Billy woke up with the petite Brazilian woman in his arms. Despite the pleasant company, he'd had a horrible dream-a—dreadful, murky nightmare, almost like a root buried deep, about an accident he'd long forgotten. Nightmares always caught him off guard. He looked at Adriana, still asleep, and took a deep breath. He needed to exercise and take a long, cold shower to clear his mind. He craved alcohol, but Jerry always forbade him from turning to substances to escape his bad dreams.
He inhaled deeply, trying to gather himself. It was almost seven, and they had gone to bed late. Throwing on a short-sleeved shirt, some shorts, and sneakers, he let the simmering anger within fuel his workout: ten sets of push-ups, burpee jumps, squats on the move, quick sprints, and long runs. He pushed his body to its limits until every muscle burned—and kept going.
Adriana was sunbathing, her guitar resting on her legs.
-You've been at it for two hours since I sat down here. I didn't think you had such an intense routine,- Adriana remarked.
-I get caught up and lose track of time,- Billy replied, leaning in to kiss her. Adriana flinched at the unexpected kiss, but when he grabbed her arms, she decided not to resist.
-What are you doing?- she asked, her green eyes wide.
I'm just kissing my girlfriend. We need to keep the story going, and some nosy fetishists are watching us from the kitchen door. You didn't notice because it's in your blind spot, so I did it to distract them,- Billy said. It was a total lie, but she didn't know that. She tried to turn around, but he held her cheeks. Her innocent, sweet expression, framed by those green eyes, was endearing.
-Don't look—they'll notice. Just give me another kiss,- Billy said, peppering her lips with soft kisses. Adriana reminded him of Merche—girls who dreamed of love in small, delicate gestures.
-Stop kissing me. We can't spend the whole afternoon like this,- Adriana protested.
-I need to eat breakfast,- Billy said, suddenly feeling ravenous.
-We've got a buffet. I had some fruit earlier—there was plenty,- Adriana replied.
Billy left her to practice her guitar while he headed to the kitchen. Nearby, he spotted a fruit basket alongside some rolls, pitchers of juice, and eggs—uncooked. Checking the pantry, he found other ingredients, including tortillas atop a black jar. Ignoring that, he grabbed some meat from the fridge—a long strip he cut into small pieces. Adding oil to the pan, he let the meat fry with some onions and tomatoes. Then he cracked ten eggs, downed a liter of juice, and plated two apples, three pears, and some grapes with cheese. In the mornings, he drank water and a little yogurt.
-That's a lot of food,- Alessandra commented as she walked into the kitchen. There was something off about her—a quiet tension, a subtle hostility.
She glanced around, then, without warning, slapped him hard across the cheek. Pressing her forehead to his, she started ranting, calling him a selfish, egotistical womanizer who only cared about himself and sleeping with her friend. Her punches landed with unexpected force. They heard a distant door creak, and Alessandra bolted out, tears streaming down her face.
-Damn it,- Billy muttered, sighing. Women were impossible.
He sat shirtless to enjoy his breakfast, his toned body glistening from the workout. Adriana soon walked in, her gaze immediately drawn to the blood on his lip—the slap from Alessandra had been harder than expected.
-I heard everything,- Adriana said. - I think it's best if you leave. -
-It's best if we both leave," Billy retorted. "Honestly, Adriana, she's engaged. She's getting married. What right does she have to accuse me? What does she expect me to do—be her lover and stay chaste?- Billy's voice was low but almost a growl.
-Just go. I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay,- Adriana insisted.
-We're not fools. I'll say what I think because it's true: Alessandra is impossible. But let's make a deal—I'll take my security detail and scout the nearby streets for a hotel. I'll stay close. Tell her I'll be there for one night, and she can come see me if she wants,- Billy said. -But let me finish my eggs and meat first. -
***
Connor had been fine-tuning the band's new songs. Billy's singles carried a hippie, rock-inspired vibe with a relentless energy that the drummer, Sugar Egg, loved to play with gusto.
-Man, these are some good weeks—my wife's not around to nag,- Sugar Egg said, completely lost in Best of You. Billy's voice hammered like steel drums over the instrumentals, and Sugar Egg swung his arms, smashing the drums with arrogant vigor that the burly man found exhilarating.
Connor gave him a disdainful look, his glare sharp enough to shoot lasers. Sugar Egg was out of sync, throwing off the harmony.
-You're off-key,- Connor remarked.
-Come on, man, let me play. You've been brainwashed by that fancy conservatory for spoiled kids. Does it teach you to live music, or is it like time stands still in there? It's sad to see you playing without any feelings. Look at me—I never went to school, and I'm the best drummer in the world, - Sugar Egg said, playing erratically again. Connor glanced at Spencer, who shrugged.
Sugar Egg threw his drumsticks onto the chair and went outside to catch some air. Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply. He'd been smoking since he was nine—completely unhinged, but it was his life.
-I spoke with the producer. The song will be in the opening scene, but we'll make a second version—a remix to upload online. It'll incorporate Sugar Egg's ideas. We'll respect the band's concepts—it's still art. Your approach is composition; he is decentralized harmony, like jazz or metal, - Spencer explained.
-Since when do you listen to metal? - Connor asked.
-Since I joined a rock band. I've been immersing myself in the genre. Who knows when a metal song might come our way? Billy's songs range from soft to punk, sometimes flirting with metal but never fully committing—just touching on hard rock, - Spencer replied.
-So, we'll just leave it as is? - Connor asked.
-We'll leave it and play with it. In the chaos, we find inspiration. In the fleeting moments, we learn from them. We'll experiment with blues, and you'll see people improvise -Spencer said, eager to move forward.
-Besides, we need to rehearse. Billy's a bit complex, and we have nearly 90 songs in the repertoire. In the afternoon, we'll start with the first album and work through it for three days, then move on until concert day, - Connor concluded.
....