come up with
and smoothed them out for me. Within a half an hour, we were
getting through the entire song, although it wasn’t perfect
yet.

We took a break to eat some Krispy Kreme
Doughnuts that Serena brought for a treat. Ken bounced Joshua on
his knee while we talked about the song, trying to decide what we
could change to improve it. After four doughnuts, which was about
three too many, I walked outside to get some fresh air. I strolled
over to Ken’s pool and gazed into the crystal clear water. My
reflection stared back at me knowingly. Writing “Sweet Disguise”
had been like lifting a fifty pound weight from my shoulders. The
writing process was therapeutic. I hadn’t realized how much I
needed that release of pent up emotion until now. Sharing it with
the band and turning it into a real song was just icing on the
cake. The weight that had slowly been crushing my chest was
dissipating.

My thoughts turned to Aurora, and for the
first time in a long time, I realized that I might be ready to try
and get to know someone again. The Pier 60 painting had been
delivered to my place this morning. I hadn’t had time to hang it
yet, but I already had the perfect spot picked out above my
fireplace and I couldn’t wait to get it up on the wall. It would
serve as a visual reminder that I was ready to move on and trust
someone again.

I heard soft footsteps in the lush grass
behind me and turned around to see O’Shea approaching. “Run out of
doughnuts?” I asked.

He stuck out his stomach, bending his back to
make it look bigger than it was, and patted it with his hand,
smiling. “It was bound to happen.”

“I could always toss you in the pool here so
you could swim a few laps and maybe work that gut off.”

O’Shea gave the pool an appraising look. “It
is tempting. It’s kind of hot out here.”

I moved closer and acted like I was going to
push him in. He grabbed me, steadying himself and pulling so that
we stumbled backwards. He stepped on my foot and I fell flat on my
back on the grass, laughing.

“You boys ready to get back to work?” Ken
called from the door of the studio.

“Coming!” I tried to sound convincing. O’Shea
offered me a hand and pulled me halfway up before he dropped me on
my butt. I grabbed his foot as fast as I could and twisted so that
he tumbled to the ground next to me with a thud.

“Ugh.” He let his head fall backward on the
grass.

“You’re such a spaz.” I snickered as I got to
my feet and headed back toward the studio, leaving O’Shea on the
ground.

“You started it,” he called after me as I
walked inside. I laughed but waited for him to catch up, holding
the door.

It was dark when I left Ken’s place that
night. After nearly twelve hours in the studio (with only a twenty
minute power nap on the leather couch) I was pretty exhausted, but
for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to drive straight home. I
knew I shouldn’t be out too late since we were recording tomorrow,
but I drove toward Cleveland and found myself passing The Waking
Moon. I let off the gas when I saw the faint glow of a light inside
and pulled into the nearest parking spot.

I was still working on the same painting when
I sensed Mark outside the building. A moment later he stepped
inside and said, “Care for some company?”

“Come on up.” I called down from the loft as
I squeezed a little more brown paint onto my palette.

Mark climbed the stairs in a quick rush of
air and was by my side half a second later. He leaned against the
table and removed his glasses to wipe them gingerly on the bottom
of his grey button-up shirt. He leaned forward and gazed at my
painting with an appraising eye. “Interesting,” he said in a
cheerful voice. “What inspired this piece?”

“The buffet,” I answered with a convincing
smile as I picked up a different brush.

He gave me an approving nod and popped his
knuckles for a second before asking, “Where do you think the lunar
eclipse ritual will be held?”

“Somewhere expensive,” I answered.

“That goes without say.” He sighed. “Aren’t
you even a little bit curious?”

“Why are you so excited about this
anyway?”

“Aren’t you?”

I shrugged. Somehow I doubted seeing Synod
again would be a life-altering experience for me.

“The guys are practically ancient,” Mark
continued enthusiastically. “Not to mention the fact that they’re
in charge.”

“All the more reason to see as little of them
as possible,” I teased. Mark rolled his eyes at me and I
smiled.

“We only do this once a year,” Mark added.
“It’s a break from the mundane, at least. Don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” I finally agreed. “Now can we
forget about the Synod for the rest of the night? All this talk
about their eternal control and authority is killing my
creativity.”

“Whatever you say.” Mark smiled at me. In a
blur of movement he was at my iPod dock, fiddling with my music
selection.

I took a deep breath and stepped back to
appraise my painting, or what was done of it. In the back of my
mind I was vaguely aware of a human outside of the shop, who I
assumed was just passing by until I heard a knock on the front door
downstairs. Mark, who must have sensed the same thing, whirred
around to face me at the sound.

“Were you expecting someone?” he asked
curiously.

I shook my head and put my paintbrush down,
leaving Mark in the loft as I went to the stairway to peek at the
front of the shop. It happened almost simultaneously. I sensed him
just as I peeked over the partial wall and saw him peering in
through the glass of the front door.

It was Trey.

He saw me and waved. I couldn’t help the
smile that stretched across my face at the sight of him. It was
ridiculous, really. I gestured to the side of the building and then
toward the back of the shop. He nodded and then disappeared around
the corner.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked from over my
shoulder.