Their resentment was all over our set. It tainted everything. And when I sang it was full of the anger I felt towards the jackasses behind me. I couldn’t even look at them.

So being who I am, during a lull, I went to the side of the stage and asked one of the stage hands to bring me an acoustic guitar. I walked back to my mic, looping the guitar strap around my neck.

Jordan and the others had stopped playing completely, the silence behind me was deafening. I knew they were wondering what the hell I was doing.

If they were going to f**k up the vibe of our show, then I was going to bring it back. By doing what the hell I wanted to do!

“Hey guys! I know this show is sucking serious balls. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time to change things up a bit. Do you guys want to hear a new song?” I asked.

The answering roar was deafening.

“Well, here you go,” I said and launched into the chords Garrett and I had written. I sang the lyrics and played the entire song by myself and the audience loved it. I was the center of the world. They fed me and I ate it up.

This is why I loved to perform.

But when I was done and I turned back to the guys to say, “See, they loved it, I was right the whole time,” I realized they didn’t see it quite the same way. Mitch and Jordan were furious. Jordan tossed his drumsticks to the ground, got to his feet and walked off stage.

Mitch dropped his bass and followed Jordan.

Garrett didn’t look pissed, but he looked hurt. Why wasn’t he glad that the audience loved our song so much?

He shook his head and unplugged his guitar. “The stage is all yours,” he said, dropping the cable and leaving me alone.

I stood there, the spotlight trained on me, staring out at the sea of confused and increasingly angry faces.

Do I continue to play? Do I quit like a pansy, just as my bandmates had done?

I leaned into the mic and plastered a smile on my face. “Thank you Chicago! It’s been real!” I yelled, gripping the neck of the guitar and walked off the stage, when what I really wanted to do was run.

I could hear the wave of boos that followed me overlapping with the chant, “You suck!”

And they weren’t wrong. We had sucked big time.

I came off the stage and handed the guitar to a frantic stagehand.

The guys in Primal Terror stood to the side looking both furious and bewildered.

“What the hell, man?” Geoff, the lead singer asked.

I ignored him completely. I couldn’t explain to him or myself what the hell had just gone down out there.

It was time to find my so-called friends.

They hadn’t had a chance to go far. They were in our assigned dressing room, loading up their belongings when I burst into the room.

“What was that?” I roared, picking up a chair folded against the wall and throwing it. It clattered noisily to the floor.

“Why would you do that?” I screamed, losing my shit on the three guys who I had always considered to be family.

But family didn’t bail on you like that. They didn’t humiliate you in a stadium of 5,000 people. They didn’t begrudge you the spotlight because they weren’t getting the attention they thought they deserved.

Mitch was closest when I decided to start throwing fists. He took a punch to the jaw and then before I knew it Jordan had his arm around my throat.

Maysie came running into the room and started yelling at us to stop.

Garrett tried to pull Jordan off me but it didn’t work. We ended up on the ground, his gut meeting my fist.

I was certain we would have kept going until one of us was unconscious if Jose hadn’t come in and dumped ice cold water on both of us. He hauled Jordan up to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Maysie grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Enough! All of you!” Jose yelled, pinning Jordan with his forearm across his chest. Jose was a beefy guy and even though Jordan was strong, he was no match for our manager

Jose was furious. “What the f**k was that?” he screamed to the four of us. None of us said anything. What could we say? We were all guilty of letting our egos get the better of us. We had really screwed up.

Jose let go of Jordan who slumped a bit. “Go back to the hotel. I’ve got a hell of mess to clean up. We’ll talk in the morning,” he barked. We all stood there, either obstinate or afraid to move. This felt like the beginning of the end.

“Go!” he hollered and that propelled us into action.

I grabbed my jacket and exited the dressing room first. My heart was pumping; my head was fried.

And I was pretty sure I had just lost my band and my best friends all at the same time.

Why had I decided to play that song?

I knew why. I was feeling bitchy. I wanted to show them I could do whatever the hell I wanted to. That I didn’t have to answer them. That was I was better than they could ever possibly be.

I had wanted to show them that they couldn’t tell me what to do. Just as I had done all those years ago when I had walked out of my house and left my parents behind.

I didn’t take direction well, that was obvious.

I had just never self-destructed so totally and completely before.

But I wasn’t the only one to blame for this shit. And I wouldn’t let the guys off easily.

What had happened to us?

Once back to my room, I peeled off my clothes and took a hot shower. I trembled under the spray, not sure what I was going to do. How do you come back from something like that?

The bond the four of us had for years felt ruined.