deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 66: the second skeleton

"Sam? Joey?"
Sam opened her eyes, and Marla and Dan lingered right over her and Joey. Her head spun a bit, and she realized she had been laying on a flat bed next to Joey without a pillow. She rubbed her eyes, while Joey groaned in his throat.
"What time is it?" she asked them.
"It's almost two o'clock in the morning," Marla replied. "We got lost on the way back here." She flashed Dan a dirty look.
"I told you we should've turned at that stoplight—we were about to get on the turnpike and head up to the heart of Boston otherwise. You should've listened to me."
"I was," she sneered, "otherwise, yes, we would've wound up in Boston. You should be thanking me for turning the car around in time." She then rolled her eyes and she returned to Sam and Joey on the foldout bed. "Anyways—we got you guys some water and something to eat. Danny insisted on getting Joey something dry and salty to help with his stomach, so—"
She reached down to Joey's shoulder, and she gently shook him awake.
"Joey—Joey—" she gently said. He rolled his head over so some of his black curls covered part of his face. "Hey, Joey—"
"Joe?" Dan called out next to her.
"Joey," Sam joined in, a soft whisper right into his ear. "Joey—"
"Mother—huh?" He never opened his eyes but he did raise his eyebrows for them.
"We got you some potato chips, dude," Dan told him and he held the little bag of potato chips in question up before his face. Sam noticed him opening his eyes by just a mere slit and then he reached up for it for himself.
"And then for Miss Shelley," Marla started, and she gave Sam a bottle of water and a small bag of trail mix.
"Something to keep me going for the night, I presume," she cracked as she sat upright next to Joey. Her head spun a bit more from the contrast of laying flat on her back. She shook her head about a bit.
"You alright?" Marla asked her.
"I sat up too fast," she replied as she unscrewed the bottle cap and took a swig of water. She then lay back down flat on her back next to Joey: he opened the bag of chips with two fingers and lay it upon his stomach so he could easily reach in there. Sam rubbed her brow: her head spun and her stomach turned.
"Ooh, god, I don't feel good," she confessed.
"Well, I gotta go back to the room," Marla told her. "I'm beat and I smell like an ashtray that was loaded up with booze at one point. You guys just want to stay around here for a bit and then I'll come and get you guys when it's light out again?"
"Sure, why not?"
"We'll get breakfast, too," Dan added from behind her.
"Yeah, we'll get you guys some breakfast," Marla said. "But you guys just hang out here—maybe take a walk. You're in Providence so—" She turned to Joey. "—it's not like being in upstate New York where the sidewalks roll up early on."
"We can do anything we damn well please," Joey muttered.
"Exactly! Alright, we'll see you guys in a little while." Marla patted Sam's hand as it rested upon her unsettled stomach. She lowered her other hand to her right side, and away from Joey. Once Marla and Dan were out of the room, they just lay there in silence for a moment. The only sound came from the rest of the audience members out in the theater and a bit of chatter around the corner. Sam closed her eyes and she pictured Alex posted there with his little guitar upon his lap. She could see it in his eyes. There was something more to that boy than she believed, and yet he was afraid to show it to her.
"I wanna take a walk," Joey spoke out of the blue. Sam rolled her head over for a look at the side of his face. "But not right now, anyways."
"Just—eventually," she followed along.
"Yeah, but I really just wanna lay here for a moment," he confessed. "Just wanna be still for a moment."
He reached into the chip bag rested upon his slender stomach and took out a few stiff, perfect chips, and he stuck them into his mouth.
"Oh, yeah," he said with that hand up to his mouth. "They had the right idea in mind there with those."
"Already feeling better?" she asked him.
"Oh, yeah, definitely." He swallowed, and then he picked up the bag and showed it to her. "Want some?"
"Nah, I'm good," she assured him, and she felt the trail mix next to her. He picked out a couple more but that crunching wasn't loud enough for the guitar outside of their room. It sounded like someone was struggling to play a backwards riff. Sam lifted her head for a look outside the door: no one there.
