sincerely, asher

four

ASHER

The music enters my veins and the rush of nausea that hit me earlier fades away. Natural instinct takes over and I play the chords that fill the void in my heart. I lean into the microphone, humming a harmony that matches with Dianna's melody. The screams of the audience are no longer invading my mind, drowning out my thoughts. All I can hear is the beat of Maze's drums and the underlying bass chords Sketch is strumming. I feel the sweat drop down my face and Dianna comes over to stand by me, singing into my microphone, "I need you to love me." She looks at me with her brown eyes and smiles, immediately bringing me out of this addictive trance.

I look over the crowd to the back of the room at the bar where I left her so abruptly. Harley's mouth is wide open and her eyes are straight on me. I try to concentrate on the chords I've practiced day in and day out, only to be drawn back to the doe eyes that made me weak at the knees so many hours earlier.

After the final set, we all leave the stage with the chanting of our names behind us. My mind is still fuzzy from all the smoke that made it's way to the stage and the lights that nearly blinded me. I feel a tug on my shoulder and am suddenly turned around. Sketch's eyes looked directly into mine. "What the fuck was that stupid ass shit you pulled out there," he asks me with a raging tone. I look around at everyone else and they have the same pissed off facial expression as Sketch.

Trying to clear my mind and keep myself calm, I shrug Sketch's hand off my shoulder. "To hell with you, Sketch, I don't know what you're talking about," I say, trying to maintain my edgy side, but secretly wanting to see Harley right now. I begin walking away from them, making my way towards the room the owners put us in before the show.

I hear footsteps behind me and I know Sketch is hot on my heels. "To hell with me? To fuck with you, Asher," he yells behind me. As I shut the door in his face, I think I will finally have some peace from the idiocy of my friends, but Sketch opens the door and shuts it behind him, locking it. He stares at me with his arms crossed, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened or will I have to make you?" I don't say anything and a smile starts to play on his lips. "It's a fucking girl, isn't it, Ash-hole? I fucking knew it after how you reacted earlier."

Sketch, being my best mate for most of my life, knows my reactions to everything by now, so there's no sense in me hiding Harley any longer. "Yes, dick, I met a girl this afternoon and I asked her to come here and listen to us play." Sketch taps his foot impatiently almost as if he knows my that's not all to my story. "Okay, fine, I didn't tell her I was in the band, so she's been sitting out there alone for an hour and a half and to be brutally honest, I doubt she waited around," I admit, raising my arms in the air guiltily.

"Ash-hole," Sketch says, making his way to the couch to sit next to me, "you're one of the smoothest guys around and I just want to know why your ass is still backstage when you could be taking it to second base with her in your hot car." I stare at Sketch for a second, slightly shocked by what he said. But who is he kidding? He's right. Sketch breaks the silence by laughing, the alcohol from pre-show warm up still playing a number on his emotions. "Go get a good lay for me, Ash-hole, because you and I both know that if one of us is getting laid tonight, it's not gonna be me."

I shake my head and laugh quietly. I can't and I won't have sex with anyone on the first date ever again. Sketch might be able to do that and get away with it, but I barely even kiss on the first date now. First date shit is so fucking overrated. I look at Sketch before getting off the couch. "So, what do I do now? Take her home or what? I haven't done this first date shit in a while, Sketch," I say, running my hands through my hair.

"What you do, man," he says, rubbing his hands over his transparent beard, "you.. Well shit, man, I don't know. I just give her a really good time and take her home and never speak to her again." I sigh, frustrated with Sketch's inability to process information properly and form accurate advice when he's intoxicated. Just as I'm about to walk out the door, Sketch says, "Whatever you do, apologize for not letting her know that you were in the band." And as I walked out the door, I fight with myself to build up the strength to apologize if she was still waiting on me.