Oh the muse has taken up residence and I cannot type fast enough. I hope you enjoy this chapter and must apologise for quoting song lyrics. It is something I hate - hate reading them in other people's stories as well, but sometimes you have to as part of the overall plot. Obviously having zero talent musically I have had to borrow and steal songs from living published artists and these are acknowledged at the end - but in the story they are suppose to have all been written by Richard. If you like this story please leave me a review, I keep only having three, but I know more people are reading, so please let me know what you think! Anyway, enjoy! Pips
Chapter Twenty-One
"I'm gonna' kill him," I fumed to no one in particular for the hundredth time that day. "Slice him into little pieces and get great enjoyment from doing so." I was sitting in a hotel room, swathed in their thick white dressing gown, waiting for the makeup artist to come and transform me, at the behest of Alanya who flatly refused to let me go out on stage looking anything less then professional.
The waiting was the worst part of the whole day. Up until now the logistics of setting this goddamn party up had distracted me and when the myriad of chores had begun to wane into only a few final details, I was excused for a sound check and practice with the band. "For your starring role," Fiona Farrow had reminded me, with more then a hint of taunting in her voice.
My star role – the one I had been unwillingly forced into with very little notice. My idea of a mumbled tune in front of a few drunken friends had become very different now – I was due to sing in front of around two hundred people. Despite Ric's best assurances I knew I wasn't ready.
Two weeks had been stretched into exactly two weeks, one day and fourteen hours – give or take and I had spent most of that time being 'trained.' Whatever Richard had done to Fiona, mostly stand there and pout, I think, she had generously allowed me vast swathes of time off work to prepare for this evening. Therefore I left the office every evening at four and was made to do two or more hours of singing with Ric at the university, just the two of us and a piano where he critically ran me through the control, tone, balance and pitch of my voice.
He was a hard task master and these sessions always ended in tears, but in his new loving and giving way he took me in his arms, kissed away my worries and then took me home to cosset and comfort me, before turning to either the punishing amounts of work that he seemed to be ignoring or going out and performing with the rest of Cluinn.
We had followed this pattern for five days, before I was allowed out of the safety of that room and taken to meet the rest of the band. Obviously I was acquainted with Jim, but when I walked into that cold and drafty hall, the other two faces were strangers to me, even if I wasn't to them. I was amazed by the normality of the situation. Having only seem them performing, I was expecting the same level of noise, setup and costume. Instead it was four men and their instruments, the guitars plugged into smaller speakers, only two microphones standing on the stage of a very run down community hall.
I sat on a table, trying to dredge heat out of a radiator that wasn't complying and watched; trying to imagine myself on stage with them. There seem to be a great deal of light hearted bickering and swearing; but they were at ease with themselves and their instruments, switching ideas and plans, even if Ric seemed to have the final say in what was or wasn't run through.
Sandy was the drummer, blonde haired and beefy with a charming smile. Like all the members of this over educated band he had a degree in biochemistry and a day job working for a pharmaceutical company. Angus on bass guitar – delivery driver by day, degree in geophysics and of course Jim on lead guitar who proudly informed me that he was a man of leisure; although was shouted down as he apparently did a variety of jobs depending on his mood whilst also moonlighting in a string quartet. And as for Richard – it was obvious that he was the glue that held this motley crew together for he moved from guitar to keyboard with ease, picking up a violin where it was needed - all the time his clear powerful tenor leading the songs; most of them his own composition.
I had sat and listened to them for a whole weekend, providing drink and sustenance as required, critique when asked for and occasionally joining them in an odd singsong, feeling curiously out of place amongst all the testosterone. None of the songs seemed to please Ric for he either stopped halfway through, shaking his head and waving me away or would get to the end, a scowl furrowing his visible forehead and twisting his mouth. "It doesn't suit your voice," was his common excuse, which when I heard for the twentieth time caused me to reply with articulated fury of the four letter variety and storm off the stage kicking an empty guitar case in my frustration and anger.
"I know a song that would suit," Jim suggested quietly as four pairs of eyes followed me stomping across the hall and back to my perch on the table, amongst the debris of lunch.