"That's not Danny," Joey remarked with his mouth full.
"Scott maybe?" she wondered as she lay her head back down. He shook his head and swallowed that bite.
"No idea."
"Whoa, what was that riff, Alex?" Greg hollered from across the floor.
"There's your answer," Joey said in a low voice and with a raise of his eyebrows and a slight little gyration of his head.
"Huh?" Alex called out as he put his fingers across the guitar's neck.
"Yeah, play that again," Eric commanded him, and Alex played it again. He struggled with it at first, but then he kept on strumming and messing with the fingering, and eventually he got a handle on it. Downwards and yet it seemed to flow. Bit of a bounce to it, even a swirl. Heavy and strong, just like Testament themselves, but there was a weird, almost dreamlike feel to it.
"What was that?" Eric asked him.
"Dunno, I heard it in a music store earlier before the wedding," he confessed. "The dude in there told me it was from some band out of Seattle called Soundgarden. It's been stuck in my head since then. Forget what it's called, though."
"Kinda cool sounding, though," Sam remarked in a low voice, but Joey rolled his eyes and shoveled in more chips.
She frowned at that. On one hand, she wanted to be a friend to Joey and she wanted Alex to eat his words about him. But then again, she thought back to what she and Joey had talked about after the scuffle outside of the cafe in Syracuse. The fact Joey had such a grudge against Alex all because he supposedly asked him an innocuous question made her squirm in her spot. She picked up the bag of trail mix next to her and she opened it up for herself.
"Here, you want help with that?" Joey offered her over the voices outside of the room there.
"Nah, I got it." She poured out a small handful of peanuts, raisins, chocolate chips, and little pretzels, and given she lay on her back still, she had to be careful not to spill all over herself. It was two o'clock in the morning following a day trip from New York City, a big steampunk wedding, and then a big concert, and yet she was wide awake and sick to her stomach.
"Lemme ask you sump'n," he started again, and that time he pushed the bag of chips down towards the waist of his jeans and he folded his hands over his stomach.
She swallowed. "Go ahead."
"Do you ever dream of the future?" he asked her.
"Of course. I dream of a number of things actually."
"Well, I often dream of like—starting a family. Getting married and being in a nice place in upstate New York somewhere. I'm getting kinda old, I'm still not steady yet with the whole career thing, and my pants are always too tight, though—I dunno if I'll ever have kids, to be perfectly honest. I don't want a kid when I know I'm royally fucked up in the head. I'll just be like one of those people who owns a bunch of dogs and horses and lives out in the country 'cause I'm bit of a country boy. But I do like the idea of—pleasing, though."
She looked over at the dreamy expression on his face as he gazed up at the ceiling overhead.
"I dream of a woman who can take care of me and I return the favor of loving her 'til the day I die."
"That's so sweet," she breathed. "You know, I dream of a mysterious man who tells me where to go next."
"Oh, yeah?" Joey rolled his head over and knitted his eyebrows together at that.
"Yeah. He's kinda funny looking, though. But yeah—sometimes I'll see him when I'm at a crossroads in life and then I'll ask him where to go next. Marla's seen him in her dreams, too."
"Huh." He raised his eyebrows at that. "Marla's seen him, too?"
"Yeah. She told me it's a metaphor for guidance or something—it was during the Stormtroopers of Death tour so I can't really recall the full details." She paused for a second. "God, I can't believe it's been two years since the Stormtroopers of Death tour. It almost feels like a fever dream at this point."
"Same with my coming into Anthrax," he added.
She moved the trail mix to her side and, careful not to push herself into him, she rolled over onto her side to alleviate the feeling in her stomach. Joey rolled his head over for a better look at her.
"May I ask you," she started, "why do you even drink if you have dreams like that? Why do you do this to yourself?"
"Because it's there," he confessed. "Like I said, Sam—I'm the outsider in the band. The upstate boy and the bachelor. Danny and Frankie are kind of like the closest things I have to friends there, but that's about it. Scott and Charlie don't talk to me much."
