Page 23 of Dirty Chorus

I play with the hoodie strings. “Can I see it?” I ask, and my tongue suddenly feels like sandpaper.

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters as he crosses his arms, grabbing the edges of the hoodie pulling it over his head. I think I’m having a hot flash the second he tosses it to one of the bar stools. He’s wearing a baggy, long-sleeved maroon shirt that’s way too big for him. The collar of his shirt is at the edge of the tattoo, and I wonder if it irritates him. When I look closer at it, I gently tug at the collar. The green snake is gorgeous, and the shading was done with care. It looks so vicious, wrapping around a crisp red apple and the leaves surrounding both of them is done so neatly. I’ve seen cringe tattoos, and whoever drew this is the next Van Gogh.

“I know you have a bunch, but where else do you have tattoos?”

“All over.” He rolls up his sleeves, and more stories are painted on his arms.

“These are beautiful.” I run my fingers down a red Japanese dragon, coiling around his biceps with beautiful swirling clouds and red flowers. Noah’s arms aren’t bulging with power like a football player, but the warm lighting highlights how toned he is. Within seconds he’s covered in goosebumps, and I’m coated in them too.

I pull away and adjust my top as it’s risen up, exposing my belly more than I’d like. I shouldn’t touch him. That’s rude. I’m invading his personal space. We don’t know each other like that.

“I like the tattoo on your hand too,” I point to the rose, which I know tends to be the one many people get. I meet his hazy gaze, his dark eyes on me. God, they're tempting, and I want them to keep me company.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks and reaches for strands of my hair, lightly pulling the curls and letting them bounce. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and my heart kicks into overdrive. “What?” he asks with a chuckle, tilting his head, leaning in until I take three steps back and I’m pressed against the bar.

My sweaty hands glide across the counter, and I knock over a sleeve of cups. The thud of the cups hits my eardrums, and then all I hear is the thump of my heartbeat.

“Nothing... Nothing, it’s just...” I wave my hand but my nerves skyrocket in every vein in my body, and I don’t understand why.

He leans in close enough that I can smell him, sweet and spicy. “What is it?” he laughs lightly again.

The door bangs open, and the roar of the bar outside fills the room. I snap out of it as Omen comes trudging in. “It’s showtime, boys! Watch out for the bras!”

Noah bites his bottom lip before he slips past me. My chest is on fire. I can’t seem to put out the flames.

“Good luck,” I say with an uneasy chuckle.

The drummer gets up to follow Omen and for a second I’m thrown because I completely forgot he was still in here with us. He really was in his own little world. I follow behind them, but head to the crowded bar as they make it to the stage. It’s tiny, and it can barely fit the four of them, but at least there’s room for Noah to walk around and sing. Lights burn auburn across the brick wall behind them. Once the crowd in the bar notices Noah pulling the corded microphone from its stand, girls start swarming to the stage.

“How’s it going tonight?”

My heart skips a beat from his voice coming out of the loudspeakers. It’s smooth, and if his singing sounds anything like his actual tenor voice, I might be in danger. Girls scream as others lift up beer cans, throwing up devil horns.

“It’s been a while, and this place is packed. Holy hell!” Noah kneels down, grabbing one of the girl’s hands reaching for his feet. She leaps up and down, shouting over all the conversations. “What was that?” he cups his ears and gives her a surprised look. “You flew in from Virginia to come see us play at a bar? No fucking way?” She continues to leap up and down with excitement, but the gothic look still makes my stomach roll. “Well, we love having you here. I’m sure most of you know the first song we are gonna play. It’s called Forbidden Fruit.”

Noah lifts his hand in the air, twirling his index finger, and Omen strikes the first chord, his eyes on his fingers. The drums kick in, hitting me like a punch to the chest. He pounds out rhythms at a quick tempo. The bass guitarist taps his foot and bangs his head. Noah brings the mic to his lips and lets out one guttural roar, and everyone cheers. It becomes a madhouse, and everyone in here knows the song.

Noah cups the mic and growls, “I can’t...” and flicks the mic toward the crowd as they yell back, “Stop!”

“I can’t!” He growls again, and the crowd grows louder as they scream back. “Stop!”

“You’ve gotta be louder than that,” he says so calmly and collectively with a smirk on his face. He paces back and forth and cups the mic again. “I can’t!” He points the microphone back and everyone roars, “Stop! Blegh!”

She’s the sunlight, my shadow, an Eden, a bite of the forbidden fruit

The serpent’s whisper isn’t guilty of temping me

I’m lost in this paradise, and I’ve never belonged.

She’s the forbidden, a beautiful sin, and she’s tempting too

I knew from the start that I could never win.

She’s gave me the fruit that I bit into,

Together we fell into a deadly paradise.

They say I’m condemned to a life of death