Torn(46)

"Where's Asher?" I ask Dita as we follow her into the backstage area of the venue. I pull on my camera case while Maya struggles with the canvas case of lights. The four inch heels she's wearing aren't conducive to being a helpful assistant. "I need to talk to him."

She glances at a large, circular clock on the wall. "He's about to go on. You need to set up."

"I just need a minute." I don't want to plead with the woman but I will if push comes to shove. I haven't seen Asher in almost a week. Talking on the phone and texting him has only made me miss him more and more.

"It's the last door on the left." She hands me a media badge attached to a bright red lanyard, before she shoves one at Maya. "Tell the guard there that you're Falon. He'll let you in."





CHAPTER 36


Asher




There's a faint knock at the door just as the woman who tries to handle my hair, pulls an industrial size can of hairspray from a bag she walked in with. I wave her away, my eyes glued to the mirror so I can see the reflection of the dressing room door.

I'm out of the chair and across the room as soon as I see the first strands of her curly brown hair as she peeks around the door. I pull her into my arms, cradling her close to me.

"You can go," I say to no one in particular. There are five people in this small room. I want them all out. The only person I want with me right now is Falon.

They leave quickly under mumbled words of confusion. I typically like people fussing around me for those last few minutes before I hit the stage. I feed off their nervous energy as much as I do my own. Tonight, I don’t need that. The conversation I had with Falon earlier was enough to set my heart beat into overdrive.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." I cup her face in my hands. She's wearing the barest hint of make up again. Her mascara has smudged slightly. The lipstick she must have been wearing earlier is now just a faint tint in the middle of her bottom lip.

I kiss it. I kiss her deeply, inhaling her scent as I do. She cups her hand around the back of my neck and parts her lips. I take it as an invitation. I dive my tongue into her mouth, crashing it against hers. I pull her closer, wanting to hold onto her like this all night. I can't. I have to let her go so I can take the stage.

Her hands moves to the front of the blue t-shirt I'm wearing. She fists the fabric as she breaks the kiss. "Asher."

"I can't believe you made it." I look down at her hands. They're trembling. "We'll go back to my hotel after the show, Falon. We can talk about everything."

"The woman who called me said her name is Karen. Do you know her?" she asks the one question I can't answer right now. It's going to take more than a yes. If I say that, the inevitable question of how will follow. It's a part of my life that I try to forget. It's a f*cked up piece of my past that I want to block out. I don't know why the hell she's bothering Falon, but that stops tonight.

I drop my gaze to the floor. "I have to go on stage soon."

The door opens suddenly before Dita pops her head in. "It's time, Asher. Let's go."

"Who is she?"

I close my eyes before I look right into hers. "I can't do this right now, Falon. I can't throw this at you this way. I have to go perform."

She drops my shirt, steps back and tugs her hands to her chest as I walk past her and out of the dressing room.

***

I take on another persona once I hit the stage and hear the fans cheering. I've tried to explain it to my brothers and my friends. That's almost impossible but the closest I've come is to tell them that the energy from the fans surges through me. It takes me to another place where my inhibitions float away and the lyrics take over.

I use every inch of real estate on the stage on any given night. I walk, I run sometimes, I kneel before the fans who have rushed to the front in a desperate bid to touch my shoe, my leg or sometimes even my hands.

When this was all new, the novelty was so thick that it went straight to my head. I'd make eye contact with a woman, sometimes two, and mouth to them that I wanted them backstage after the show. I'd take them into my dressing room and they'd leave satisfied and flushed, with a story to tell their friends.

That part of it isn't for me anymore. I stopped it months ago, instead hitting the gym in whatever city we're in to workout before I go to bed. The band and the backstage crew still party with the fans. Judging by the amount of action they get, the women who want a piece of me are content with any cock as long as they're taking it in my dressing room.

I'm on my knees now at the front of the stage, touching the hands of dozens of women, some grabbing onto my shirt, other's trying to dig their claws into my jeans. I swat away the hand of a woman who heads straight for my dick. A greedy touch like that does nothing for me now other than pissing me off.

As I end one song, a pair of panties hits me square in the chest. I smile because that's what the crowd expects. I tuck them in the front pocket of my jeans. I'll discard them the minute I'm off the stage.

I stand now, heading over to one of the crew so I can swallow a mouthful of water and change guitars. I use the break to search for Falon's face among all the people who have gathered backstage.

The fans that paid a ridiculous amount of money for VIP packages wave to me. I curse under my breath as I lift my hand in the air in their direction. I'll have to meet with them after the show, sacrificing thirty minutes of my life so they can hang on me while their pictures are taken.