I Wanna Be Somebody

The last of the Coke trickled into my cup, mixing with the extensive amount of a Jack Daniels already at the bottom. My head was afloat, motor function slowing as the thrumming adrenaline from the concert was lost to high levels of Tennessee whiskey.

Nearly everyone was packed into the two connecting suites, one belonging to us and the other was Amaranthe’s. We were only missing Epica, who were on their way back from the venue. Drinking and discussing the oncoming tour settled for a relaxed environment to gaining familiarity with our future bus mates, Arch Enemy.

Personally, I was intimidated by that prospect; sharing a bus with Arch Enemy, a female-fronted death metal band whose lead singer looked like she could chew me up and spit me back up within seconds, even though she was a good five inches shorter than me. In general, they were an intimidating band. Tall, burly men who towered over blonde Angela Gossow with looks of pure aggression. Until you started talking to them and discovered they were friendly people. Sharlee—the giant of a bassist—and I had a similar sense of humor, dryly bantering back and forth until we could no longer hold straight faces.

“Why don’t you slow down there, søster?” Kris commented, standing beside me. “That’s like…what? Your forth glass?”

I took another swig, never taking my eyes off him, quirking an eyebrow in challenge as I nearly chugged the entire beverage. The slight burn from the Jack didn’t hinder me. When I finished, I gave a satisfied sigh, unscrewed the bottle of Jack and filled the glass half way. “I’m pacing myself.”

“Like a racecar driver.”

I kissed Kris’ cheek. “You’re a sweetie for worrying about me. But I’m fine.” By the incredulous look on Kris’ face, I knew he heard the fumbling in my lips, the extended “f” on the last word. “Really!”

“You’re almost as bad as the twins.” We looked over to see our drummer and bassist completely plastered. It had only turned midnight. Oblivion was chuckling over something with Sharlee, his blue eyes glazed by the vodka in his own cup. Avaa was talking a million miles an hour to Johan and Andreas as he stood unsteadily on top of the bed.

“Not quite that bad,” I snorted. In truth, I was just as bad as the Swedes. I hid it better by drinking my fill in a corner, only exposing my drunkenness when I tried to move from that corner and totally face planted. There was our first show in Finland, when the Finnish spirit got ahold of me and I passed out in the middle of a busy sidewalk. In Madrid, some Spanish twat tried to get me into his taxi when I couldn’t even count to two. I stumbled around the streets of London for hours, asking anyone and their dog if they knew of the glory that was Slash. Supposedly. My savior during all those unfortunate situations was Kris, our delicate and impassioned keyboardist. He was my parole officer, conscience, and guardian angel. He didn’t get paid enough.

Kris’ expression was—again—incredulous. I smiled and meandered away to make conversation with some of the other musicians we’d be touring the next month with.

There was Jess’ and I’s long time idols—Kamelot. Their guitarist, Thomas Youngblood, became a large influence on my playing when I agreed to join Memento Mori. Prior to diving into the symphonic metal scene, I’d primarily played in the styles of classic rock, what’d I’d learned on. Roy was one of Jess’ influences as far as singing.

Amaranthe, the Swedish power metal band, was also present on our tour. They were brand new, having formed the year prior and recently been renamed from “Avalanche”. Their most notable trait was they were fronted by three vocalists: Elize Ryd (Avaa’s heartbreaker), Jake Lundberg, and Andreas Solveström. Elize was a little spitfire with energetic presence both on and off stage and—dare I say—she was beautiful with her crystal eyes and outrageously thick chocolate hair.

It was Jake who approached me, a slight smirk on his lips, handsome face framed by long, brown dreadlocks. I could smell the whiskey on his breath when he opened his mouth. “You played awesome tonight.”

“I do every night,” I answered immediately, offering my own smirk as I took another sip of straight Jack. I had to blink more frequently to counter the blurriness in my vision.

Jake’s smile only grew and he stepped closer to me, closer than my liking. “What else could you do good tonight?”

I was taken aback, thrown by the clear suggestiveness in his tone, his expression, his whole body language. But my drinking had slowed by reaction time and I simply smiled, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. Like always, Kris appeared at my side, his usual open and smiling face clouded with a glower.

“You’re a little closer than what’s appropriate there, Lundberg.”

Jake grinned drunkedly. “What? She your girlfriend, Stjerne?” His own lips stumbled over the Danish surname.

“No, but she’s Isaac’s and he just walked in the door. So I’m saving you from some broken teeth.”

My neck cranked to see around Jake. Sure enough, the six members of Epica were filing through the door. Among them was their gorgeous lead singer, Simone Simons, fiery hair looking damned perfect for having just performed a concert. From behind, I heard a squeal and Jess was rushing past me before hurtling into the band’s rhythm guitarist and founder, Mark Jansen.

“Mark, its been so long!” Jess wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. The two grew up together in the Netherlands, best friends for several years. They hardly saw each other anymore. Clearly by the way they began speaking hurriedly in Dutch, grins lighting up both their faces.

I approached my own favorite member of Epica, grabbed the back of his head, and laid a good, long one on his lips. Isaac happily returned the kiss, but was far from prepared for the intensity of it as I felt his reluctance, wanting to actually give me a verbal greeting. I wasn’t so willing as I continued moving my lips against his.

“Someone missed you, Isaac,” Arien, their drummer, chuckled.

Isaac finally had to take my shoulders and pry me off him. His white teeth flashed in a God-given smile. “Good to see you too.” Isaac was a beautiful human being, both inside and out. Long, dark hair a shade lighter than black was tied back from his round face, a matching soul patch dotting his chin. His smile reached that of his liquid browns and I nearly melted, the unsteadiness of intoxication making my knees weaker. I forgot every hurt and wound from the last month, everything that would otherwise keep me away from him.

“I missed you,” I said, echoing Arien’s words as I leaned in for another kiss.

Isaac leaned away, eyebrow quirking. “You smell like you inhaled a whiskey bottle.”

“She practically has,” Kris answered, a tinge of disapproval in his voice.

I ignored it, smiling at Isaac with a lazy smile, my hands running down his front. In my growing inebriation, I missed the look of uncertainty coming from my boyfriend. Hardly was I ever like this, only when plastered and inhaling whiskey. In my mind, I figured Isaac enjoyed it.

We had been together since January of the previous year, making our relationship almost a year and half. Jess, the boys, and I went to 70,000 Tons of Metal as spectators rather than performers, and God Dethroned—Isaac’s previous band—was on the lineup that year. The use of some connections and friends and we were meeting any of the musicians we wanted. I was completely hammered (not surprising) when I first met Isaac, but apparently I made an impression because he sought me out the next day and asked to go on a date when we hit the shore again. Obviously it went well.

Isaac seemed off about something, however. My drunk mind couldn’t wrap my head around it because I was too busy trying to show him how much I missed him. He seemed off-put by my advances. At one point during the evening, I confronted him on it in a slur of mashed together words.

“Because I haven’t seen you in four months and when I get here, you’re completely hammered,” he said, dark eyebrows knitted together.
I shrugged my shoulders as I tipped back my cup. Jack was gone; I’d moved on to my Irish companion, Jameson. “Sorry,” I managed to get out before I burped behind my hand.

Isaac just shook his head and drunk me pouted as I reached up to play with his hair. “Babe, come on…”

“The only time you’re like this is when you’re drunk,” Isaac said low enough that only I could hear. His brown eyes turned on mine. “Are you still going to be this happy to see me tomorrow when you’re sober?”

I grinned, leaning heavily against him so my chin propped on his shoulder, falsely promising him that I would.