"Have you tried?"
"Definitely. Without a doubt. But Scott's got his own problems to deal with and now there's the whole fallout from Charlie and Marla's break up that he's havin' to deal with now."
"And now Scott's getting married," Sam recalled in a soft voice.
"And now Scott's getting married," Joey echoed. "I really don't have much of anyone to talk to otherwise, 'cause Danny's got a girl, too. And Frankie lives in the Bronx, up by you—it's not like I can visit him much, though."
"What about your hockey buddies?" She nibbled on her bottom lip. "That guy at the wedding?"
"They're all either like that or they've moved on to the professional world. I tried getting back together with him, but—" He shook his head. "—guess not."
"So the result is to drink?"
He shrugged his shoulders again. Meanwhile, outside the room, Alex and Greg's voices lowered down to whispers. The sound of bass strings caught their ear. Sam had the urge to run out there and chat with Greg, but she needed to keep her word to Marla, and she needed to fess up with Joey.
"Pretty much."
"You should turn to art," she suggested. "Become an artist, and you don't have to do that all the time."
"I ain't no artist," he insisted with a chuckle and a shake of his head.
"Marla told me earlier that expanding your horizons is the whole point of being an artist," she recalled, "you're obviously a singer, and you're obviously a good singer to boot. You should play on that craft and you should soak your feet in something new."
"I dunno—what if no one likes it?" he said.
"So what if no one likes it? I can say, 'dude, Joey Belladonna made this!' in your defense. It won't be much, but it'll be a start. We all need to start from somewhere."
"True."
"How about your drumming?" she continued. "Have you thought of doing more with that?"
"Oh, yeah. I've thought about bringin' up to Charlie, but he just seems so elusive at this point. Another dream of mine is to start a band of my own and just play for hours on end. Play the drums and sing at the same time like Phil Collins. Just drum like Charlie or Bill Ward and sing like Steve Perry. But the possibility of doing that is a whole other question altogether."
"I don't think I understand you just yet, Joseph Bellardini," she admitted, to which he shook his head.
"I don't think anyone does. My parents don't even understand me. You know, they're of the type where they don't believe in sex until marriage."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, they tell me to find a girl and then settle down with her. But—" He shrugged his shoulders. "—I dunno, to be honest."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" she asked him as she propped the side of her head up inside of her left hand. He eyed her figure, now filled out after two years of school. The voices outside of the room fell away and thus, they were left in silence.
"I don't know if I can handle myself before marriage," he confessed in a low voice. "There's—a lot in there. And I don't really know how to put a handle on it."
"Have you ever thought of—touching yourself?" she asked him.
"Touching myself?" He frowned at that.
"Yeah. Like—between the legs."
And he smirked at that. "Well, yeah, I've touched myself there. I do have a digestive system after all."
"No, I mean—" She wrinkled her nose at that. "I mean—for pleasure."
He ran his tongue over his dark lips, and his deep brown eyes locked onto hers. As dark as night. As rich as venom. He then sighed through his nose.
"Hey, I've seen you naked," she pointed out. "If I can see you naked, I can see you with your hand there."
He then nibbled on his bottom lip again. Without another moment's hesitation, he took the bag of chips off of his stomach. Sam lay still as he unbuttoned his jeans. The flat wide silver bracelet on his right wrist glimmered under the ceiling lights.
"What's the story behind that bracelet?" she asked him. "Every time I see you, you're always wearing it."
"I've worn this thing since I started playing in bands," he told her. "It just feels right to me—bein' a lead singer and bein' the lead singer of a metal band no less."
He then reached down the front of his jeans. She pursed her lips together as he raised his knees up closer to him.
"Are they out there?" he asked her in a near whisper.
"As far as I know, no."
"Okay."
