Interlude 1
Summary: A brief glimpse into the past before we move forward.
A/N: On a side note, this part fought me every step of the way. Todd is ridiculously hard to write, and I'm not quite sure why.
(Dirk's voice, at least, flows easily, but his tendency toward run-on sentences is an author's nightmare when it comes to punctuation. *sigh* These boys aren't easy, but I love them.)
Saturday, July 17, 2010; 12:45am
Wittmann, Arizona; 35 miles outside Phoenix
Cigarette smoke was heavy in the air, mixed with sweat and the distinctive smell of pot. The lights were out, strobe flashing on a noisy crowd that nearly droned out the band with their drunken partying.
Todd played the familiar chords on autopilot, already slightly too drunk to be performing, and flying high from the joint he'd smoked in the bathroom. He could get through this. It would be an easy gig, his bandmates had said. Low dive, with even lower expectations. Perfect.
The room was stiflingly hot, the tiny, ancient air conditioning unit in the corner unable to keep up with all the bodies crammed into such a small space. Todd's hand slipped slightly on some sweat, bringing his finger down on the guitar string at an awkward angle, causing it to cut into his skin slightly where he didn't have any callouses.
Suddenly, the string had cut right through his finger, sharper than any knife. Todd dropped his guitar and stared at his hand, blood pouring down his arm from the bloody stump where his forefinger used to be.
It's not real, he tried to tell himself, as white hot pain seared through his hand and zinged up his arm. It's not really happening.
He heard someone screaming and realized that it was himself.
Todd didn't remember his band members hauling him off stage or shoving one of his pills in his mouth. Everything was just a blur of pain and blood that no one else could fucking see.
His next clear memory was of being outside, sitting on the bed of Aaron's truck and shivering slightly in the night air that suddenly seemed too chilly after the heat of the club. Matt was shoving a whole bottle of Jack in Todd's direction. He took it and downed a healthy swig. They all knew that he wasn't supposed to mix his meds with alcohol, but whatever.
"This fucking sucks, guys," Danny was ranting. "That's another club that'll never want us back!"
"Like that's the kinda joint we wanna play more than once?" put in Aaron. "That place was disgusting."
Todd had shot Aaron a grateful look. Out of all of them, he'd been the most understanding about Todd's pararibulitis.
"Whatever," Danny said. "I'm going back to the hotel. No chance of pulling any pussy tonight after that stunt." He gave Todd a dirty look that he pretended not to notice.
"Think I'll head back, too," Matt said. "We need to be on the road early tomorrow."
"You coming, Todd?" Aaron asked, obviously wanting to head back with the others.
"Not just yet." Todd didn't particularly feel like being stuck in one cheap motel room with only two beds and no privacy at the moment. "Think I'll hang here a bit, sober up."
"Okay, just make sure you are sober," Aaron said, tossing him the keys. "You wreck my truck we'll be up shit creek without a paddle." It was true. There simply wasn't enough room for all four of them and their equipment in the van.
Todd watched as the three of them managed to squeeze in, with Matt (the smallest) squished in the back between two guitars. As they were pulling away, Todd heard Danny say through the open window, "You know, maybe it's time we found a new lead singer."
"Shut the fuck up, Danny," Aaron had said.
"No, really. Todd could still be our manager..." Danny's voice faded away as the van pulled out of the parking lot.
Todd stared after them before taking another couple of healthy gulps from his bottle, a hot ball of... something nasty curling in his stomach that had little to do with the alcohol. He flopped back on the hard, cool plastic of the truck bed, staring up at the stars and trying not to think about his band playing without him.
"That was some fucked up shit, man. Never quite seen anything like it."
Todd's head snapped up. He hadn't heard the man approach, but there he was, standing next to the truck. He wore a black leather jacket over a tight gray shirt that highlighted his pecks. His black hair was spiked and his eyes lined. With his piercings, he was clearly going for the cliche punk rocker look.
"Sorry, dude. You want a refund, take it up with the club manager." Todd let his head fall back and thought that would be the end of it.
Instead the man snorted. "Nah, I'm not looking for a refund. I was looking for you."
"Oh, yeah?" Todd propped himself up on his elbows and gave the guy his most unimpressed look. "Medical oddities get you off, or do you just have a thing for freaks?"
The man laughed, and even in his drunken state Todd could see that he was handsome when he smiled. "What if I said I could help you, maybe even cure you of whatever your problem is?"
"I'd say you're full of shit," Todd took another swig from his bottle. "You trying to hit on me or something?"
"That depends," the man grinned. "Would you like me to be hitting on you?"
He eyed the man up and down, not bothering to hide his appraisal. The guy really did have an amazing body, and it'd been awhile since... Todd's sex life had taken quite a hit when he'd gotten sick. Maybe a night of crazy, anonymous sex was just what he needed.
"You know what? Yeah, I would." He hopped down, only swaying slightly before righting himself once more. "You got somewhere more comfortable we can go?"
"Definitely."
"Then lead on."
