Death of a Rock Star: A Boy in the Band Novella by NJ Frost Page B

together was the perfect cover. I was always just the label girl. They were far more interested in Jamie’s relationship with drugs and with his ex-bandmate Niko.
    My phone buzzes. A text from Denton.
     
    Dent: You okay?
     
    Me: I will be. Going for a quick drink then heading home. Need to be alone
     
    Dent: You know where I am…
     
    Me: xx
     
    I warned Dent not to come after me and bless him, he didn’t make a scene. I just need space. Room to breathe. My heart is racing wildly. I can’t let anyone see me like this. Falling apart.
    As soon as I’m out of the Paps’ range I light up a cigarette. It’s a struggle. My hands are shaking so badly. Then I open my clutch bag and take out the blister pack of Xanax I found in Jamie’s bathroom last night. I press out one of the blue pills. I remember them chilling him out when he was in one of his blind panics. I need not to feel. I need to still this panic, right now. I press out another and drop the pills down the back of my throat. I try to swallow them dry, but they stick in my throat. I need a drink.
    There’s a shabby old pub a few minutes down the road, just off the beaten track. It’s perfect. I don’t think any of the funeral party will be gracing this place with their presence. I’m starting to feel a little calmer as I swing through the door, even though I’m so completely out of place in my Versace dress. The old geezer bartender raises his eyebrows at me when I order a pint. The pills feel like they’re still caught in my throat, tantalising me with the promise of their mind numbing narcotics. To give the barman something else to raise his eyebrows about, I order two large whisky chasers.
    I drink fast and hard and then order more.
     

     
    A cool numbness is running through my veins. It suddenly feels like I’ve drank every drop of alcohol in this place. Usually I don’t like being so out of control. I’m always careful to stay one drink shy of losing it. Right now I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I want to feel nothing. Blackness starts to wrap itself around me, but it’s not filled with nightmares and regrets, it’s blissful and completely empty. I let it take me. I’m standing on a cliff edge with my back to the drop. I lean further and further back and then let myself fall.
     
     

     
     
    Call it fate. Call it serendipity. Call it what you will. I still do a fucking double take when I notice Sylvie Smith slumped over in the corner of the pub as I raise my drink to my lips. What on earth is she doing here, in a dive like this? She looks slaughtered. How can she have got in such a state so fast? It’s what, just over half an hour since she fled the church? Her arms are folded beneath her face on the table. That beautiful swirl of hair, that tempting curve of her neck, that image glaring at me from the back of Jamie’s jacket are calling to me and yet telling me to run. I let my eyes feast on her. She’s like a fucking homing beacon to me. I’m drawn to her against my will, against all reason. It’s such a fucking cliché.
    I know that the universe is having a huge laugh at my expense right now. It feels as though I’m being tested here. Like Jamie has a hand in this from the other side, or wherever he is right now, like he’s tempting me and waiting for me to fuck up and betray him.
    Sylvie looks in a bad way though. She’s pretty much out cold. I can’t ignore her. I can’t leave her like this. I have to do the right thing. I knock back my drink.
    My heart is hammering in my chest as I approach her. I feel like a fucking pathetic teenager, about to ask the girl of his dreams out on a date – a girl who’s a million miles out of my league. This girl is virtually unconscious, get a grip Blake!
    I sit down beside her, and she moves slightly, raising her eyes to me but not her head.
    Holy fucking shit! Up close those eyes are breath-taking. They are a warm golden brown, the colour of honey. Even in her completely wrecked state they