“If not, what?” I ask him, heart pounding furiously. I don't know why. Eric doesn't know it was me. In fact, he's thoroughly convinced that it was his sister. And he's never blamed her. All he's ever done is try to cover this up, brush it under the rug. He knows what they did to her, but he never tried to stop it. I wonder if he thinks cleaning up some blood redeems him for that.
“Shit, I don't know,” he snarls. “Things are going good for me, Naomi. I can't have this screw it up.”
“So you came looking for me?”
“Yes!” He throws up his hands and then pinches his thin lips together. “Katie is missing.” My heart skips a beat, starts up again at a galloping pace.
“Missing?”
“Yeah, as in gone. I can't find her anywhere, and Naomi, it's gotten worse.” I swallow hard.
“It has?”
“Yeah. So bad that she was committed.” Eric pauses and tucks his hands into his pockets. When the right one escapes, it's clasped around a silver flask. He tips it to his lips and drinks deep. Reminds me of the nights we used to spend looking at the stars and getting plastered. I used to think he took me out there because he liked me. In reality, he just didn't want to hear what was happening to his sister.
I take it and swallow big. If Katie is missing, then I have my answers. Not for sure maybe, but probably. It would explain a lot.
“Come on,” I say, turning away slightly and motioning for Eric to follow me. “Let's go find those scissors.”
They're gone, of course. Six years of carrying them around in the bottom of the purse I never use and suddenly, they're just missing. I sit on the floor with my legs bent at the knee, feet trailing behind me. Useless items sprawl everywhere in the tiny space – gum wrappers, tubes of lipstick, an old cell phone that doesn't work anymore held together with tape.
Eric is gone; he had no choice. Dax was still in the shower when we got back, but America was sitting at the table in front. I sent him away with a promise to call if I found the scissors. He gave me a business card and left. It's sitting next to my right knee now, under a box of gold thumbtacks.
Katie Rhineback.
I can't blame her for the problems she has; one time, her mother locked her in a closet for a week with two water bottles – one full of orange juice to drink, the other to piss in. She was ten at the time. I rub my hands over my face and I remind myself that it was worth it, that the Rhinebacks were miserable excuses for human beings. They had to die for what they did to Katie, for what they tried to do to me, for what they could've and would've done to many others.
“Fuck.”
“Everything okay?”
The voice to my right scares the shit out of me and makes me jump. But it's just Dax. I ignore him and start shoveling the items together, pushing them in the purse and out of sight. Back they go in the drawer beneath my bunk. I have to keep my shit there or Spencer fucks with it when she cleans. I stand up just in time to see Hayden appear from behind Dax like a ghost, all pale and sweaty, fucked up as shit.
She stumbles forward and catches herself on Dax's shoulder, gigging raucously, letting her tits fall out of the tight, black corset she donned for tonight's show. Dax's face shows no irritation, just concern as he helps Hayden find her feet and lets her throw herself into his arms. As she kisses his neck, he looks straight over her shoulder at me.
“I don't want to talk right now,” I tell him, hoping he'll understand. I consider asking him for a hit of acid, but I know that's just wishful thinking. If there's anything I shouldn't be doing right now, it's getting fucked up. Looking at Hayden sweating like a pig with pupils so big her eyes look like pits, I know that I won't be able to deal with this shit if I'm tripping. Katie, I now presume, is the one who sent the video and who killed the birds, stole the scissors, too. Definitely her MO. In fact, now that I'm thinking of her as a suspect, it doesn't seem so strange anymore. Murdering innocent animals so she can use their life force like macabre Crayolas? Right up Katie's alley. Raped her whole life, tortured incessantly, starved. It's a wonder she hasn't killed anyone yet. If she does decide to go rogue though, I'm probably first on her list.
“I know, but I think you should.”
“I'm not suicidal,” I tell him as Hayden leans back and grabs his shirt in two fistfuls, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“You can't have them both, you know,” she murmurs at me, and then goes back to trying to kiss Dax. He gently pushes her back and tries to help her lay down in bed; she lets him but then tries to spread her legs. She's not wearing underwear under that short skirt of hers. What a surprise.
