The Orion Star

Wait

Pull me apart, rip me limb from limb

I'm riding this whim to leave you in sin

--From the song Psychopathic

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

That night in Dallas was one of the best shows I ever had. Everything was damn near perfect. The crowd was energized and electric. I was feeding off their energy, really giving it my all. My voice was amazing, even though I had been worried it was going to be trashed from screaming earlier. My band nailed every note, every instrument stayed in tune. I ended up doing a second encore since I was so jazzed.

There was only one way to celebrate such a great performance. I invited the usual people (the band and Gloria) back for celebratory drinks on my bus. Then I went to the hotel where I continued drinking by myself.

After that, everything gets admittedly a bit fuzzy. I remember standing outside Bob's (or Rob's) bus, pounding on the door. I remember hugging him and apologizing. I remember telling him how great he is, and how I shouldn't have treated him like shit, and I promised it wouldn't happen again.

Normally I'd be embarrassed by being so sloppy drunk, but it has become the norm. This was always what happened whenever I screamed at one of the crew. Sometimes it was the same day, sometimes it took me a few days. But an apology always happened with liquid courage, and it always ended with me damn near crying on their shoulder.

The next thing I remember is someone pounding on the door to my hotel room. I remember someone bringing me outside (where I promptly puked). Then I'm trying to get to the bar on my bus as someone is holding me back. Then nothing.

"Good morning!"

I groan and fall off the beige couch. Moaning loudly, I stay face down on the carpet for a while. Finally I lift my painful head, squinting.

"Gloria?"

"I'm happy you apologized to Chad."

"Chad?"

"The guy you screamed at yesterday?"

I put my face against the carpet, mumbling against it. "Fuck, his name is Chad? I thought it was Bob, or Rob."

Gloria tisks. "¡Ay, dios mio! When are you ever going to get the names of our crew straight?"

"Hey," I snap against the carpet. "I remember the new guy's name--Tristan."

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I mumble. When I get no reply, I lift my head. Gloria has left the area. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

When she never responds I put my face back against the carpet. I stay like that until the carpet goes from prickly to itchy, and then unbearable against my skin. Moaning loudly I lift myself up. Moving vertically while in a vehicle that's moving horizontally doesn't mix well with my hangover. That's why I frantically propel myself to the nearest bathroom and noisily throw up.

When that's done, I brush my teeth, not even bothering to change my clothes. I'll do it later. Much later, when my head stops pounding. My thoughts about maybe taking a shower abruptly end when I go to the regular seats at the front of the bus, ready to ask Gloria what she meant.

Gloria sits with her tablet as expected. However, unexpectedly I see Tristan sitting not that far from her. He appears to be deeply asleep. I frown, storming over to Gloria. 

Pointing at the sleeping man, I growl quietly at her. "What is he doing here?"

"Sal de mi cara. Your breath stinks."