Page 95 of Graves

“I love you!”

“Play ‘Stroker’!”

“Go back to prison, you piece of shit!”

“You don’t deserve to be alive!”

I whip my head around.

For a second, I’m not sure I actually heard those words. Then I see Ben’s face in the crowd and freeze. Just as suddenly, he vanishes.

I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut, and massage my temples.

Get it together. It’s just your imagination.

“Come on, already!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“They should’ve lynched you in prison!”

I turn toward the voice—just as a full cup slams into the side of my head. Lukewarm beer pours over my hair and face. I swat the cup away like it’s a bug.

“What the fuck?” I spit on the floor and wipe my face. “Are you serious?” I look in the direction it came from, not expecting to find the culprit. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Play ‘Caged’ and accept where you belong!” shouts a scruffy guy with short brown hair and a red flannel shirt in the third row.

I pause. “Dude, I think you’re at the wrong show.”

“No! I’m exactly where I need to be!” he yells back aggressively. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong here!”

“Fuck…” I groan into the mic. “What is this shit? I’m just doing my job. People came here to have a good time. You’re ruining it for them.”

I’m fighting hard not to lose my temper. More and more phones are lighting up, filming everything.

I just want to get these five gigs over with. That’s it. Why does this have to happen?

Boos and jeers erupt from all sides now. The crowd grows restless, people shouting at each other.

“You’re a piece of shit, Aran Graves! A killer who belongs behind bars!”

“Put him in the chair!” another guy screams.

I’m frozen. Deep inside, something screams. A shadow I banished to the darkest corners of myself long ago—the part drowning in guilt and shame, the part that just wants forgiveness. That part is bleeding. I locked it away behind thick walls years ago because I’m not allowed to be hurt anymore.

I have to be strong to survive what I call a life. Arrogant when I need to be, because that’s the only way I know how to protect myself. No matter how much it hurts to be hated by everyone, I know my behavior only pushes me to the sidelines.

Angry, I grab the nearly full cup of water sitting in front of Liam’s bass drum. Sam and Mike try to calm me down, but it’s useless. I storm to the edge of the stage, spit in the cup, and hurl it straight into the guy’s face. Before he can react, I flip the entire crowd off and walk off stage.

“What the hell was that?” Douglas barks, furious. “Have you lost your mind?”

I hear him loud and clear, but it feels like I’m trapped under a glass dome.

The overweight manager grabs me by the collar and shakes me. “Get your ass back out there! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The fog clears a little. I shove Douglas off me and ball my fist—until Leslie steps between us.

“Aran! Calm down! He’s not worth it!”