Page 34 of Graves

He doesn’t notice the sadness that crosses his face every time he talks about his son. It was the same five years ago. When he mentioned Alex at rehearsal the other day, I was surprised it still hits him like that.

“The kid’s seven,” I say. “Kind of understandable from Beth’s side, right?”

“He’s a little punk rocker. You gotta meet him. Maybe I can bring him to rehearsal next week—if Beth allows it. Anyway.” Liam shakes it off and takes a big gulp. “Tonight we celebrate! Grave Sinner is whole again!” He drains the rest of his drink. “I gotta piss.”

I don’t stay alone on the couch for long. Leslie claims the spot next to me and plants a big kiss on my cheek.

“You were so good! Holy shit, Aran! The crowd went crazy!”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“That sweat is worth gold!” she says, proving she doesn’t care about her blazer as she hugs me sideways and ruffles my hair. “There’s a shower here if you want. We’ll open the doors for the backstage guests in a bit.”

“Might be good to freshen up first.” I take another big swig and stand up.

“Then we’ll wait another ten minutes.”

“Les,” I ask hesitantly. “What… uh… what exactly is expected of me at this after-party?”

“Nothing specific,” she says. “People just want to talk to you, take some pictures, and have fun.”

I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling that the whole world hates me—no matter how much the fans here are celebrating me.

Fuck. I hate myself too.

At least the adrenaline is still pumping, and the music is throbbing inside me like a heavy bassline.

When I step into the bathroom, I catch Liam doing a line of coke. He straightens up, rubs his nose, and looks at me in the mirror.

“You want some?” he asks, nodding at another line on the sink.

I freeze. Memories flood back and the craving tingles in my fingers.

“No thanks, I… just wanted to stick my head under the shower…”

I try to act like it’s no big deal that Liam is doing coke and slip into the shower room, but inside everything is spinning. On pure instinct, something in my body screams for the high only cocaine can give me.

On autopilot, I peel off my sweaty T-shirt, turn on the water, and bend forward. It’s not about washing off the sweat anymore—it’s about cooling my head, because it feels like it’s about to explode.

Cold water pelts against the back of my skull, drowning out every sound.

Maybe coke wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

It would probably make these damn headaches disappear.

I push the thought away and focus on myself. I rub my face and wash my chest.

A towel is waiting, and I’m glad I brought a fresh shirt. After drying my hair, I head back to the backstage area, which is already packed with people.

Mike, the guitarist, takes me under his wing and leads me into the crowd, even though I’d rather go home. But I know this is work, so I try to be as friendly as possible and smile. Once the photo is taken, I get pushed along—or new people step in to take their place.

My head is pounding harder and it’s getting difficult to focus.

I’m overstimulated.

Maybe I should’ve taken Liam up on his offer.

I keep scanning the room like I’m looking for the end of a signing line, but people are everywhere. When I realize I’m searching for Koh, I shake my head internally. Having him around soothes me in a strange way. Even if he can’t stand me, at least I know where I stand with him.