His tight jeans relaxed around his hips and thighs. She watched his fingers caress over his own skin. She had only done it just herself not long ago, on both her own skin as well as his, and something in the back of her mind told her that that was where he liked it best. Indeed, he nibbled on his lip as he prodded himself with the pad of his thumb.
"Just like that," she encouraged him in a low voice. "Just exactly like that."
"I actually kinda like that," he confessed as he stroked himself harder. He glanced over at her body. "You don't mind me lookin', do you?"
"Whatever works," she said. "We're all about being comfortable with each other here."
His brown eyes grazed over the slightly fuller hourglass shape of her body and he nibbled on his bottom lip again. Sam lay perfectly still as he touched himself right there next to her.
"I feel it coming," he confessed.
"Would you like a napkin or something?"
"I think I saw some napkins over there by the door—" He nodded towards the doorway, and she rolled off of the bed with her head still spinning. But she persisted to the small stack of paper napkins on the table near the door, and she handed a few to him.
"Yeah—that's good—thank you." He opened his legs a bit more so he could better clean up.
"You wanna take your pants off?" she asked him as she pressed her hands to her hips.
"Nah—I think I got it."
She thought about what Marla had told her. She needed to come forth with him in her intentions with him, especially after what he had said to her. Once he had mopped up his mess, she moved the trail mix and the water bottle to the side and she lay back down on the bed next to him.
"I'm gonna keep you out of trouble, Joey," she vowed as she put her arm around his chest. "You're a good boy. You don't need that shit in your life."
He rolled his head over the edge of the bed for a better look over at her
"Well, I'm gonna tell you this right now, Sam I am—it's a long tour."
She shook her head.
"It's alright," she assured him. "I've got it covered. At least for the first month of it."
"How so?"
"Emile promised me to cover the next month's rent. So I can come along with you guys on this tour."
He showed her that notorious lopsided grin again. Sam gazed into his brown eyes, and she felt closer to him right then and there. She got to see him without clothes on more than one occasion, but now the second time was for a different reason. She thought about a touch on his chest, but she decided not to do that just yet.
"How your stomach feelin' by the way?" Joey asked her. "Maybe we can take a walk together. I feel I've released a little bit just now."
"It's still a little queasy—we can lay here for the rest of the night if you'd like. A little cat nap and then we can walk around the place at sunrise."
"Ooh, yeah! That sounds like a good idea."
The voices outside of the room returned right then, and Joey reached down so as to refasten his jeans. Sam thought about their visit to her parents' house, and she realized that her mother never answered her question about how Joey resembled to that other man. Indeed, she started to wonder if that other man was someone she needed to know as she heard the guys from Testament searching for something important. Joey closed his eyes at the sounds of their voices, but Sam paid close attention to them.
"—hope we can hunt it down, though," Chuck was saying.
"'Hunted Down'!" Alex declared. "'Hunted Down'! That's what it was called. The riff I was playing earlier."
"God," Joey muttered with a shake of his head.
"What?" Sam whispered to him.
He then opened his eyes. She could tell he was sleepy and the fact they were laying on a literal bed didn't help matters, either. "If I'm being perfectly honest, I really wanna leave that kid alone—but he's such a hot shot, though."
"I don't think he is," she confessed. "I think he's kinda like you, to be honest."
"How so?" Joey looked disgusted at that.
"I dunno. But I just feel it, though. I feel like there's something there behind that cool demeanor..." She thought back to the encounter in Syracuse and the slight raise of those dark, deep set eyebrows at her. There was also that piece of rice paper in the bottom of her drawer back home. "Remember what I asked you that night in Syracuse? Why can't you be nice to him, especially after all you just told me?"
Joey didn't reply to that. Instead, he gazed up at the ceiling in silence. But Sam stayed there next to him to prove as a comfort to him. Within seconds, his eyelids drooped and he dozed off right there next to her, and complete with her arm around his chest. His slender little body was warm and delicate to the touch. She wanted him to stay that way forever.
She could feel her eyelids weighing down as well. It was late after all.
He never answered her, and he never did by the time they woke up from their little two hour nap.