The Masquerade (3 page)

"Where are the bitches?"

I smiled at my mom when I came into the kitchen, alone. "Adam is grounded so they left to retrieve Hayley's mom's car."

She leaned against the countertop, arms crossed. "I don't like you going to those shows without a guy to protect you."

"Because Adam is so tough." I said sarcastically.

She smirked. "True."

Using my hands for support I pushed myself up and sat on the counter across from her. "I'll be fine mom." I looked her in the eyes as a silent promise. I was going to come home. She lost her only son. I was
going to do everything in my power to make sure she never lost her only daughter.

My eyes wandered to the desk across from the kitchen. A laptop that my mom mostly used for work related things, sat on top. Around it were
many framed photos. My eyes stuck to my brother's senior portrait. Finally, last year, my mom and I found the strength to frame it. He never graduated.

"Noah went to lots of concerts." I heard my mom say. I turned and found that her eyes were on the same photo. I watched her
swallow and turn to me with her lips pressed tightly together. She concealed her pain from my eyes. I knew it was there. I didn't have to see it.

The shard of ice in my chest returned, but I smiled anyway.
"He saw Underoath live and I was so mad at him because you wouldn't let me go." I laughed. "Your decisions were always
his
fault."

A smile touched her lips at the memory. "I
remember."

"Noah is with me at every concert momma. He's the one that makes sure I come home okay." I truly believed it too. My brother was the one who got me into hard rock. He took me to my first concert a few months
before he died when I was twelve. I still believe that he makes it to every show.

"I know he is." She smiled. "But it would still be nice if a guy was with you." She bit her lip, which meant she was
contemplating an idea. I knew her mannerisms well because I had many of them myself. "Maybe if you asked, Eli," she started to say.

I shook my head. "He's out of the picture mom."

She nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he is. I
never liked the way he treated you. But it was nice when you were together. I knew you were safe with him."

A knot in my throat tightened. Shiloh's words from before haunted me. "I'll find someone else."

My mom shot me a stern look. "You can say that, but I know you're not opening yourself up to any opportunities."

I frowned at my mom's contradicting words. "You're one
to talk." She shut her mouth. I caught the pained look in her expression and immediately regretted my words. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head and turned to me. "It's okay, Ella. We're both on the same ship."

"Yes, but I didn't marry and have kids with Eli." I paused. "Or I guess have kids and then marry that asshole. Either way, you have me beat, so I have to step up my game." We laughed together at my
obvious sarcasm. My mom was pregnant with my brother at sixteen. My parent's finally married six years later when I came along.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the lit screen, which displayed the new message.
Get your fat ass outside,
bitch.
I didn't have to look at the name to know who it was.

Laughing, I held up my phone for explanation, "Hayley."

My mom nodded. "Go have fun."

I leapt off the counter. "I will. I love you, mom."

"I love you too, be safe please."

I kissed her on the cheek, "always."

Outside, Hayley parked her mother's shiny black BMW in the
driveway. The driver's window rolled down and Hayley leaned out the window. "How much?"

"Too much for you, babe." I scoffed and slid into the back seat of the car. Hayley backed out of the driveway while Shiloh
cranked up the volume and The Masquerade's second album began to blast through the speakers. We drove for nearly thirty minutes, listening to their music, and singing along to every word we knew.

When we reached Atlanta's city limits, Shiloh turned the
music down. Hayley and I both scowled at her. It was a sin to turn down the music when the car was in motion. "Now," she began. "We have to make a pact. No matter what happens tonight, we will get to the front of the
stage."

"Eye sex is impossible when you're not up close." Hayley commented.

Shiloh turned to her. "I'm sure you'd find a way, dear."

"Alright," I said and leaned forward, my hand on
the storage compartment between the two front seats. Shiloh placed her hand on top of mine while Hayley let one hand off the wheel to finish the stack of our hands. "We will get to the front," I vowed. "And we will have
rough eye sex with every rock star on stage."

"We will have the best night of our lives." Shiloh finished. To seal the deal, we all screamed, our voices trying to match the low
pitch of Ben's scream in that part of the song. Our voices cracked at the attempt and we ended it with a burst of laughter.

"Close enough," I said triumphantly.

