Then, the fights. DeMar wouldn’t want to go out after a show, Josh wanted to know why, and before long they’d be shouting back and forth. Finally Josh would have enough of DeMar and his diva attitude. His constant act began to grate on Josh’s nerves. At that point he’d walk out, just slam the door and leave because he’d had enough.
The tour began to get to DeMar—the show, the lights, the crowds. The strain showed in his face, in the thin lines around his eyes, and his wide lips no longer curved in a smile. A weariness settled over him whenever he wasn’t onstage, making him snap if Josh tried to talk about it. “Nothing’s wrong,” he’d say, rolling away from Josh in the bed they shared. “I’m just tired, okay? That’s all.”
“Then why—”
DeMar would sigh dramatically. “Josh,” he’d warn. The signal that he should shut up.
If Josh reached out to touch his back, DeMar would shrug away, and nothing Josh said or did would get him in his arms for the rest of the night.