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CHAPTER 34 Kim spent the entire plane trip and cab ride home bitching about how much she hated London and never wanted to go back. “The bloody place has no soul! It’s all the same, over and over and over and bloody well over again. Smog, rain, fog, rain, a taunting ray of sunlight, rain; it’s bloody sickening. Not like we need to be in that bloody city or anything. We’re done clubbing! We’re doing bigger gigs and better bloody things! National tours, bloody international tours, and we can bloody well record anywhere. It’s not like we have to keep ourselves cooped up inside that bloody disaster area.” Ebony, with a knowing half-smile, whispered something to Raine about how Kim would be ranting about how terrible Germany was once they got back to London. Raine laughed a little, shaking his head. “No doubt.” “Oh, what do we have here, the bloody gothic conspiracy? I’m sick of you two as well, you know. Just as bloody corny as any other couple, only you think you’re so bloody well goth that it won’t come across.” Ebony sighed. “I notice you pick up that attitude more when you haven’t been in someone else’s bed recently. It’s not going to change anything.” “Who needs to be in someone else’s bed, anyway? Relationships and one-night stands are both bloody well overrated. It’s all just giving in to some form of dependency, over and over again.” “I thought you called one-night stands an escape. Remember Some Kind of Stranger?” “Some kind of stranger, let me look into your eyes...” Kim leaned her head back. “I’m just tired, Eb. Y’know that. I don’t like travel. I don’t like anything right now... I just want to bloody well crawl under the ground and hope for a bit of silence, at least... No more of this punk star infamy. Maybe I’ll wander the moors... Find Heathcliff’s ghost.” She bit her lip, not knowing why she’d decided to bring Gwen back into her mind like that. “Though how can he have a ghost, really, if he was the creation of a mind long since dead?” “Heathcliff’s more than just that. He is an archetype.” “An archetype of what? A damn bloody bastard?” “Tormented lover. It doesn’t matter that he was never really a good person, because Catherine wasn’t either.” “Why does it feel so bloody strange to talk to a goth about Wuthering Heights?” Ebony raised her eyebrows. “I was sure you had discussed the book with Gwendolyn.” Kim scowled. “I don’t think of her as goth anymore. If I did, I’d cringe every time I saw a girl wearing black. She’s just ... Gwendolyn now. Has been since Stone’s Throw. She’s a name, a past event. Very much so not an archetype.” Ebony nodded. “One way to try to leave it behind.” “Trying isn’t bloody well enough.” Kim closed her eyes. “Wake me when we’re home. I need to be attentive enough to burn down my bloody flat so we can move out of this bloody city.” *** “Teaching Spiders to Cry! The first single, to be released in one month.” Kim was standing in front of the congregated band, with James Carroway off to the side. She looked around her band mates one by one, noticing first off that Heather was rolling her eyes and second that Geneveve didn’t seem to actually be inside her own body at that moment. Kim decided to ignore both of them, since she didn’t want to get pissed off. Heather, of course, was too vocal to ever successfully ignore. “One would think that if th’ newest song to represent our band will be Teaching Spiders to Cry, the album should have a spider on the front cover. A spider, understand? To go along with a title like ‘Teaching Spiders to Cry’ which, since it’s the first single, everyone will relate directly to the album. See, a spider would make much more sense than a child’s princess.” She cast a dark look at Chatha, who immediately pulled back to sulk beside Ebony, ignoring Heather. “Ah, but the Stone’s Throw boot has a child’s spider on it,” Kim reminded her. “Overkill isn’t necessary, now is it?” Heather narrowed her eyes. “That’s a boot. It was never approved by us, we’re never going to see any money off of--” “Aren’t we? Do you know how much that boosted our bloody sales? Do you know how many people never would have come to our bloody shows without first getting a taste of us through Stone’s Throw? You have to give a little in order to get, my dear Heather. So bloody what if everyone and his brother has a copy of that? So bloody what if we’ll never see a cent off those sales? They’ve helped our other sales so remarkably that we’re all going to bloody well be set for life! Do you really want to argue against that?” “If the fans get a taste for booting, they’ll just copy any album we put out. What’s the point, really?” “Quit being such a bloody fucking pessimist, Heather. We don’t want that. We don’t need it. The rest of us are all fine with how this band is going, aren’t we?” “’Ell bloo’y yes!” Chatha bounced to her feet, and was promptly dragged down to a chair again by Ebony. “It’s not about the band, it seems.” Heather glanced at