"Oh bloody hoorah," was my only comment back as I drew my legs up to my chest, biting my lip and scowling at the scuffed floor. I was tired and fed up – the party was in five days and despite knowing that my singing had come on leaps and bounds, I had no idea what I would be performing on stage. At the moment Baa Baa Black Sheep seemed to be likely.
"What about 'Broken' Ric?" Jim suggested quietly. "You always said it would be better as a duet." I lifted my head for silence had descended over the band. Sandy was sitting stock still staring at Jim as if he was deluded and Angus' gaze was locked onto their lead singer. In turn Richard was standing as if carved from marble and yet the anger seemed to be pouring off him in waves. The seconds ticked by like hours and nothing was said.
"No," he finally replied, quietly and firmly, turning his back on his mates and running a hand through his hair. It was only because we had recently become so close that I realised he was seething with anger. Anger and distress.
"C'mon mate, you know it's the best one," Jim tried again and I sat up with interest, unsure what it was about this piece of music that I could not even listen to, let alone attempt to sing.
"I fucking well said no James," Richard hissed, as he lifted the strap of his guitar over his head, propped it against a speaker and jumped down off the stage. "Not now, not ever, for no one," was his parting shot as he strode up the length of the room and out the double doors at the other end. We all stood frozen as the door swung back into his frame and I glanced over at Jim, unsure what to say or do, not fully understanding the situation. Except he too was looking as confused as everyone else.
I clambered off my uncomfortable perch and followed Ric's footsteps, aware that the rest of the men were watching me. A glance around the drab foyer decorated in those beloved seventies colours of pale blue walls and grey linoleum, did not reveal him and I began to wonder if he had walked out entirely. To be honest if he was feeling even a fifth as fed up as I was, it wouldn't be a surprise. Only the fact that Ric was here had kept me glued to the table.
Outside the day was doing it's best to be as depressing as possible. We had been inside for almost five hours and the brief winter's daylight was already drawing to a close, the cloud covered sky becoming even darker, the wind whipping down the street; blowing rubbish before it. Reluctantly I opened the door, getting a face full of blowing wind, whipping my hair up around my head and bringing tears to my eyes with the stinging cold.
Thankfully Richard was sitting on the low wall at the front of the community centre, his legs stretched out in front of him, clad in the tight black jeans that highlighted their long length. One arm curled against his body, the hand drawn up inside the sleeve for warmth, the other pressed to his mouth, pushing the half mask he was wearing into his face.
"Ric," I spoke loudly, although the wind wiped my words away from me, tossing them down the street with all the other scattered detritus. There was nothing to it, so I went and sat next to him, realising that he was upset as he lifted his hand from his mouth to dash moisture from his eyes; his lips trembling as he did so. He still lifted his spare arm and wrapped it around me, silently pulling me into his side, sharing what little warmth our bodies hadn't had stolen by the biting wind. "Shall we go inside," I spoke close to his ear. "It's bloody freezing out here. We can go and sit in the foyer." We stood as one and made our way back inside and sunk onto the scabby chairs, that matched the depressing decor.
"I wrote it after Mam died," he spoke quietly, holding my hand and pushing the cuticles back absentmindedly. "I sort of had this dream and well – shit no, it's stupid. But I never ever intended anyone to hear it."
"Well then you don't have to, there must be plenty of stuff there that I can sing," I began to make customary excuses.
"Oh aye, how about Old McDonald had a Farm?" The humorous sarcasm was back. "No Izzy, Jim is unfortunately right. It would be the best one and if you can do this for me, I can at least provide you with the best bloody song I can write and you can sing." He paused. "And maybe by you singing it, then it won't be her song anymore, it'll be yours and that wouldn't be a bad thing would it." I mutely shook my head, not knowing what to say. "So come on then let's go back inside and see if we can get it down before I fall over with exhaustion, what do you think?"
"Okay, I'm game if you are," I shrugged and let him pull me to my feet, wrapping my arms around his lean waist. He dropped a kiss on my hair and pulled open the doors to the hall. All the boys stood there in a row, lost without their leader all of them with identical expressions of relief as we walked through the doors. Jim was the first to approach, wariness in his eyes as he looked over Ric and I his eye lingering on the way our arms were wrapped around each other.