The girls began to sing along with the rest of the song. I
leaned back against the leather seat and stared at my reflection in the window. Hayley straightened my long blonde hair even after I continuously told her it was naturally straight to begin with. My eyes weren't decorated with black eye
makeup the way I had expected. They had a thin layer of dark purple eyeliner that brought out the green in my eyes. Sparkles were dappled lightly over my lids. My fair skin looked ghostly pale under the dim orange light that flickered past the car from the streetlights. I smiled at my reflection and the
fire lit in my eyes, illuminating my face. Reassurance washed through when I realized, I was still me.

The echo of her scream continued to ring in my ears, even after I laid her body against the concrete. My eyes cold, I stared at her limp
form. I used to stare at the bodies, anticipating the remorse that would seep into my veins and haunt me every day of my existence. After a while, I realized the remorse would never come. There was no shadow of guilt that weighed heavily
beneath my chest. I felt nothing. They were nothing.

A cloak of red seeped across the concrete, staining it with the memory of her death. Still, I remained apathetic. The hazel eyes, glazed over, locked with mine, the fear evident in her final expression. I didn't feed
off fear. It merely made the experience of the kill more enjoyable to the taste.

I left her behind the abandoned warehouse. Someone would find her, by morning at the latest, and another animal attack would be claimed.
It was always another animal attack. I found my way back to the main road of the city that I once knew so well. My eyes found my custom black, Gibson Les Paul guitar leaned carefully against a car parked on the side of the road.

I picked it up, the strap over my head, and began to strum a few random chords. I walked along the sidewalk of a back road that led straight to the venue. Each step I took, another chord was strung; a violent melody
shattered the dead calm of the night.

Dead calm. My tongue ran over my bottom lip, tasting the lingering blood drops that stained my flesh. I swallowed whatever was left of the young woman, smiling as the salty substance ran down the back of my throat.
It was monstrous to smile, knowing what I had done, but I was a monster. I didn't pretend to be sorry. I wasn't.

In the distance, the glow of the concert venue came into view. The heavy beats pumped out of the loudspeakers from our back up band. The
raspy voice of the lead singer carried out a scream that could have awakened the dead, to those of us who weren't already awake. I smirked at the thought.

"Having fun?"

I slammed my hand against the strings to silence the sound. I turned, the bass player of our band stood in front of me, a mischievous smirk that tainted his lips. I examined his appearance, from the disheveled black hair down to the chunky, pink substance on the corner of his lip.

I gestured to his lips. "You have some shit on your face."

Jesse wiped off the leftover flesh with his hand before licking his fingers. I noticed they were browned at the tips, resembling ash.
He liked to burn his bodies after he claimed them. When the taste of their skin between our teeth grew bitter and the craving for human flesh sufficed, we had to dispose them. I enjoyed leaving mine for the entire world to see what I had
done, but Jesse enjoyed pyrotechnics.

"Mmm," he moaned. "Delish."

"C'mon," I pushed him towards the backstage door. "I think we're on in a few minutes."

He slipped under the hold I had on his back and ran towards the door. A crumpled sheet of paper was taped to it. The words '
Edward Cullen used to live here'
were scribbled in black sharpie on it. One of the previous bands to play at the venue had stuck it on there. When we first
noticed the sign, a few years back, it was hard not to laugh. There wasn't much humor or relevance in the words, but we still managed to laugh.

The door burst open when Jesse reached it. Our stage manager
appeared with a headset hooked around his ears. "You're on in two minutes!" He shouted and moved to the side, holding the door open, so Jesse and I could move through. Under his breath, I heard him mumble curses
about one of us always being late for a show. It wasn't just us. Rock stars were always late, whether it was hooking up with a fan or getting wasted at a bar. The suspicion died in the stereotype we fit into.

The stage crew tried to keep up with us while we moved
quickly through the dimly lit hallway. One of them grabbed my guitar from my hands and replaced it with a microphone, while another held up a mirror to my face for me to approve. A sly smile appeared in my expression as my reflection
snarled back at me. I adjusted the silver ring pierced through my lip and nodded to whoever held the mirror.

We rounded the corner when someone handed me a leather jacket. I slipped it on. I would eventually toss it into the crowd and watch,
with pleasure, as star struck girls, and even some boys, fought over it. Black leather jackets had become my trademark. I only owned one that I'd kept with me since the beginning. One fan, every night, went home with a jacket, believing
they were special, whether they thought it was my actual jacket or not. I would never give my actual jacket away knowing everything I had been through with it. It had become a part of me over the years.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Cam said
and shot me a coy smile.

