Pandemic Sorrow #3
Stevie J. Cole
Release Date: April 7, 2015
My life had been no fairy tale. Actually, growing up, it had been something more like a nightmare, which is why I ended up so hard. When you don’t want to hurt having the ability to be numb is your best defense mechanism. And for a long time all I was doing was existing.
Jag Steele, the lead singer of the international rock band Pandemic Sorrow, was the epitome of everything I despised: arrogant, entitled, but the thing I hated most about him was that he was an addict. Drugs had been the demon that had ruined everything in my life, and anyone who had a love affair with them pretty much made my stomach turn. It brought up memories I wanted to stay buried. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly a fan of Jag.
Funny thing is, people aren’t always who you expect them to be. Never in a million years would I have thought the night I meet Jag would have any significance on the rest of my life, but it did.
I found out that sometimes something that screams utter destruction might actually be your saving grace.
Some people may say our story is too screwed up to be a romance, but for two broken people, we made the pieces fit together perfectly.
Writing is like therapy. There is nothing else that I can lose myself in the way I can a story. It amazes me that words can take you away from reality and leave you in a dazed state once you’ve finished.
Aside from writing, I love sloths and mythology. I kind of have a thing for vampires, because let’s face it, something about the fact that they fight the urge to bite your neck and drain the life from you is rather sexy. I have an irrational fear of the zombie apocalypse. I honestly cannot imagine a more horrifying way to go than by being ripped to shreds by a mass of mumbling, decaying, and oozing corpses with clicking teeth. Ugh! I just shuddered typing it.
Now the boring basics: I’m married with two wonderful children. I grew up in the south listening to a ton of grunge rock. Me and my sister have an obsession with going to concerts and getting front and center. We often fight over who can get the most swag from the band. I have an unhealthy obsession with Russell Brand’s mind, and the smell of crayons is the most soothing smell there is.
I hope if you read my work that you will enjoy it. After all, writing is the most amazing magic trick of all… it puts the reader in the mind of the writer (kind of creepy if you think about it). It’s scary inside my brain, watch out!
I hope you love my little worlds as much as I do.
Xx- Stevie J
WARNING: This novel contains explicit language, sexual situations, and is the story of an addict. This material is intended for a mature audience.
“My name’s Jag Steele. I’m the lead singer and guitarist to the band Pandemic Sorrow, and I have a drug problem. Well, I mean it’s not really a problem – unless you count the fact that I almost made my heart explode from all the blow I shoved up my nose a few weeks back…”
That was my introduction during my first stint in rehab. I’m messed up. If you asked anybody who I am there’s a list they will go down: Famous, rock star, legend, drug addict, womanizing man-whore, but if you asked me, I wouldn’t have the first idea of what to say, because I don’t know who Jag Steele is. Really, I’m living every other damn person’s dream, and all I want is reality.
Roxy Slade, that girl was my reality. My brutally flawed and beautifully broken reality. And she hated everything I stood for. To her I was just one of “those guys”, and she’d rather be buried alive with poisonous snakes than give someone like me a piece of toilet paper to wipe their ass with. Brutal. Life. Is. Brutal. And it is just a giant pain, which is why I chase after anything to make it numb, anything that can fill this void. I just want anything that can make me not feel. I just don’t want to feel.
It’s my job to play music, to make girls wet, and then to screw a select few of them. I’m a professional rocker. I’m rich, I’m famous, I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch. I have everything – except control.
The industry owns me. And the only thing I have a minuscule grain of control with is women, but not that dominate, tie you up and gag you kind of control. No, I want to govern how I make them feel. I need them to feel like a goddess while I’m in them, and I love being able to control the fact that they’ll never really have me. Love is complicated. It is bullshit. And even if I thought I needed it, the rules of being a rocker won’t allow it.
Sex is all I need.
I don’t need love.
But for some reason I want her. For some reason I can’t get her out of my mind. And lately, every time I’m with any girl besides her it feels wrong.
I can practically have any woman I want, but I can’t have her. She’s off limits because she’s part of that industry that owns my ass.
Sex was all I had.
And sometimes I thought maybe love was all I needed…with her.