four
I wasn't a lonely kid in high school. I was alone, but I wasn't lonely. I had Ashton and my dog and that was enough for me. I was pretty content with my high school life, and I don't regret anything about it.
I didn't go to high school dances, I didn't go to prom. I showed up for school and that's it. I didn't really get the whole movie-scene-type high school experience. I never got high in the back seat of my boyfriend's car, I never skipped class, I never did anything, really.
The first time I saw an actual joint was sitting backstage somewhere along the east coast with Luke. He was high, he was really, really high. His bright eyes looked painfully red. He looked half dead, maybe he was.
He was laying on the couch, his legs spread wide as his eyes stayed closed. Luke brought the joint to his lips again, taking in the deepest inhale I've ever seen before blowing out clouds of smoke with his exhale.
The dressing room was decently sized, but the smoke filling the room made me feel although I was choking in claustrophobia. I hated the smell of cigarettes, and joints were three hundred times worse.
Alex came in ten minutes until stage time, and he was angry. Imagine watching your work get plagiarized then someone telling you it's your fault, you shouldn't have put it out there. Imagine that kind of anger you'd feel except multiply it by at least fifty.
I've never been good at math, but I know that's a big number of angry.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" His manager yelled, storming over to him and clearing the air. "You have to be up there in ten minutes, you idiot!"
Luke shrugged, letting him take the butt of the joint from his hands. "Whatever."
"I can't believe you right now," Alex tsked, his mother-voice on.
"Don't start with me, I give you everything."
Alex rolled his eyes, dumping the cigarette tray out. "You give me damn anxiety, that's for sure."
"I could overdose and leave you with nothing," Luke said, laughing.
He was actually laughing. That kind of laughter with his head thrown back and his hand on his stomach, emitting bellowing laughter.
"Okay, Luke." Alex pulled at Luke's hands, getting him up on his feet.
Luke swayed on his feet. He looked like an overgrown baby, one that just took its first steps. His knees were wobbling and he looked down at his feet, not understanding why they weren't moving.
"You need to get on side stage now." Alex took the younger boy, guiding him out the backstage.
Luke was surprisingly tall, his lanky limbs always causing him trouble. Watching Alex—a tall man, but not as tall as Luke—drag the blonde boy out to stage was something I never thought I would see.
I wondered if I should have stopped Luke. It wasn't my job to control him, I was just supposed to observe him. I knew he wasn't supposed to be getting high, though. There were over sixteen-thousand people out there screaming his name, he needed to be a little more alive for them.
Where's the line before doing my job and being a good human?
Alex came back fifteen minutes later, a wash cloth to his head. He collapsed on the couch next to me, the material squeaking underneath his skinny jeans. He kicked off his shoes, laying his head on the pillow next to him. "Sorry about that. I promise you I'm not a terrible human."
"It's fine," I responded, not sure why he was apologizing.
"Luke's a good guy, too. I swear, he really is." He sighed, running a hand up through his dark hair, "He's just a handful sometimes."
"It's okay, really." I knew Alex wanted to talk, he wanted to complain about the younger boy until his throat went dry. I was a good listener, people seemed to sense that.
"He does that at least twice a week, the whole promising to overdose and leave us with nothing. He's a drama queen."
I looked down at Luke's manager, watching him close his eyes and sigh a few times. "He seems alright," I borderline lied. Luke seemed like a dick, an actual dick.
"He performs well, he does what he needs to do. He just screws up on all the in-betweens." Alex moved the wet washcloth from his face, placing it on the coffee table next to us. "I've been his manager since he was sixteen. He's now twenty-six. I know him really well and I know that this is just another phase of his."
I was nine when Luke started his music career, which is odd. It's an odd feeling. "What was he like when he was younger?"
"He was a really good kid, he was good in school, good to his parents. His mother hated me because I was the stepping stone from him playing at open mics to him booking real gigs." Alex sat up straighter, fidgeting in his seat some more. "She didn't want him to be a musician, she didn't want him to be famous. He was meant for this limelight, though."
"I've seen him perform a few times, I know he's the most comfortable up on stage," I responded.
"Exactly!" Alex said. He itched his nose before standing up on his feet, ready to make sure Luke hasn't passed out. "Don't write about this," he pointed a finger at me, "any of this."
I swallowed a lump in my throat, "Of course, thank you."
He walked out, taking a cheap beer on his way out. I looked at the dressing room, now completely empty. Luke was gone, his manager was gone, his guitar tech was gone, his lightning crew were gone. It was just me in a room smelling of weed.
Just me, again. Something I've gotten used to.
Why do you think Luke acts like this?
What do you think the line between Michael doing his job and Michael being a good person is?
Do you think Luke is doing all of this for a reason? Or is he just bored?