I nodded, met his dark eyes, and smirked in return without saying a word. Eye contact was a major source of communication between us. Our band held a dangerous secret, one that we kept loosely. We walked on a thin
line, one wrong step, and we easily expose ourselves. The thrill of standing on the edge was what we enjoyed the most. There were others like us that waited for the perfect opportunity to destroy us. And we just liked to piss them off.

Cam punched me in the arm before violently shaking his head a few times over the guitar he gripped in his hands. Head banging was a crucial move to pump us up for a show. PJ stood beside Cam with his arms crossed, two
drums sticks in each hand. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He never wore a shirt. His wardrobe consisted of black leather pants and combat boots. The girls loved it. He had a mean body and abs that girls have asked to lick in the past, during meet and greets. Considered a mute in interviews, PJ never spoke. He
didn't say much, but words do leave his mouth. Usually in a fashion of sarcastic remarks towards Cam whenever he did something stupid.

Our guitarist, Max, nodded his head to me. He had a soft
baby face that cradled his smile. He was known for his soft features, which never made him very happy, but his Mr. Hyde made up for it whenever he was hungry.

Max, Cam, and Jesse stood, tuning their guitars. PJ and I
were the only ones who just stood there waiting, tapping our shoes against the black linoleum back stage. The intro to our first song began to play, rocking the floorboards beneath our feet. The crowd began chanting, each word fit perfectly in tune and carried the beat. The girls were shouting our names.

The five of us stood motionless with smiles that toyed with our faces as we listened to the girls beckoning us to the stage. They wanted us. They dreamed about us. If only they knew how dangerous that really was.

Suddenly, the music twisted into a hard core beat that pounded in our ears. We moved to the stairs that led directly up to the stage. Max and Cam began to bounce, rolling off the heels of their feet lightly, to
prep themselves. I adjusted my lip ring again out of habit. Jesse tightened his guitar strap.

PJ threw his head back. His black hair fell into his eyes as he shook to ready himself. He flashed a white smile to us before he ran up the
stairs, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers as he went. He was always first on stage.

Cam ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it, to perfect the wild persona he carried. He nudged me with his shoulder. I smirked
and bumped fists with him. From above, the crowd went wild. A loud throbbing beat began to bounce throughout the bar. PJ was pounding on the drums, setting up the rest of the introduction. We all grinned as we listened to PJ's thunderous beats that brought the rest of us up the stairs and to the stage.

Max and Cam moved slowly together on stage, deafening riffs shot throughout the bar, their hands repeatedly moving against the strings. They paused on different parts of the stage when Jesse stepped into the light.
He strode to the right side of the stage, strumming powerful lower notes on with his bass to darken the tune. In response, the crowd went wild, roaring, and thrashing their hands forward, trampling the weaker fans that stood in
their way.

When my band mates found their positions, they played out the rest of the introduction. The music cut off. I watched as the three monsters with guitars slammed their hands against their strings and bowed their
heads. Still hidden from the audience, I looked up and saw PJ stood before his drum set, head bowed. The lights cut off. Darkness consumed the stage. Only the outlines of their bodies could be seen. The audience silenced too, despite the random drunk who shouted something incoherent.

All at once, the white strobe lights illuminated the darkness, catching each of their movements, one frame after another. At the same time, they began to play. The sound of the electric guitars struck first,
followed by the drums. The fast metallic beat sent the crowd into a panic attack. People shouted, thrashing their arms forward, recognizing the beat from our latest album.

With my cue, I ran onto stage, microphone in hand. Each
stride my legs made was caught in a different frame the pulsating strobe lights created. Girls in the front few rows shrieked and thrust their bodies forward, desperate to close the distance between themselves and me. I stopped in the middle of the stage and turned to face the crowd. I paused once, before I threw
my head back and drove it forward, belting out a dark scream that shot through the speakers like the rupture of a siren.

The scream carried, ringing in my ears, and ripping through
the crowd. Most of the male fans screamed along, while the girls screamed a different note, a mixture of lust and pure excitement. I looked out to see each person in the crowd with their hands in the air, thrusting them back and forth in the same rhythm the drums had. I shook my head, allowing my black hair to
fall into my face. I smiled, feeling the exhilaration pump through my veins, as I waited for the first song.