“I'll deal with her,” I tell him as she grabs at the fingerless glove on his hand and slides it off seductively. “But please, just go away.”
Dax purses his lips and the pale skin on his face gets even paler. This is him getting angry. Doesn't happen often, but when it does …
“Why? Because you don't want to hear what I have to say? Because you don't want to know how I feel about you?”
I reach over and snatch Hayden's hands away from Dax, clamping her wrists together in my hand, cuffing her with tight, angry fingers. She giggles and struggles a bit, but it's all a show. She's not even trying. Anorexic bitch can fight. Trust me, I've been on the receiving end of those blows. Do I hit back? Sure. Does it still hurt? Fuck yeah, it does.
“You mistake my actions for an emotional response,” I hiss as I drag Hayden off the bunk closest to Dax and shove her into the bathroom. She's got that squinched up face on that says she's about to puke. A few seconds later, she does. Right into the bathroom sink. Hot dog. Much easier to clean up. “When in all reality, it's just indifference. Leave me alone, Dax, and keep your confessions to yourself.” God, Naomi. Harsh, much? I know that the words I'm saying are a little intense, but I'm emotionally tapped out right now, and it doesn't look like I'm going to be let out of the ring anytime soon. I don't need Dax adding anything else to the mix.
“Oh? Huh. Seemed like you were more than willing to spill your heart out for Turner.” I ignore Dax's words, refusing to get drawn into an argument. Why bother? What's the point? I sweep Hayden's hair away from her face, pulling back the pale hazelnut locks to keep them from getting covered in puke. The less mess I have to deal with, the happier I'll be. When she leans too far forward and smacks her forehead against the faucet, I can't hold back a smirk. “Fine. Don't talk to me. Ignore me.” I hear rustling behind me and soon Dax's hand is coming up over my shoulder and flashing something in my face. “But you might not want to ignore this.”
The item clatters to the countertop next to Hayden and footsteps sound down the hall behind me. Before I pick it up, I stick a cigarette in my mouth and lift Hayden up by the shoulders, pulling her skirt up and pushing her down on the toilet. I leave her there to do whatever it is she needs to do and pause for just a second to pick up the small, round object. As I exit the bathroom, it takes me a second to register the sight.
The piece of plastic cupped in my palm has eyes and hair. It's a head. A doll's head. And inside of it, a business card with the address of the clinic in Tulsa.
The cigarette falls from my mouth and hits the floor, my stomach churns, and my hand clenches tight. When I open my fingers, there's nothing left but shattered bits of plastic.
I'm so fucking pissed right now.
I get onstage and I scream my rage into the microphone; the crowd goes mad wild. Chicks throw their bras and panties at me; dudes start fighting in the mosh pit. Everything just goes crazy. My energy becomes their energy and soon the whole room is a roiling mess. When I'm done, I throw my mic to the floor and kick it offstage – the speakers screech and Milo intercepts me on my way out.
“Don't fuck with me,” I tell him as I try to get ahold of my emotions, to understand them. I run my hand through my hair as sweat pours down my face, soaks my shirt, just fucking drenches me. I want to pace back and forth, like a tiger in a cage. Behind me, the crowd is yelling for an encore. Fuck them. I'm trembling with ra
Naomi.
That's how I've got to fucking think about her, how I always should've thought about her. I don't know when things turned different. Because I thought we were connected somehow? I don't friggin' know. Whatever it was, it was a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment. I let that itch under my skin turn into a raging fire that's ripping me apart from the inside out.
“Turner, I don't want you doing anything you might regret,” Milo says, and I spin around, more than willing to take my frustration out on my manager. His pale blue eyes stare calmly back at me, but his hands are shaking and his tie is loose and crooked. He's scared. I don't know if he thinks I'm going to hit him, or if I'm going to storm out of here and make an ass out of myself. Whatever the reason though, he has a right to be afraid. I'm this close to exploding right now.
