Free Death of a Rock Star: A Boy in the Band Novella by NJ Frost

she curls herself around me. It feels like being wrapped in pure, unfiltered grief and it pulls and frays at my own pain. Here in the enemy’s bed, something fucking weird happens. It’s as though our pain binds together, twists and tangles and becomes inseparable. Like a strange connection is made. I stroke her hair gently, and I feel oddly at peace as her sobs wain and still.
    I hate this girl. I fucking hate this girl. Don’t I?
    I finally give in to the urge that has been burning white hot inside me since I first laid eyes on her, I breathe her in. Holy shit, she’s like the drug to end all drugs. I’m a dead man.
     
     

     
     
    Jamie is holding me. Not the crazed, ravaged Jamie of recent memory. Not gaunt or unkempt. He’s not twitching and ticking, looking for a way out – a bleak escape. His eyes don’t have that dead look about them. Instead, he’s glorious, golden. My Jamie. His arms have found me, pulled me out from a darkness that I don’t want to face. He’s holding me close, caressing me and all the broken pieces are fusing back together, making me whole again. I’m finally home, here in these arms.
     
     

     
     
    How long I’ve sat here holding her, I’m not sure. It feels like forever and no time at all. Sylvie is fast asleep, but I don’t want to risk waking her and breaking this weird fucking spell I’m under. She feels too good in my arms to let go of just yet. I’m being the good Boy Scout, making sure she’s okay. That’s all. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. And I have been surprisingly good. I’ve tried to keep all thoughts of peeling off her dress at the back of my mind, despite the fact that one of her beautiful tits is almost visible at the plunging neckline. I keep getting tantalising glimpses of a delicately inked tattoo there that I can’t quite make out. I’ve been watching her chest rise and fall purely out of concern for her wellbeing. Honestly. I haven’t ached to brush my lips there at all.
    Her phone buzzes again. It’s on the night stand in her bag. I’d better check it’s not Alex Denton again, or someone else wanting her. I don’t want to get caught here in her apartment. This would take some explaining. I slide out of her grip to check her phone. It’s a text from a contact named CK and my hackles rise straight away at the tone of the message. It’s far too fucking familiar for my liking.
     
    CK: How you doing gorgeous?
     
    I’m tempted to reply: Fine, now fuck off , but I restrain myself.
    Her phone buzzes again.
     
    CK: You said you’d call when you were done. You want me to come over? I could help you shake off the day ;)
     
    This has to be a guy. A guy who she’s more than familiar with. A fucking winky face? I’ll be tempted to give this fucking prick a winky face if he shows up while I’m here. But whoever this CK is, he’s persistent I’ll give him that. A few minutes later her phone buzzes again.
     
    CK: Dent says you’re home… in bed. Come on Sylv, don’t leave me hangin. You said you’d be up for a fuck. I’m at your service. Call me
     
    So this is some guy she’s fucking. It makes me more than a little sour to think that he’s tapping her up for sex barely hours after Jamie’s funeral. I’m disgusted that she told this fucker she’d be up for it. I’m disgusted and furious with myself. I’d started to let my guard down, dazzled by this girl’s beautiful exterior. In its glare, I let myself forget that, beneath it, there’s nothing .
    I can’t help myself though. I find myself replying, trying to put this fucker off.
     
    Me: Not tonight
     
    CK: Not going to let you mope. I’m coming over… good job I still have a key ;)
     
    Shit!!!
     
    Me: Don’t
     
    CK: Too late. On my way
     
    Oh Fuck! I have to leave. Now. This guy could live across the street. He could be minutes away for all I know.
    But because I’m pissed off, and I’m way beyond feeling despicable, I let myself stoop even lower. As I’m