The Complete Rockstar Series

“Hey, you sodding bastard!” I yell as he shoves me into our shared bathroom.

I stumble in and the door is slammed behind me. From through the closed door Dax calls out, “Get your disgusting arse cleaned up and be ready to leave in thirty minutes! You’re not fucking up our chance to play at The Viper Room, Adam. So shut your gob and get ready!?

?

Jesus, he sounds pissed. I start the shower and jump in, not caring that it isn’t warm yet. “Wait!” I yell from under the spray, “We don’t play The Viper Room until September.”

I hear a noise outside the bathroom that sounds suspiciously like Dax banging his head against the wall. “Adam, it is September, mate.” There’s a pause as I take in this information. It was just June, how did this happen? “Just get ready and I’ll see you in a few,” Dax says quietly.

Fuck. How did I let time get away from me like that? It feels like just yesterday Ellie was ripping my heart to shreds and stomping on it. Now it’s almost three months later? I can’t even remember last night. All I know is that it’s been an endless binge of alcohol and women as I try to excavate Ellie from my brain. But no matter how much I want to lose those memories so my life will be less painful, they’re branded permanently on my soul.

I finish showering and grab a few painkillers from under the sink, swallowing them with a gulp of water right out of the tap. I run a hand down the long stubble on my face and neck and take a good look in the mirror.

I don’t know who I’m looking at, but it sure as fuck isn’t me. The guy in the mirror is a far cry from the laughing, likeable, good-looking man I used to be. My skin is pasty despite the constant L.A. sunshine, there are dark circles under my eyes, my hair is too long and hanging limply in front of my forehead. Plus, I’ve probably lost a full stone since leaving the U.K.

“Dax!” I call out, opening the bathroom door so he can hear me.

“What?”

“Bring me the scissors, yeah? They’re next to the cooker, in that drawer full of crap!”

A few seconds later, my large friend appears in the doorway, holding out the scissors for me.

“Thanks.” Gripping my over-long hair, I start hacking at it with the kitchen shears, letting big chunks fall to the floor.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” Dax exclaims, horrified at the sight.

“Cutting my hair, what does it look like?” I continue attacking my hair, removing piece after piece until I’m satisfied. “How’s the back?” I ask Dax.

“Looks like shite,” he says, laughing. He grabs the scissors and trims it up. “There.”

“Perfect,” I respond, smiling for the first time since the phone call that ended my chance at ever having happiness.

“Now you just have to shave that ferret off of your face and you’ll be good to go.”

“Not a problem.” I pull out the shaving cream and get to work.

“Good to have you back, man,” Dax says seriously, punching me on the arm and leaving me to finish getting ready.

Right. On the outside I might look like I’m back with the living, but on the inside… I’m dead. I died the day Ellie left me. Lucky for me I’ve had plenty of practice putting on a convincing front.

* * *

“God that was brilliant!” Dax yells as we leave the stage at The Viper Room in West Hollywood. “Just fucking brilliant!”

Gavin and Hawke are smiling and jumping around the dressing room, whooping and hollering in their excitement at having played at one of the most famous clubs in the world.

“What did you think, Adam?” Hawke asks, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “I think you did great man. The women loved you!”

“Yeah, it was great,” I agree, forcing a smile to my face. I hadn’t even noticed the women in the audience, not really. They’re always at the shows, batting their eyelashes and coming backstage for a quick fuck or blowjob, but I never really see them. I was much happier with the constant stream of alcohol being brought on stage for me to enjoy during our performance. The women? They come after the show.

“Hey Adam,” a sultry voice whispers in my ear. I turn and see a fit blonde with huge blue eyes.

Just my type.

“Hey gorgeous. Enjoy the show?” I ask her. Raking my eyes up and down her body, I wonder if I’m drunk enough to trick myself into thinking she’s Ellie. I’m still so fucking angry at Ellie for breaking my heart and throwing me out like rubbish, but I’m apparently a twisted bastard because I still want her and the future she promised. So twisted, that I’m using girls who look like her to hang on to the memories.

“I’d enjoy a private show more,” the girl says as she sticks her tongue in my ear.