“What do you know about any of this?” I ask, getting up in Milo's face. He's shorter than me, blonde and pale, wispy. Not very intimidating. “Just do your fucking job and play damage control, got it? I own you, remember? Want to keep your fucking job? Then clean up the shit I leave for you.”
With that, I turn away and shove past Treyjan who's watching me with nervous eyes, out the doors, through the darkness.
One little secret has changed everything.
This is exactly why I hate them so much. Nothing good ever comes from keeping one. If Naomi had told me she was pregnant, I would've … What, Turner? Married her? Swept her off her feet? I spit at the floor. Fuck. I probably would've told her to do exactly what it was that she'd done.
I wish my brain wasn't so scrambled, and in that moment, I know I'll do anything to feel like myself. Coke will help. I know it will. A few bumps and I'll be me again – strong, prepared, ready for fucking anything. I've worked too hard to let something like this bring me down, and hell, why should it? Why should I give a shit at all? Fuck Naomi Knox.
I hit the bus and fly up the steps, storming into the back where we keep the good shit, stuffed into a locked drawer, so our fucking roadies don't skim off of us. As I'm digging around, pulling out an obscene amount of cocaine, in walks the woman of the hour, Miss Naomi fucking Knox.
I turn around with an eight ball in hand expecting to see Jesse or Treyjan or Ronnie.
My heart starts to pump furiously at the sight of her and my cock gets rock hard. I squeeze the bag of cocaine so hard that I can feel the plastic bulging beneath my fingers, getting ready to burst open and spill white powder across the floor.
Naomi is standing there in her white button up and short skirt, eyes narrowed on me and hands shaking. We're no more than eight feet apart, and the air between us is red hot. My jeans feel tight, and my lower back is drenched with sweat. Fuck. Naomi is pretty, but I've been with lots of pretty girls. It's not just that, but I have no clue what the fuck it is. I take a tentative step forward.
“What do you want?” I ask her, and I can see her lip curling, can tell she wants to tell me to fuck off and leave her alone, but she's the one that came here, so I'm going to ask the questions. “And how the fuck did you get in here?” Naomi pauses in the doorway and the pin that's holding her shirt together comes loose, gaping open and flashing me the bra that was peeking out from beneath, giving me a nice, long, uninterrupted view of a smooth belly and the silver skull piercing that's stuck through her bellybutton.
“Your bouncer likes me better than you apparently,” she says, and although I can tell she's trying to come across as snarky and apathetic, it isn't working. There's a quaver there, like she isn't a hundred percent sure of herself. Naomi bites her lip hard and closes her eyes, shaking her head and taking a small step back. “I … don't know why I even came here. I … ” Naomi lets her eyes flick open and cuts me into pieces with her stare.
I want nothing more than to charge through the space between us and grab her hard, possess her, change the looks she gives me from disgusted to admiring. But she's like a frightened kitty cat, standing there, ready to run away and never look back. I move carefully, ignoring the pain in my bandaged arm for the moment. If I think about it, I'll just get pissed again.
I walk forward, forcing myself to take my eyes from hers and focus on something else, something inanimate, something that won't judge me with every blink of its long, dark eyelashes. I grab my wallet from the drawer in the kitchen and sit down at the table, using my credit card to lay out four perfect lines – two for me and two for her.
“Sit,” I tell her, noticing as I do that my hands are shaking already. What the fuck? I should've just gone out and found a nice girl from the audience to make me feel better. That would've taken my mind off things for sure. Maybe I'm so screwed up because I haven't fucked in days? Jesus. Since losing my virginity at age thirteen, this is the longest I've ever gone without sex. All this holding out for Naomi is going to drive me nuts.
I pull a twenty from my wallet and roll it into a tube, leaning over the table and pressing one end to my nose, the other to the line of white on the granite surface below. Holding one nostril closed with my finger, I sniff up the bump and snort hard, absorbing the drug into my system while Naomi watches from the doorway.
“I didn't come here to do coke with you, Turner.” Naomi pauses and tucks some hair behind her ear. Her eyes are conspicuously dry today, like a dust storm's just come through and coated them with a fine layer of dirt. I wonder what would happen if I wet them a little? After all, can't complain about a wet girl on my bus, not even if it's Naomi Knox. “I came here to warn you.”
