Seven Minutes in Vegas: A Bisexual Awakening, Age Gap Story by Grace Kilian Delaney

Author:Grace Kilian Delaney [Delaney, Grace Kilian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Stone

“You live above Aubergine’s?” I asked as I shut the engine off.

“I do, yes.” Devon worried his lip and looked up and down the street, hesitating before grabbing the truck’s door handle. Someone or something was out there, and I’d rather not scare Devon again this evening by kicking this mysterious person’s ass, but I’d do it if they posed a threat. Devon had been through enough for one night.

Last time I was here, my mouth had gotten away from me in the most horrible of ways. I was lucky Devon had forgiven me and agreed to come to the concert. On stage, all I thought about was him, watching and waiting for me backstage, and where the night could take us after the show. None of my plans included flying off the handle at a roadie and scaring the living hell out of Devon. Never had I been more aware of the monster my anger produced than when I saw the terrified look on Devon’s face. I wouldn’t say his fear cured me of my rage, but it enlightened me as to how frightening I was when I was in such a state and doubled up my resolve to get healthier and more in control.

I’d been working with my therapist to recognize my triggers and what to do when someone hit one of them. Insulting or threatening someone I cared about was high on my list, others were borne out of frustration when circumstances were out of my control, like my relationship with Violet falling apart, endless touring, annoying management, et cetera, and when they accumulated, I erupted on someone who ticked me off in either a big or small way.

One of her suggestions had been to practice saying the mantra step down. My suggestion was back the fuck off, but she insisted the fewer the words, the better. She said eventually it would become my go-to thought when I was triggered, thereby creating a pause button before my rage got the better of me. I’d be dammed if I thought of anything but improving that roadie’s face with an imprint of my right knuckles. Oh, sorry, officer. My mantra failed, and that’s why I punched him. Too bad that wouldn’t hold up in court. I obviously needed more practice, like performing a new song for the first time: sometimes the performance was flawless, like my mantra had been when I’d gotten pissed off at Matty, and other times it was a train wreck, like with that roadie.

Still, I needed to make up my outburst to Devon. Buy more daisies, take him to dinner, read him poetry, or buy him a classic car. He’d probably prefer the car to any of those things. Maybe something more personal, less materialistic. I’d figure it out later.

I got out of the truck and met Devon by the passenger side. He continued glancing around on the short walk to the security door to the right of Aubergine’s entrance.

“So,” he said, “about that

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