Don't Say My Name

~Chapter 1~ Rules Are Meant to Be Broken

I would say it all started with a vintage car, a tube of lipstick, and a half-smoked cigarette. It makes no sense now that I think about it, but nothing ever really made sense in the first place. The world is funny like that. It twists your words and makes you tear yourself down until you're nothing but a lifeless husk. But what would I know?
     Well, now that I'm thinking again, it started way before that. Back before I knew about all the crap that goes down in the industry. I was just an airhead with blue hair back then. Hell, I'm still just an airhead with blue hair. I'm just more fucked up now.

     I still remember what I was thinking that day. I think it was something like...

* * *

Music is never clean. If you understand that, you can go far in this industry. That's how I and everyone I know made it. In fact-

"Bea, baby, you're getting ash all over the couch," I snapped out of my series of complex thoughts, my focus gradually returning to an eccentric group of people staring at me like I was a half-wit. I looked at my right hand to see a stub where my cigarette once was and a small pile of ash right below it. I quickly jerked my hand away from the couch I was sitting on and chucked the cigarette in the trash nearby. Great, now everyone was going to think I was high or something.

I quickly shrugged off the mistake like I had meant to do it in the first place. I was a star after all, and everyone had to respect me wether they liked it or not. It wasn't my choice exactly, but my manager's. Speaking of that she-devil...

"Have you guys seen Dasher?" I asked my entourage, scanning the room for any sign of passed time. Apparently the person who designed this room had never heard of a damn clock. Dasher was the code name
we used for Ashley during performances, and it kind of stuck with her after that. We call her Dasher because she's always running around to make sure that everything is going according to plan. They all shook their heads in response to my question and turned their attention somewhere else. Smart people.

I suddenly felt someone hugging my waist with great caution. I peered down to see what looked like a girl in her late teenage years snuggling up against me. That's right, we had brought some groupies backstage to hang out before the show. I ruffled her dark blue hair, the color strangely similar to my own, and gave her a sickly sweet smile that was sure to make her insides melt like chocolate over a blazing flame. Poor thing, she was absolutely in love with me. She was quite a cute one, too, and she didn't look like a total pass-around. Maybe if I wasn't so famous- wait not famous. I'm not a stuck-up celebrity that thinks they're better than everyone else. I think the word I'm looking for was...dangerous. Maybe if I wasn't so dangerous, I would consider her.

"We got twenty minutes 'til show time, B.V.," muttered someone from across the couch. I turned my attention away from the young fool to eye my good friend, Charlie Manning. He had some skinny trophy on his lap and a cigarette in his mouth. Classic Charlie. I raised my eyebrow at him, questioning his authority. What gave him the right to tell me when and when not to perform? Of course, I wasn't going to ridicule him in front of the entire group; I didn't want to end the dude's life. I made a mental reminder to talk with him later. I had an image to uphold.

"I know." I turned my attention back to the groupie, who was starting to fall asleep on my shoulder. Dasher would've told me to kick her out of my dressing room, but I just let her rest there. Maybe it was the way her slightly exposed chest was lifting and lowering rhythmically, or maybe I just felt bad for her. The poor chick is snuggling up to her idol, the girl who can do no wrong in her eyes. I guess I owe it to her to play my part. After all, I wouldn't be anywhere without my fans. Well, more accurately, I wouldn't be anywhere without Dasher. But Dasher doesn't need to hear those words come out of my mouth, I would never hear the end of it.

"Do you need me to take care of her, Bea?" I heard as Charlie started to sit up to come and drag the girl away. I simply held up a hand in response and Charlie sat back down. I started to gently comb through her short blue locks. Maybe I could ask Dasher to keep her around for a bit; it wouldn't hurt to have some company for once. From the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie roll his eyes at the sight of us and turn his oh-so valuable attention back to the giggling pass-around attached to him like a leech. Good for him.

"Hey Beatrice," The girl on my shoulder, Helena I think, yawned as she awakened from her short nap. Her voice was light and harmonious, like what you would hear while cloud gazing in a spring meadow. I couldn't help but look into her sparkling chocolate brown eyes.

Fuck. Big Mistake. This girl was adorable.

"Yes, Helena, darling, " I whispered, gently looping my finger around one of her loose locks. I could see the surprise in her eyes when I addressed her by her name. Did she really think I could forget? I'm not that snobbish, right? Her surprise was quickly replaced with admiration. I had to admit that it looked much better on her than the latter.

"Can my friend and I stay after the show?" She asked, addressing the girl currently making out with Charlie, without any human decency, if I may add. Why couldn't he choose anywhere but my personal room? I snapped out of my quick mental rant against Charlie's romantic habits to focus on the hopeful young thing next to me.

It was against the rules to keep a groupie, it was just a silent agreement that Dasher and I had made during my first tour. Keeping groupies led to developing feelings for them, and that led to the press asking unwanted questions. If there was anything that Dasher hated more than people running late, it was the pea-brained press asking dumb questions. I understood that, and I respected it. But now, with this gorgeous girl basically begging at my feet...

"I don't see why not, sugar," I chuckled, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. I could hear Charlie choke on more that just that girl's tongue. I never said yes to groupies, and we both knew what that meant. Helena embraced me as tight as she possibly could without harming me and tried to find sleep once more. I could tell she was more relaxed now that she knew she had won my attention.

I tapped the black wall behind the couch two times with my fist.

Ten seconds later exactly, Charlie tapped back.

The number of taps always meant the amount of things, and the intensity of the knock meant how severe the bet itself was. The context was pretty clear. It was our little code that we had talked out on our first tour. The first one to get caught by Dasher with their groupie owed two favors to the winner. It was an automatic loss if the groupie left voluntarily. The loser was going to be in deep shit, and we both knew it.

Good thing I don't lose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I'm spacing the paragraphs so they're easier to comprehend. If you guys don't like it I'll stop, though.