“Warn me?” I ask as I snort the other line and gather the rest of the powder together with my credit card, sniffing up the last remnants, making sure I get every last spec. “About what? You? You gonna come at me with a knife again?” God, dude, you are a fucking dick. I realize that, but I don't do a thing to change it. When I thought I had a kid, even for that brief period, I was going to. I had a reason. Now? Not really. Things were good before Naomi; they can be again. Sure, she's intriguing, but I can't let her consume me like this. I saw what obsession did to Ronnie, and he's fucked up good. I should feel blessed that there's no kid.
But I don't.
I just feel … empty.
I toss the twenty on the table and lean my head back against the cushions, waiting to feel like a superhero.
“I don't know how to say this without explaining everything,” she says, and her voice sounds so tired that it makes me groggy. I raise my face up until I'm staring at her again and pat the leather bench next to my left thigh. If I don't have sex with this girl here, tonight, then I'm going to stay trapped. It's time to free myself, time to fuck her good and then forget all about her. I'm sure once I do, she'll blend into the endless line of faces and bodies in my memory, become nothing but a distant memory. Bullshit. I ignore myself and watch her closely.
Naomi's so shapely, got a body that won't quit. She's curvy with full tits that aren't saggy at all. They're plump and full and they don't even look like they need a damn bra to hold them up. Perfect chest to hip ratio, a tiny waist, long legs, smooth skin. She's like a fucking dream. Physically anyway. Mentally, she's a mess.
“If you're really going to cut that tat off, it'll be easier with a bit of help.” I roll the twenty towards her. “And maybe you can slice mine off, too, huh? Give us both a clean slate.” I'm joking, of course, but Naomi's moving forward softly, tentatively.
“I really did come here to warn you. There's this girl … ” I smile wickedly.
“There's always a girl.”
“Fuck, Turner!” Naomi slams her palms down on the table and leans in close, so that when she yells, flecks of moisture tease my lips. “This is serious shit. I don't know how far she'll go or what she'll do. I don't even know if she gives a shit about you, but I had to come here.” She pauses and sucks in a deep breath. I watch her chest rise and fall, focusing on the broken heart tattoo between her breasts. I wonder if that has anything to do with me. “Just one more mistake in a line of stupid decisions regarding you.” She whispers this last bit under her breath and snatches up the twenty, scooting in next to me and snorting both lines in rapid succession.
For a few minutes, we sit quietly and stare at one another. The air is still hot and pulsing, begging us to close the distance between our bodies, to wrap around one another. God, if I could get ahold of her, we'd be fucking like rabbits.
When Ronnie and Treyjan climb the steps and find us there, Naomi jumps, acting like she's been bit.
“I gotta go,” she says, standing up suddenly and pushing past them, so she can squeeze out the door before I even get the chance to yell after her. Stuffing a cigarette between my lips, I take off and chase her down before she even gets a hundred feet from the door.
“You gonna spill that shit and leave me hanging? Who the fuck are you talking about?” I light up and let Naomi lead me back to the venue. It's open all night long, so it's still rocking, jumping with a crowd about half the size it was when I was onstage but so fucked up that it feels ten times bigger. I smell another secret, a big one. Smoke trails after me as I keep close to Naomi's heels and slide in the back door behind her, moving past our roadies tangling with equipment and smoking joints, down the steps and into the crowd.
Thankfully, it's dark enough in here that nobody recognizes us, and we blend into the tattooed and pierced bodies, dressed in band tees and black, silhouetted against a dark wall drenched in stickers. The whole place smells like pot and booze and the music that's playing is grainy and barely audible over the screaming and shouting going on in here.
I fucking love it.
I don't love it so much when Naomi bursts into the girls' bathroom and leaves me hanging. I pause for a moment, glance around, and follow her in. The lighting in this shit hole is dim enough that I could get mistaken for a chick. Maybe. I smirk and lock the door behind me.
-->