Midnight Blue

by L.J. Shen

What’s he like?” Disgusting. Gorgeous. Rude. Sexy. Screwed-up. Witty. Broody. Unbearable. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Alex Winslow was all those things and more,

this was what a typical day looked like. Was it any wonder they were all cynical and jaded? There was nothing to chain them to the ground, to one place. They floated through life. Gravity meant nothing to them.

Alex wanted into my pants. Lucas wanted into my life. And I wanted to get out of this tour alive and whole. Heart, body, and soul.

I’m an addict, a knobhead, and a bitter arsehole who can’t even sit still when his enemy receives a Grammy. Everyone can—and does—see my scars. No exceptions. My soul is empty, because I whored it out. I signed fat contracts with huge labels to get big money. For the last six years, they’ve dictated my every move. And whatever they didn’t suck out of me, the crowd did. Because every night you go on that stage, Indie, you give your fans your everything.

“If you want me to believe you about not wanting me to fuck you raw, you should probably stop looking at me like that. Like you’re already mine,”

Because Alex Winslow was a broken vase. But I wasn’t the glue. I was the stupid cleaner who was about to try to pick up the pieces and, inevitably, get cut.

Life is full of secrets, and narrow-minded people, and sugar-coated, empty conversations that hold no weight. What’s real is what’s inside us. What’s important is what we feel.

Floating in the world, with no roots or ground or gravity. Mistakes, and sins, and errors were the bones of my kingdom.

He scarred me. I decorated him. But at the end of the day, we were both tainted by each other.

He’d lost his soul somewhere along the way, and I was just another piggybank he shook, trying to see if what was inside resembled what he was looking for. And at that moment, I knew I’d take it. He was going to break the pig, and I was going to let him.

I needed to grow up, but growing up meant letting go of who I’d been for the past seven years. The last time I was sober was when I was twenty. I didn’t know myself anymore. Not without the drugs. There was a stranger in my house, and that stranger was me

Every single person I work with wants to either fuck me or fuck me over. Some—both. Nothing surprises me anymore, other than the sheer astonishment at finding someone who doesn’t want or need anything from me.

Want to ruin a relationship in less than five steps? Put a few million quid between the two people and see what happens.