Prelude to Destruction

He is parading around the stage, shrieking into the microphone as if he owns the place. The crowd goes wild. He lets the microphone lay at his side for a moment while the famous guitaring duo lean together for some seriously insane soloing. During his short vocal rest, he grabs a bottle of water and scans the audience. I see him wink at a girl in the front row, throwing herself against the security, trying desperately to reach the stage.

She is really very pretty. She has beautiful hair, a soft and natural chestnut brown, sticking to her perspiring face. I run a hand threw my own oily, light blonde and purple-streaked hair in comparison. Her legs are strong, and I can see her calf muscles straining as she is being thrown around in the mosh pit. I glance down at my own feet and see my own muscles straining, for I cannot stand for more than an hour now without it hurting too much. Her stomach is flat and she winces as she recieves a violent blow in the abdomen from an oblivious teenager in front of her. My hand instinctively reaches my own tummy, so round and unlike the girl’s in the crowd; I wince as I feel my own subtle kick from the tiny life inside of me.

I cannot take it anymore. The blaring music, the smokey atmosphere, it’s all too much for me to handle right now. I turn on my heel and head for the tour bus in the private parking lot. At least it’s air-conditioned; it must be at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and that’s not counting the humidity factor.

***

I am sitting in front of the television repeatedly and unintentionally killing Mario. The video game controller is in one hand, a raw cucumber is in the other, and a bowl of soggy Lucky Charms sits at my feet when the guys saunter into the bus. The familiar, nauseating oder of sweat and bile hit me like a tidal wave.

“Hey, Rosie,” Brian says, greeting me cheerily. He must have had a good show; the boy is usually exhausted and grunts at me after a long show, but today he is all smiles. “Why’d you leave in the middle of our set today?” he asks as he gives me a big, sweaty bear hug from behind.

Matt turns, interested in my answer. “Yeah, babe, why did you leave? You looked a little off today backstage.”

“Gross! Thanks, Brian, I really appreciate your using me as a human towel,” I mumble sarcastically as I feel his sick smell come far too close to me. “I left because there’s only so many times that I can hear ‘Unholy Confessions’ without gagging,” I joke. “Y’all always play it for soundcheck, its on the radio daily, every show, every rehearsal…”

Matt laughs his big, booming laugh, and shoves Brian out of the way to wrap his arm protectively around me. He doesn’t know it, but its those little things like instinctively protecting me and laughing at my most insignificant attempts at humor that make me melt inside. “Alright, alright, I get it, hon,” he said. He turns his attention to the television screen. “Aw, babe, you’re killing poor Mario! Here, let me have the controller, you finish eating your… Rosalie Lily, what the hell are you eating?”

“Hey, it is not my fault I’m getting these insane cravings,” I exclaimed defensively, cradling the cucumber in my hands. But I heard the happiness in his voice; he’s just glad I’ve got anything in my hands at all. “It’s all your fault anyways,” I hissed in his ear playfully.

“Yep, it sure is,” Matt says proudly, pulling me up into his lap. “And I’d do it over again any day of the week.”

It is here, cradled between Matt’s muscular arms, that I feel the best I ever feel in my life. Every time, I remember all of our first memories together. The first time we met, the first time he kissed me, the first time he ever held me like he is now. In fact, I can remember the first time I ever laid eyes on him…