Will You Catch Me If I Fall?

Addison's POV

Being on tour with the boys is different than I thought it would. They’re so busy all the time, we’ve been through five cities, there’s ten more to go. They have so many things to do, it’s certainly changed my opinion of the life of a rock star. It’s not all drink, drugs and rock’n’ roll. Everyday we’re not travelling there’s interviews, radio appearances, sound checks and then the final concert.

I was able to see Trace in action…it was amazing. He comes alive on stage in a way I’ve never been able to live, his eyes are wide, bright and shining. The adrenaline of the crowd, the feel of his fingers running over the strings of his guitar, they’re his drug. He doesn’t need anything else. I envy him for that.

I’m alone in a small hotel room, scantily clad in a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. Trace is out with Ant, arranging the concert for tonight. I sigh…I miss Frank-E.

I didn’t think I’d miss him this much, but I do. Usually, when I feel down like this I have him to go to, to drink my sorrows with, to do some lines. I can’t do this here. I can’t allow Trace me to see me like that, at my utter worst.

My phone beeps on the dresser and I numbly reach over to get it, my cigarette hanging limply between my lips, stained slightly with pink lipstick. The smoke drifts above me, coating my vision with a haze.

I smile, seeing Frank-E’s name on the screen;

Sunshine, things r 2 quiet. Get back 2 me soon..
Zackary Baker owes me money, I have people on my back. He’s not answering my calls. Do what you do best babe, warn him before I have to pay him a visit. You have his number. Use Protection X

I snort, but dutifully I scroll through my contacts, finally uncovering Zackary Baker’s number. I’m pretty sure I fucked him before…

I don’t think I need to explain what he owes us money for. I hate this part, but Frank-E allows me to warn any clients before he ‘pays them a visit’. We rarely have to use violence, we get the money sooner or later.

A flicker of worry shoots through me at Frank-E’s words, there are people on his back. That’s not good and I suddenly wish I was with him. I was Frank-E’s right hand, he needs me in these kind of situations, if not to flirt for more time to pay up, for manipulation tactics which I have proven good at.

I call Zackary, and he must recognise my number, for less than two rings in, he answers. I’m glad Trace isn’t here.

“Addison Gray, it’s been a long time.” Zackary’s voice is gravely but it has a sugary side to it, which has me feel ashamed for threatening him. But it’s not my job to wonder why these guys resort to drugs to heal the problems in their lives.
“Zackary” I purr and I can practically hear his arousal through the phone. I smirk to myself, the old Addison, before Trace, coming back “There’s only one reason that I would phone you”

He chuckles “What can I say, I’m irresistible”

I restrain a snort “Think again Zac, I’ve been talking to Frank-E”

The other end goes silent but I continue “You owe money Zac, and as dealers go, we’re pretty lenient. But you have one week and if we don’t see cash by the end of that week, you’ll be paid a visit…and you don’t want that to happen”

Sweet poison leaked into my visit and Zackary’s voice trembled “Addison, please…I don’t have it…”

“Well find some way to get it! Sell your television, your grandmother for all I care Zac. But consider this a warning. Goodbye”

I slam the phone shut, cutting off his pleading voice. I sigh, stretching and getting up from my position on the bed. I glare at the shut door, willing it to open and reveal Trace but it remains closed. I throw a shoe at it. I’m bored.

I rummage through a bag, finally finding a small bag of weed and rolling a joint. What Trace doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.

I walk out barefoot to the small balcony and prop myself up on the railing, not caring that one small slip sideways I could be falling down onto the hard concrete several storeys below. For one wild moment, I consider it.

I heard a deep chuckle and open one wary eye. I look across to the balcony next to mine and stare at Mason, who’s leaning against the door of his room.

“What are you doing here?” I ask gruffly, smoke furling from my mouth and Mason sniffs it, a mischievous Peter Pan like smirk crossing his mouth..

“Naughty naughty Addison” he sings...and I just smile

“Are you going to tell me on Mason?” I ask, but he shrugs;

“Not if you share” I roll my eyes and stand up slowly. I laugh as Mason’s eyes widen, watching me balance precariously on the railing. I hop gently from my balcony o his and hand him the joint.

He takes it, eyeing me strangely “Did anyone ever tell you you’re crazy?” and I laugh softly;

“Crazy is as crazy does Mason” I say softly, leaning on the wall. I peer into the room and see Simara sleeping in the bed, looking very peaceful and beautiful, her long hair swirling around the pillow in a dark mass.

“You love her Mason?” I ask and he nods

“Very much..”

I smile “That’s nice.”

Though we’ve been on the road several weeks, I haven’t gotten to know Simara very well. She’s tried to talk to me a lot but maybe I’ve been a bit too unfriendly.
It all comes down to fear in the end, Trace has already broken down my wall and stepped into my fucked up life. I don’t want Simara to be pulled down by me as well no matter how much she hammers at the wall, I’ve erected to keep her out.

I hear a noise from my room and I curse softly. Mason grins, flicking the joint over the side. I watch as it disappears from sight and then griping onto Mason, jump back onto the railing to hop across to my balcony…to fall on my ass on the painful tiles.

I curse loudly and then giggle as the drugs I had been smoking started to affect me, in time for Trace to arrive back. He runs out to me, helping me up;

“What were you doing?” he laughs and I giggle again, resting into his arms as he picks me up. He carries me into the room, dropping me onto bed. I roll over, gathering the covers over me. I gaze up at Trace but he’s staring down at me, a frown on his face.

“Have you been smoking something?” he asks…and I giggle again.

“Nope” I shake my head but laugh again “Ssshhh!”

Trace rolls his eyes “Jesus Addison, I’ve only been gone two hours!”

I frown and look at him, growing angry “You’re never here Trace, unless we’re on the tour bus. You’re always busy!”

Trace glowers at me “Addison this is my fucking job!”

I roll over on my stomach “Fuck you…” and huff to myself into the pillow.

The room is silent for several minutes, the air tense and strained. I can hear Trace breathing heavily, anger making his body tremble. Screw him, I don’t need him. I don’t need anybody…

The mattress sinks as Trace lies next to me, I try to crawl away from him, but I don’t want to fall off the bed. Speaking of which, my ass hurts.

I try to keep my breathing steady as I feel Trace’s hand crawl under my top, his palm lying flat on the smooth skin of my back. His fingers flutter gently over my tattoo, and his mouth rests on my neck, leaving tiny kisses.

I give in, turning around to look at him, and he rests his chin on my chest, those damn blue eyes gazing at me. God, they get me everytime.

“I’m sorry” I murmur and he snuggles closer to me, his mouth inches from mine

“I’m sorry too” he whispers and our mouths meet.

He kisses me gently but it quickly turns fierce as his hand reaches to the material of my top, bunching in his hands. He pulls it off me, our lips disconnecting for a minute and I rip off his. I wriggle out of my pants, tugging down his jeans and then we’re together.
I moan into his neck, biting him slightly as he runs his hands over my back and chest. By the time we’re finished. I’m exhausted and my eyes begin to close.

I turn to my side and Trace wraps his arms around me, fitting into me the way only he can. I sigh, content and my eyes flutter before sleep takes me.

When I hear Trace whisper “I love you”, I didn’t know I wasn’t dreaming.