Blazed(25)

"What?" As much as he tried to make it look like he had, he didn't snap out of his bad mood. "I'm sorry, I'm just distracted."

"No shit. Do you wish I'd stayed at home?"

"Yes, but not for the reason you think." Sighing, his chin dropped to his chest. A sign of defeat. "I like having you to myself. I like being centre of your attention and it's not that way tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous." Setting my drink down on a table, I cupped his face in my hands and forced him to look up at me. "Just because I'm not looking at you doesn't mean I'm not caught up in analysing how you feel. You're driving me f*cking crazy with your silence and making question why. I'm wondering what I'm doing wrong and what big mistake is going to stop you from going home with me tonight."

"But Scott—"

"Oh my god!" I threw my head back to laugh. Blaze caught me in his arms when I staggered back and lost my footing, cradling me against his hard, also slightly sparkling body. I lost my senses for a minute, drunkenly stupefied by the glitter. " 'I was wishing that I could believe you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid'."

"Did you... did you just Bella Swan me?"

I fanned my face with my hand. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. Though with my inhibitions stunted, I can promise that the sentiment is true. Scott was just a challenge— I was showing off to some unsociable arsehole. That's the usual response to meeting people you idolise, but I don't lo—" Blaze cocked his head at me when I stalled, cutting myself off before I said something stupid. It had almost fallen from my mouth without thinking, a four letter word with the potential to ruin my life.

But yet, he dared me with a look, goading me to sabotage myself. "Don't what?"

"I don't..." The alcohol fuzz turned into a nervous churn in the pits of my stomach. I needed to think of something else, and fast. "I don't look at them like I look at you. They're almost fictional to me, people I'll probably never meet again. But by your own admission, you're a constant figure in my life. You brought me here, so I wouldn't disrespect you by leaving with someone else. You're my first choice for everything these days and I can't see that changing, not when you keep making out that you're going to marry me or something."

"Marry you?" His face flattened and became expressionless, plunging me into a realm of panic and regret. Oh Jesus, that's not what he meant. It was never what he meant. When he talked about permanence, he meant nothing more than being a weekly fumble for the foreseeable future. What were you expecting? A live in lover, patiently waiting in the wings until you decide you don't want Hunter anymore? Yes, remember him? Why would he ever change his mind when you've pushed him to the back-burner? You just need someone to love, don't you? You just need something hopeless to cling to. You wouldn't want Blaze if you could really have him. You'd just f*ck it up by getting too fat...

"Emmeline?" Blaze clicked his fingers in front of my eyes to halt Fat Emmy's tirade. "Whatever she's saying, it's not true."

"What?" Flustered, I stepped back out of his arms and folded mine protectively over my torso. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it seriously."

"Shame. Could you imagine the honeymoon?" Simpering at my feeble squeak, he reached for my hand and pulled me towards an ornate wooden staircase that twisted around the back of the room, inclining slowly towards a balcony that housed the dressing rooms. "Stop worrying about saying something to scare me away. There's nothing you can do to get rid of me."

"I'm a post-op transsexual with a taste for necrophilia."

"If that were true, you'd be happy to wake up next to me. I sleep like the dead."



THE dressing rooms were the epitome of Hollywood chic. Harshly bright bulbs were set into the frame of a mirror that spanned the entire length of a wall above a wide shelf that normally would have been used for the likes of face paint and make-up. In Monday's Miracle's case, it was used as a drinks counter and desk, cluttered with MacBooks logged into their social networking accounts, media players and an entirely too extensive collection of mobile phones. Chase, Jordan and Matt sat quietly together while Scott and a girl— not the girl he'd been with before but just as young— dry-humped in a dark corner.

Between the three well-behaved musicians sat a petite girl with acid green hair styled into a tall quiff. Below the spectacular 'do, her face was childlike and youthful. Why were they surrounded by young girls?

"Oh, Blaze." She smiled brightly from her seat and heaved herself up to stand. "Are you ready?"

He shot her a smile that got his usual stammer inducing reaction of near-disgusting desire and tugged me over to a couple of folding canvas directors chairs facing the mirror.

"You've lost me," I blinked at his brightly illuminated reflection, "ready for what?"

"Oh, I'm going on stage for the first part of the set tonight. Didn't I mention it?"

Even Scott stopped his entirely too graphic necking session to watch my reaction.

"You? On stage?"

"Sure. It probably won't ever happen again, so when they asked me this morning, I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather have watching me from the sidelines. You want to be my groupie?"

"Oh Blaze," sighing dramatically, I slouched down in the chair and draped an arm weakly over my face, "I want to be a lot of things right now, but groupie is only second on my list."

"What's first?"

"On your face." The whole band cracked into laughter again, reflecting the type of girl I'd been pre-Hunter— the girl who offered little more than vulgar humour to a situation. It was bitter sweet, being someone who made people laugh so effortlessly but would never be seen as anything more than the clown. I was well-liked or ridiculed, but never a face that people would pick out in a crowd as exceptional. Living proof that brains weren't as favoured over beauty as people liked to make out.

As ever, my perception was flawed. Scott unfurled himself from girl number two and left her sat alone in the corner to join the rest of his group. "Well damn, Blaze. Your girlfriend is awesome. Muy caliente. Muy bien."

Feeling my face turning puce, I tried to hide behind my hand and tease the residual glitter from my hair. "Oh, I'm not—"

"Yeah," Blaze's arm snaked around my shoulders and stunned me into an obedient silence, "she's the best."



AND without even asking, that was how I became that woman in his life without the complications of being that woman in his life. Monday's Miracle would use my 'label' in an interview about their secret gig the next morning, an interview that would get me in trouble. My background would remain a secret, but the world would know that Blaze had picked his woman from billions and I was her.

Neither of us would make any demands for more time— his long absences would carry on and I wouldn't chase him. We both seemed to accept each others reluctance— no, inability to make an emotional investment. But on the outside, we looked just like any other couple out with friends.

Nothing would change. The words 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' meant nothing. They were just name tags we wore so the world knew who we were to each other on some deep, fundamentally f*cked up level of fantasy we didn't care to debate. Maybe he'd steal a couple more cheeky kisses and hold my hand when it wasn't necessary, but it wouldn't uncomfortable or intense. Just natural. As natural as breathing. As natural as the storm that would definitely follow when our uncomfortable truths and complications came into the light.

But I took that moment and grabbed it both hands. My ignorance was indeed blissful, my head swimming, and my 'boyfriend' about to go out on stage for the first and only time in six years, ready to sing his heart out to approximately three hundred lucky people. I was the luckiest of them all.





CHASE JOINED ME on the sidelines as Blaze took his place at the microphone for the first four songs on their set list. I barely noticed him though, partly through the desire to honour my promise that Blaze's was the only face I saw, but mostly because of how nervous I was for him. Of course, he hid any nerves he might have had well, hopping between the balls of his feet to the music that played out to the crowd that roared when they saw four shadows walk out onto the stage.

The gap between the recorded music ending and the live music beginning was torturous and agonisingly long. The first chord hit me like a bolt of lightning, charging every nerve with static and standing every hair on end. Already, I was captivated, and tipped forward on my tiptoes waiting for the sound everyone was waiting for.

His voice triggered a wave of red hot, molten and raw emotion that pooled into my chest and choked me. I hadn't known what to expect, but as ever I'd underestimated just how soulful and deep he could be in so many ways.