"You all right mate," he questioned. Ric simply looked at him and in a lightening flash had detached his arm from around me and punched his friend in the face, flipping his head back. "Shit you bastard, what was that for?" Jim said catching his breath and glaring back at his companion who stood his hands on his hips and fire in his eyes. "I said I'm sorry."
"Yeah, apology accepted you wanker," Richard said and before I could take a breath or a step forward they were giving each other manly hugs with lots of back slapping. "Don't be such a Nancy boy Jamie McCullough, I didn't hit hard, can't afford to bruise my hand at this stage of the game!"
****
Even in my distressed state the memory bought a smile to my lips – so typically male – violence first and reconciliation second. Jim did not seem to be particularly put out by the punch and had finished the hug by getting Richard in a headlock and refusing to let go, leaving them wrestling on the floor.
But relief from my nerves was only temporary – how I wished Ric was around to comfort me, but we had both been busy up until now, him with a sound check and me with other party details. Then he succumbed to makeup and I hadn't seen him since. Instead I was left by myself to switch between utter fury at how my bet had been blown out of proportion and a jumble of nerves.
When there was a finally a knock on the door I jumped out of my chair and rushed over, flinging it open; ready to fall into his arms. However I was bought up short because it wasn't my housemate, lover, teacher; sort of boyfriend. Instead it was Ralph Cheyne.
"Hi Isabella," he said with a soft grin that I returned before I was almost aware of what I was doing. "Sorry didn't mean to surprise you, just when I found out what you were doing, had to come and wish you luck."
"I, I didn't think you were working tonight," I stuttered foolishly, with a shake of my head.
"I'm not," he waved at himself and I suddenly noticed that instead of wearing a suit he was dressed down in jeans and a shirt. "I invited myself to the party. I hear the band is pretty good and you discovered them! And then I heard that you were singing..."
"Uh yeah," I let out a cross between a grimace and a smile, for it seemed the rumour mill was currently in full swing. Discover wasn't quite accurate. "Would you like to come in and," I hesitated suddenly aware of my state of dishabille, not sure what to do, caught in between the desperate desire for company and the awareness that having a man I barely knew (childhood aside) in my hotel room did not make for good gossip.
Thankfully he was better mannered and smiled that preppy heart breaking smile again. "No, better not. But good luck all the same and I will try and speak to you later." He turned with a wave and walked back down the hallway, his shoes making no sound on the plush carpet, leaving me clinging to the door and watching him go, grateful for the effort he made to come and find me.
I had been rummaging my memory banks and with concerted effort found I could recall several hazy memories in his company. Family barbecues, long walk with dogs, water fights in a swimming pool. They were all half formed and all seemed to be in the summer, tinged with nostalgic golden light of happier days. Not surprising I hadn't let myself remember them.
But that was then and this was the now and glancing at the clock in the room I realised that the band would be making its debut about this time and here I was still in a dressing gown and no sign of anyone who could help me do anything about it.
Ten minutes wasted with aimless channel hoping on the television concluded with a knock on the door again, revealing Alanya and two others who turned out to be the makeup artist and costumer. I gazed at them in puzzlement until she turned to me with a sparkle in her eyes. "Didn't Ric tell you that he asked me to go all out on this one?"
"No. And what does 'all out' mean by the way?" Immediately I was suspicious, heckles raised. I didn't like Richard in domineering mode.
"Just that he wants you to feel the part and hopes that if you look the part it will help. Hence employing my services. Right, hair, makeup, clothes. We have just under the hour to make you look fantastic."
"Need longer then that," I mumbled, sitting down at the desk where the makeup artist had laid out a bewildering spread of cosmetics, my head bobbing up and down as the hairdresser expertly combed my dark wet tangles.
Half an hour later and I was amazed. Even compared to Mags professional hand I looked amazing, my eyes huge in kohl, face highlighted and enhanced so I look like I had cheekbones that could cut, lips in a red pout and hair in a long tousled waves. It was hard to resist posing in front of the mirror and I glanced longingly at its reflective surface, finding it difficult to believe that the exotic creature staring back was me. That was until I saw Alanya pulling some clothes out of the bags.
"Laney what the hell is that?" I asked spinning round and pointing a neatly polished finger at the items now laid out on the bed, the fake tattoo that had been painted on my shoulder rippling.
"Clothes." Her tone was all sweetness and light as if she had been forewarned that my reaction might be a little dramatic. I felt justified in my melodrama because calling them clothes was quite a compliment. One was a pair of trousers that at a glance I could tell would be tight, which I could have handled if they had not been artfully ripped in horizontal tears all down the front of both legs. Corset tops, belts with three buckles, shoes that had heels to make a girl cry with pain – it was all there.
It was with much bargaining and some slight bullying on Alanya's behalf that I was talked into the air conditioned trousers, a vertical pair of heels and a small black t-shirt, my waist cinched in with a belt that wouldn't have been out of place in a bondage scene. How I was supposed to walk onto the stage, let alone sing, I was not sure. Alanya stood back and ran a critical eye over me.
"That should do it, you look fab Izzy – Ric won't know what's hit him!"
"Yes he will, it'll be me tripping over in these heels and taking him out at the same time," I deadpanned, causing the assorted people in the room to smile.
"He will be as proud as hell," she said taking me in a hug and air kissing my cheek in an expert model way, so that my makeup wouldn't smudge. "He already is."
"What?" Whilst Richard had been more supportive and loving during my training he was still annoyingly silent on my progress and ability and I grabbed onto the comment like a dog with a bone. "Laney?" Except she smiled enigmatically and ushered me out of the room towards the lifts, our arms linked.
"He has been behaving himself hasn't he?" she said confidentially as we travelled down to the ground floor. "I gave him a stern talking to, about his behaviour and he promised that he was going to try harder then normal – not just be a pig headed male Scot. I hope he put it into action."
"Yes, well..." My head was swirling with information. Ric's changed of heart was because of a lecture by Alanya? I found it all too much to compute, especially when coupled with the fact that he thought I could sing. Suddenly I realised the noise was several decibels louder and that we were in fact approaching the back stage of the ballroom stage. Clever Laney had distracted me all the way down, made me too busy to worry about what was coming next.
I stood in the wings, just able to see the audience out of the corner of my eye, who all seemed to be having a good time. Fiona and Peter were opposite, looking as if they were torn between enjoying themselves and checking up on the evening and I knew Rachel and my other colleagues were all out there working their butts off. This is my job, that's all, I tried to counsel myself. Go on stage; sing the song, bow and leave.
I felt a tug on my jeans as my receiver was put in place and the microphone handed to me and then stood there waiting, trying to zone out, ignore the frantic waving of my boss who had just noticed my presence and let the end of the song wash over me. With closed eyes I heard the change from electric guitar to acoustic and Ric's gravelly tenor strike up the next song. It was time.
I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
I took a deep breath, it was nearly here.
You've gone away, you don't feel me, here anymore
And as the chord came I stepped on to the stage and focused on the man I was suppose to be singing to.
The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
My eyes widened at the sight of Ric as he turned and faced me, a grin on his face and the most maniacal mask covering half his face. Black with intense etching all over it, the edges curling down across his cheeks; it distorted the shape and plans of his face so that it seemed to loom down, aided by the lighting. He wore it with his hair slicked back, his eyes ringed with black makeup so that his skin merged into the mask and his iris' were intensified. His t-shirt was tight, his arms oiled to highlight the subtle muscles and his elaborate tattoo; sweatbands around his wrists to stop the sweat running into his hands. His legs were clad in tight black denim, ripped across front and back in a similar fashion to the ones I was wearing. The whole look was topped off with heavy black boots over the top, buckles and chains seeming to hold them on. In a flash of inspiration I realised that my clothes echoed his, as I took a deep breath and we sang in unison.
'Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
I sang the chorus with him again, the words flowing out of my mouth before leaving him to croon the last words.
You've gone away
You don't feel me here anymore.
As the words fell from his lips and his fingers plucked the last few notes from the guitar, backed by the full band, the crowd burst into cheering and screaming, the noise carrying me on a wave and I suddenly had a moment of clarity about the buzz that came with performing. However it was all over now – I had won my bet, didn't need to sing anymore and could leave the stage; however I was strangely reluctant to give up the emotion that was flowing through me, the heady sense of success that I achieved.
Richard looked at me and nodded towards the wings where the sound man was holding up a board with the name of the next song on, a reminder of where to go next and with the slightest of nods I sealed the bargain and sang again, this time in unison with him.
I'll Take These Storms Away
Start A Brand New Story
I'll Make It Through Each Day
Singing Death Or Glory
Lord Won't Answer Me
I Won't Let It Bring Me Down
And Though These Clouds Are Grey That I'm Living Under
I Know I'll Be Ok With The Rain Or Thunder
I Hear It Calling Me
I Will March Into The Sound
I Just Get The Feeling
You're Holding Me Down
And These Answers I'm Needing
I Guess There Being Smothered By The Sounds
Of All This Emotion And All Of This Hate
Still I Keep Searching For Something To Put My Faith In
To Find My Place So I Keep Singing!
I'll Take These Storms Away
Start A Brand New Story
I'll Make It Through Each Day
Singing Death Or Glory
Lord Won't Answer Me
I Won't Let It Bring Me Down
Hold On Hold On
We'll Move Along
Where We Belong
Where We Belong
My Heart My Song
I Don't Need A Vision
A Light To Embrace
I Don't Need False Promises, Hopes And Wishes
To Find My Place So I Keep Singing!
I could not describe the euphoria of standing on stage singing, watching the crowd beyond the footlights going wild at the music. Their enthusiasm was like a drug to me and I found myself singing even louder and stronger, my voice blending with Ric's as he sang, his fingers flashing over the struts of the guitar, his body angled towards mine, the music blaring out around us.
As the song came to an end once again cheering filled the air and there was little I could do except stand there and beam. I was briefly aware of Richard's voice over the speakers, talking about the other band members, each playing their piece and then my name being spoken; more cheering from the crowds before I step forward bowing low and standing again so the blood rushed to my head in a wave. Who needed narcotics when a natural high was so good?
There was absolutely no lingering reluctance when the last of the music came blaring out. A song that Richard had taught me a couple of days ago, remaining silent on when I might sing it, but now his intention was clear and I lifted the microphone to my lips.
How can you see into my eyes like open doors?
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb
Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home
Bring me back to life
I heard Richard's voice echo behind me, gravelly and deep, a slight hoarseness from having sung now for almost two hours. Our voices merged and twisted around each other, almost as if we were battling for control of the song before I finally belted out the last lines of the lyrics, holding the note strong and controlled. One final electric whine from the guitars and the stage was plunged into darkness, my heart hammering with adrenaline.
In the gloom afforded by the lights on the equipment Richard came over and took my hand. His palms were hot and sweaty and his breathing heavy with the exhaustion from performing. "I knew you could do it Izzy," he whispered, listening to the roar of the crowd. The lights came on again and the whole band took a bow, before we trooped off with exhaustion.
I was exhausted but jittery, not knowing what to do with myself. Part of me wanted to collapse in a heap, another run away and hide, the emotion all too overwhelming and a third wanted to grab Richard and lock ourselves together in a room, make love with all the passion and intensity I had sung with.
He took one look at me as he accepted the towel that was handed to him and after wiping the lower half of his face, steadied me with a gentle hand on my shoulder and patted my neck dry. "Your bosses are right behind you," he said soft and low, his eyes flicking to the right of my head. I took a deep breath before they pounced.
"Richard, what have you done to our little mouse?" Fiona gushed, her talons gripping my arms to my sides. "Isabella, you were quite magnificent up there – fantastic, people will be talking about this for weeks to come! There are several people you must meet by the way and then..."
"Fiona, I just need to spend some time with Izzy," Richard said, his accent rough. "She needs to cool down and then we will come back and speak to people. Please excuse us."
"Of course Richard, not a problem." My boss practically cooed at him. "See you in a little bit." He wrapped a sweaty arm around my shoulders and led me away, back to the bedrooms upstairs. The sound of laughter and chatting from one made me realise that the other boys were already occupying one suite and so we fell into the other darkened room, our lips locked together as we kissed desperately, all the emotion that we had sung about on stage coming out.
"Do you want a shower?" He asked gruffly and I nodded exhaustion replacing the earlier euphoria. Ric gently led me into the glamorous bathroom, leaning into the luxurious shower and turning it on before coming and standing in front of me as I leant against the marble countertop. His eyes were fathomless in the strange exotic mask he wore and when he briefly closed them, I could no longer see where the mask ended and his skin began. His sigh was one of true weariness and I realised that if I were tired, he must be totally exhausted for his time had been spent coaching me, practicing with the band and still doing his degree work and part-time at a solicitors.
His lips sought mine and I placed a light almost chaste kiss over them, my hands curling up under the surface of the mask and prying it off. His intake of breath was sharp as I gently tugged and there was a strange sound as the skin and covering parted. "Is it glued on?" I asked in amazement, examining the underside of the covering and see the small globs of adhesive still stuck to the inside. He nodded and smiled wryly.
"Best way to keep it on when there is lots of movement." I looked up, concerned for it seemed to be painful for him but couldn't help smiling at the sight for the makeup had been put on with the mask in mind and now with the kohl ringing his eyes in full view, he simply looked...odd.
"You've got serious panda eyes," I said reaching up to gently smudge the makeup with my finger.
"You got any makeup remover? All my stuff is next door."
"Laney left me some, although shouldn't we stay all dressed up if Fiona wants to see us again? I am amazed she let us go in the first place – you seem to have her under your spell Ric."
"Huh? No, she just wants to shag me that's all." He responded gruffly, no pride in his voice. "That woman is a total snake, be careful with her Izzy because all she wants is associated glory. You've done your job tonight, fantastically well; you don't have to show another eyelash down there if you don't want to." He wandered out into the bedroom, sitting at the desk and expertly removing the thick makeup before silently handing me some soaked cotton wool. "I'm going to have a shower, get changed and then decide what I am going to do." The tiredness was evident in his voice and posture and he stood up, pressed a kiss to my cheek and went into the bathroom. There I heard the rhythmic thud as first his boots and then his jeans and belt fell to the floor. A low moan indicated that he had climbed under the warm running water and I imagined him standing there naked, wanting to join him, but trying to let him have a moment of peace and relaxation first.
The buzz had left my head and exhaustion was replacing it, my limbs heavy with tiredness. The thought of having to go downstairs smile at people, talk; chat and answer questions was too much. I stared at the cotton wool in my hand and leaning towards the mirror began to gently dab at my eyes.
A knock at the door had jarred me from my thoughts and I looked towards to the door, noting for the first time that the noise from the other room had quietened. Possibly the boys coming to find out what we were doing then. I carefully closed the bathroom door and flung open the main entrance.
"Izzy!" Ralph Cheyne beamed at me from the other side, with enthusiasm, his formality of earlier gone explained by the whiff of alcohol on his breath, as he leant forward. "Izzy, you were fantastic, beautiful woman. I had to come and tell you that. You simply blew me away!" I couldn't help but laugh for whilst his words came with a slur of drunkenness they were still kind.
"Thank you Ralph, that's very nice of you."
"I came to whisk you away and take you out to dinner Izzy my dearest," he continued, stepping forward and wrapping a friendly arm over my shoulder, resting a great deal of weight on me in his insobriety. You deserve to be wined and dined and feted as the star you are!" My laughter was more forced this time and I glanced over my shoulder hoping that Richard might come out of the bathroom and rescue me from this man's drunken intentions.
"Um Ralph, that's very kind of you," I said gently slipping out from under his arm. "But I need to tidy up and get changed first so why don't I meet you downstairs hmm?" I gave him a non too subtle push so he stood outside the threshold again. "Give me fifteen minutes and I will be in the lobby."
"No Isabella, you are beautiful as you are, no need to have to do anything. Come now."
"No," my voice was firm and I shook slightly, he was persistent in his drunkenness. I pushed him further into the corridor. "Fifteen minutes," I repeated and to try and take the sting out of my actions and not make him suspicious I blew a kiss, before shutting the door in his face.
I immediately spun around aBnd into the bathroom, my hand shaking as I held it out to the man standing on the bathmat. Ric was out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips, wet hair slicked back from his head. As he lifted his twisted face to me and held out his arms I fell into them trembling, ignoring the fact he was still slightly damp from his ablutions. "Get me away from here please Ric, far, far away."
The songs are:-
Broken by Seether (featuring Amy Lee) from their album Disclaimer.
Where we belong by Lostprophets from their album The Betrayed.
Bring me to Life by Evanescence from their album Fallen