I Just Wanted to be Edgy Too

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Van

Six weeks later

"Again." I spoke into the recording booth as Bondy played through his solo for the twelfth time. I twirled my finger round as the pace of his playing quickened, tapping my foot along to the beat. We'd been on this song for hours and everyone was starting to get tense. Bondy's smirk faded by his third take on the solo that I was demanding he get right. He looked like he was ready for a pint, or maybe a whole keg by this point.

We were three and a half weeks into the album, and I was hyper aware of every take, and sick to my stomach over the things we couldn't get right. I'd been chainsmoking fags on the regular and because of that, my voice was raspy, guttural even. It pissed Blakes off enough that he'd commented on it. Blake's never commented on much. I was surviving on all the things that had the potential to ruin me. Fags, beers, wines, whiskeys, whatever anyone had. I lost track of time as we rolled tapes back through the night and switched the audio from mic to mic during choruses. The lids would crash wherever, whenever, and I'd have another shot of whiskey and strum my guitar, trying to find the perfect way to shove the next riff in everyone's faces.

I was a menace when I recorded. Succeeding only at the expense of everyone else.

I'd proper lost my mind this time around. And I had more than one reason to.

Bondy finished his solo with a flick of his wrist. I rested my hands on the soundboard, pushing my weight into them, and doing my best to avoid the tugging in my wrist. I was healed, mainly, but there were moments when pain found me. Moments like now.

"Good enough for ya, mate?" I could hear the sarcasm in Bondy's voice.

I held down the button as I readied my response. "Play it like you played it when we wrote it." It was a jab and I knew it, but I wanted it right.

Bondy threw his head back and growled up at the ceiling. The producer, Jack, clicked his tongue and held his hand up in the air.

"We're all getting a little tired here Johnny. Let's do one more take and if it isn't the one, we'll pick up tomorrow."

Bondy smiled but I leaned in and held the button down again. "We do it 'til it's right."

Bondy's eyes danced to Blakes and Bob who stood behind me, arms folded over their chests.

"A little help here mates?"

I turned around and met their exhaustion head on.

"Come on Van, we need a break. Let's just get some sleep, get cleaned up, and we'll get back at it tomorrow." Blakes pleaded with me.

"We're so close."

"And if Bondy keeps playing how he is, we'll stay close. We won't finish. He needs a break. We all do." Bob looked like he was asleep on his feet.

I turned back to my bandmate, his guitar draped off his shoulder and his fingers hanging loosely from the neck. The circles under his eyes were a deep violet, blending into muddy tones the further they traveled down his face. He looked tired. They all did. Bob's hair had been tied into a bun and his beard was longer than I'd ever see it. Blakes shut down. He was quiet, moody, and kept himself closed off from the rest of us.