Ebony, then back at Kim. “It’s about us. The only two people with a voice in this thing. Aren’t you so proud of the dispassion you get from this project?” “Dispassion? Fuck you. We all care about this.” She took a quick look at the band, though, to reassure herself. Chatha was swinging her feet rapidly, chewing on her lip, bursting to say something more, but Ebony was holding her back. Which was usual for Ebony, who liked keeping things neutral. And who bloody well knew whether or not Ebony was enjoying something anyway? Geneveve was gone, but she was Geneveve; off on some new drug trip, most likely on a downer. Nothing mattered to her right now, so it didn’t have anything to do with dispassion. Elke was casting nervous glances between Heather and Kim. If she cared enough to not want this fight to be happening, she cared about the band, right? Of course. And Jessie, holding her head, had to care. She wouldn’t still be with this hellhole of a band if she didn’t care. “How can you talk for everyone? You always assume you can, always assume you’re right.” “And you do the bloody well same! Filthy little Heather Hunter, presuming the world is going to do everything it can to kiss your pessimistic little arse! In case you hadn’t noticed, this band is not Heather Hunter and the Bog Monstahs! It is my creation, my passion, mine to dictate! So what if I talk for the band every once in a while? I can bloody well tell what people are thinking by the looks on their faces! And if they didn’t bloody well care, they wouldn’t be here!” “And what would your fine band be if it was one drummer short?” “One drum box richer!” Elke shot up onto her feet and grabbed Kim, dragging her into the next room. She slammed and locked the door, then turned to Kim. “How can you do this? How can you bloody do this to me?” “What the hell am I doing to you?” “Killing me!” “How?” “By killing the fucking band!” “Driving Heather away isn’t going to do shit to our band! We don’t need her, Elke! She’s so bloody full of herself and so proud of her bloody filth, and I’m getting more and more sick of her every time I lay eyes on the bitch! Don’t you bloody well tell me we wouldn’t do better without her. Fuck, we’re famous, we can get ourselves a better drummer.” “She’s a figurehead by now, Kim. You don’t just fuck with a band’s line-up when they start getting big. You don’t, awright?” “It won’t bloody matter. She disappears in th’ shadows at the back of the bloody stage. No one wants to remember she’s there. No one, Elke, no one.” “If you get rid of her, you kill the band, Kim. You can’t change it, not now. It’s been too long.” “Yes, it has been too bloody long! Too long of having that bloody ingrate tearing apart everything I believe! What bloody right does that bitch have--” “What bloody right do any of us have to tear each other apart, huh? We all seem to take joy in it. Even us, we’re at each other’s throats all the time. But that’s part of the description, ain’t it? Best bloody friends. Remember that bit, Kim? Best friends? R’member what that means?” “What the bloody hell does that have to do with our drummer crisis?” “It’s you making it a crisis, Kim. It’s you making this band a crisis. You’re breaking it up.” “I’m not. It’s my bloody life!” “It’s the life of every bloody person in it! This band is everything, it’s the driving force of us all. What happens if we lose it, Kim?” “We won’t lose it just because I tell Heather to get her head out of her bloody arse!” “Kim, stop it.” “What the bloody hell is it with you and saying my name in every bloody sentence, huh? I know who I am. I know my name. I don’t need you to repeat it. I’m not bloody likely to forget.” “How come you keep saying bloody? It’s as though you don’t remember how to say anything else. I’m trying to think of whether or not there was a time when you were a good little girl, but that’s eluding me.” “You’ve known me since the beginning. I’ve never been good. I’ve always been this thing, this bitch. And it doesn’t bloody well matter if this bitch drives Heather the fuck away. We don’t need her.” “We do!” “Why?” “Can’t you bloody understand?” “There, now you’re saying the word too.” “Quit it!” “Quit what?’ “You always twist things, you always make it so you’re the one who’s right, and I’m getting sick of it. We all are, Kim. We’re getting so bloody sick of it.” “Who’s we?’ “The band!” “And who are you to talk for the band?” “Bloody hell, stop it!” “I’m not bloody doing anything!” Elke shoved Kim up against the wall, pinning her there. They stared at each other for a while, both breathing heavily from the screaming fit. Then Elke leaned in for what Kim knew would be an intense kiss, but she shoved her forcefully away. “Never with a band mate,” Kim hissed. She couldn’t meet Elke’s eyes, and she felt a wave of tears trying to get through her resolve as she found herself thinking “never with you.” She stalked out of the room before she started crying. |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |