Read Get Bent for Free Online Page B

cig for myself. The fucking God and Goddess of Rock 'n' Goddamn Roll.
    I look around for awhile, letting the sea of workers and musicians swarm around me, keeping their distance, tucking in elbows and scooting past. They'll do anything, anything, not to run into me. I wonder how long I've been a colossal jackass without even knowing it. I go to drop my cigarette on the floor and pause. Baby steps, Turner. Baby steps.
    I turn around and go searching for an ashtray.
    For awhile there, nothing happens. I walk around and I run my fingers over the staccato walls, dig into guitar cases, open abandoned bags. I'll admit, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. I'm not one of the Hardy boys or some shit. I ain't no Nancy Drew. But there's a driving force inside of me that won't rest, a burst of passion for someone other than myself. I've never had these urges before. At least not like this.
    “Five minutes, Turner,” Milo says when he finds me later, slumped in a chair, pretending to be dazed out of my Goddamn mind. In reality though, I'm more aware now than I've ever been. I haven't smoked a joint today, haven't slammed any dope. Today, it's just me and nicotine and a single beer. One fucking beer. I'm proud of myself, even if I don't have anyone to share my accomplishments with. I nod and pass him a shaky salute, my arms covered from wrist to elbow in those stupid bracelets. Every time I find one, I put it on. Don't know why. Just seems important somehow.
    When he hesitates and stops to stare at me, I give him a thumbs-up and stay seated, watching, waiting for God only knows what.
    But I never expect what comes later. Never would've even fucking guessed.
    I pull out a cigarette but don't smoke it, instead thrusting it behind my ear and rising from my chair, watching as the back door opens and rain splatters the cement floor. Dax comes in, moving slow, eyes hollow and empty. He's the kind of guy that gets kicked in the nuts and cries about it. Maybe it makes him deep or whatever, but all I can think is that there's no way in shit he loves Naomi. If he did, there'd be no such thing as giving up.
    I slip the sunglasses on my face. They've become sort of a thing for me now, a trend. Plus, I can think all sorts of nasty things behind these glasses and nobody will know. The windows to my soul have shades now, baby.
    “I hope you're ready to tear this shit up,” I tell Dax, feeling good. My adrenaline is pumping and I'm ready for this. When I sing her words, her spirit wraps around me, caresses my shattered soul and sews me up, keeps me going another day. Dax shrugs, looking just as pathetic as the rest of the band. Amatory Riot is a broken window, and if I'm not careful, it's going to blow out. “Well, just follow my lead and you'll be alright.”
    At an imperceptible nod from Milo, I storm the stage, raising my arms up to get a rise out of the crowd. Doesn't take much when they're like this. Below me, no human stands, only beasts. Below me, the last vestiges of control humanity maintains to keep themselves separate from nature, is gone. It's all instinct and wild rage down there. Music is the metaphysical representation of our shredded hearts, all of our pain and anger, our love and joy, ground up and blended together. It saves people, and it destroys them. If it's anything in between, it's not really music at all, just noise.
    I grab the mic hard, wrap my fingers around it and wish it was my cock. I haven't been able to masturbate or fuck since Naomi went missing, so I've got all of this pent up energy inside of me, nibbling at my soul, feeding me dark thoughts. I French the shit out of that microphone with my tongue, getting in close, nipping it with my teeth.
    “Good evening,” I growl, letting the anger and the sex and the confusion out through my mouth. “How y'all doing tonight?” I let a bit of a twang hit my voice. It's as fake as half the tits in this room, but what the hell. I just go for it. “They say everything's