Composed at Randy’s (Diner Days)

2. Bael

Chapter 2

Bael

T here’s a sticker of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson smiling up at me from the backward-facing seat of the limo. It wasn’t there yesterday, and I try not to think about it too hard.

I fail.

It’s just… Mel and Shay had both promised that the limo was off-limits, and I?—

“Dude, I honestly have no idea how someone like you manages to look like this.” Travis, the drummer of our band Baelfire (Yes, it was named after me. No, I didn’t pick it.) interrupts my train of thought and gestures vaguely at the entirety of my body lounging in the back of our limo. He’s referring to the black leather harness crisscrossing my black fishnet-covered chest, the artfully smudged eyeliner, and the oh-so-casually messy strawberry-blond hair cascading over half of my face.

It took my stylist Trina a solid hour of vicious poking to get it that way, thank you. She’d also tried to convince me to let my makeup artist cover my freckles, but I noped my way right out of that. Freckles are hot, and I love mine.

“Someone like me?” I ask around a mouthful of the delicious Hello Kitty-shaped sandwich I’d ordered at our favorite diner, Randy’s.

“Soft and goofy.” Travis tries to jab my food to emphasize his point, and I snatch it safely out of reach.

“I can like cute, soft things and not want to be one,” I say sagely before I get back to demolishing Hello Kitty’s torso. I pause eating when I remember I haven’t addressed the other half of Travis’s statement yet and say, “And I’m not goofy. You’re goofy.” I wad my sandwich wrapper into a ball and flick it directly at Travis’s face.

Travis smacks it out of the air and says, “The only part of you that fits this gig is that you’re a vindictive bastard.”

Vindictive?

I bet he’s talking about that time last week when I’d physically tossed out a techie openly ogling Mel’s ass while making rude gestures.

Or maybe he means the time I kicked a racist troll in the chest and accidentally knocked him down a flight of stairs.

Boy, did I get in trouble for that one.

I refused to apologize, though and chose to eat the legal fees and publicity storm it caused.

Next time, I’ll make sure there are no stairs before I kick.

If I remember.

I get in trouble a lot, by the way. I can’t help it.

No, seriously, my impulse control is complete garbage on a good day, and when I see someone doing something fucked up, it’s nonexistent. To date, I have yet to hold in the desire to show bullies and assholes the real-time consequences of their actions.

But if I don’t, who will? My fans back me every time and do some fairly outrageous things to show their support anytime I get in trouble. The shit-ton of money I have doesn’t hurt either.

I have real power in this world, and like some smart old dying guy said that one time, “A bunch of power is great...” No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s “If you can beat people up and get away with it, it’s a big responsibility…” Goddammit, that’s not right either.

I’ll google it and tell you later. I think you can get the gist though.

Anyway, I reason that a cracked eye socket or a handful of missing teeth is a great way to let my personal philosophy really sink into a person who’s in need of a solid mental rearranging.

I don’t respond to Travis’s bitchy comment other than to make a sort of cheers motion with Hello Kitty’s adorable head. Then I finish her off because she’s fucking delicious and needs to be inside me.

“Yeah, never mind. You can keep your goth card. No normie eats like that.”

“What can I say? I like pussy.” I give Travis a not-so-innocent smile.

“You like dick, too, so do me a favor and never eat a banana around me, okay?”

“No worries there, bananas are gross. Like, they've got those strings. Seriously, who likes eating strings? And you can't get rid of them because there's always a sneaky one hiding in there somewhere. It's like they're trying to get eaten. And don't even get me started on the bananus, man. I can’t even with that shit?—”

Travis interrupts me before I have a chance to explain why eating banana ass is completely different from eating regular ass. “What the fuck is a bananus?”

“The ass end of the banana. duh. No one wants to eat that.”

“Okay, okay, spare me the details! I'm sorry I asked. Jesus, Bael, I swear, if your fans knew what you were really like, we'd be out of business in a week.”

I’m pretty sure that if I was allowed to be as weird as I truly am, our fans would go apeshit. I think being yourself resonates with people, and it goes a long way, but nobody listens to what I think.

I suppose that happens to people who accidentally glue their own balls to the floor. Yes, that really happened to me. No, I don't want to talk about it.

Ball gluing aside, I think I'm a pretty great person. My fans tell me this constantly.

I humor Travis because I'm a nice guy and ignore his comment. “You should really get one of these sandwiches. They’re fucking amazing.”

I'd seen the way he'd been eyeing Miss Kitty. He wants one, I just know it. But Travis isn't as comfortable with his masculinity as I am, so he’s going to need some time before he takes the plunge.

“No way. If you think I'm eating that shit, you're insane.” Travis's eyes linger on the wrapper I threw at him. “I bet it tastes like perfume anyway.”

“Whatever, man. Have fun starving.” You can stick a horse in water, but you can't, umm, you can't… dammit. I don't know how that saying goes, okay? I just know that I can't make Travis's stupid ass eat something if he doesn't want to.

Travis swears, then flings open the door of our limo and storms across the street. Then he flips me off and stomps inside Randy’s diner like a cute little brat. Travis likes to think he's this macho guy when really, he's just a bottom who needs a spanking.

It ain't gonna be me. That's not my style at all.

What is my style, you ask? I'm still working on it. All I know is that Travis doesn’t do it for me.

I laugh as I watch Travis’s little performance through the open door of the limo. Yes, he left the door wide open. Dude really needs that spanking, right?

I immediately forget all about Travis because my attention jumps and lands on a little guy stumbling towards Randy’s. He really doesn't look good.

I consider going over to him to ask if he needs help. Maybe I can call someone he knows to come and get him. Like, he really looks like he needs help.

Some people call me pushy. I call me helpful. There are a ton of people out there who need help but don't ask for it. That's where I come in.

The little guy stops stumbling and starts falling onto his face. That's when I stop considering helping him and realize I'm already running across the street. That's probably the only reason why I manage to catch him before he plants his face into a puddle. That would have been a shitty way to wake up. Nobody wants a face full of mysterious city street water.

He's distressingly light, and it takes zero effort to scoop him into my arms. I juggle him a little so I can tap his face to try and wake him up.

His eyes flutter open for a second, giving me a chance to see a set of pretty brown eyes, but they close again and he goes completely limp, causing a sweep of blond hair to cover his face.

When I tap his face again, there’s no reaction. Not even a flinch.

Poor little guy. Something bad must have happened to him to make him drop like that. I take in the rest of his body to see if he's injured and notice his ragged, wrinkled clothes and lack of shoes. His clothes are streaked with something black and I realize his face is too. I think it's dirt or something.

You know what? I think he might be homeless. He looks half-starved, so I bet he passed out from lack of food.

I should take him to a doctor.

Wait.

You're not supposed to take random strangers to the hospital. I remember what it was like being poor before my band became insanely famous. You only go to the doctor if it's the end of the world.

What if this guy has no money?

A brilliant idea occurs to me. The band has our own private doctor, so I can take this little guy to her. I'm so fucking smart it shocks me sometimes.

I'm already carrying him to the limo because it's such an excellent idea that I know I don't need to stop and think about it. Travis can find his own way back to the hotel.