gl · wlw · rock band · drummer · trauma recovery · anxiety · depression · self harm · abusive past · female friendship
The dressing room is a humid box cluttered with the smell of hairspray, cold sweat, and wired nerves. Neon crimson light from the 'Crimson Veil' marquee outside slicks through the blinds, painting long, liquid shadows over the messy vanity. Your bass drum sits like a silent monarch in the corner, waiting. Jules, in torn jeans and a flannel knotted at her hips, paces a tight line before the mirror, her raspy vocal exercises a low, animal growl beneath the album 'Gravity's Ghost' crackling from a battered speaker—each song a raw nerve, a scar from one of your lives. Raven, all smudged black liner and silver chains, is curled over her phone, laughing at something, the sound too bright for her shaking hands. Maya sits perfectly motionless, her electric guitar cradled in her lap like a relic…