by Amity Cross
Fuck.
As if my body wanted to betray me, I felt that familiar ache swelling in between my legs. Fuck, as if it wasn't destructive enough to merely think about him, if I tried to ease myself with my right hand, then I'd only be fantasizing that it was his fingers inside me.
How I knew that he wanted me was beyond fucking comprehension. He needed me, he was hurting and I felt it tearing at my heart like a scalpel, like someone was cracking open my chest for an autopsy. We had been each other's solace, maybe for the wrong reasons to begin with, but now it had a chance of becoming all the right ones. I still fucking cared about him and it had never gone away, no matter how hard I'd tried to disappear.
It was then that I knew in my heart that I would see West again and what happened next, I didn't know. There were still questions only he could answer. And I needed answers. More of them. I needed to hear them from him, not through a television screen. Then maybe I could lay this fucking thing to rest once and for all.
Picking up my phone, I punched in a short text and sent it before I could chicken out. It was time to dive headfirst into the fire. Insert stupid fucking phoenix metaphors here.
I pressed my face against the cool glass of the window and stared down at the street below. The amount of media and paparazzi camped out front of the hotel was like nothing I'd ever seen, and I'd seen some fucked up shit in my time. They looked like a nest of termites on the footpath, waiting for a crumb to devour.
The interview had aired last night and the network hadn't edited out a thing. They'd played the whole half hour in full, no ad breaks, they'd just stuck the tape in and pressed play.
"They started showing up last night," Sasha said beside me. Her gaze was following mine down onto the street below.
I hadn't left the hotel since coming back from Friday's gig at the Roundhouse, so I wouldn't know. I didn't care, they wouldn't see me when I inevitably left. The glass was cold against my skin and I pushed away, turning back to the room that was full of my closest friends. Josh, who hadn't been around for long, but had solidified himself as a good mate. Mick, Joe and Rob, fighting over the remote. All of them had been around since the beginning and Sasha, who'd only been around a couple of years, but had proven her worth time and time again since Furlough's departure.
The television was turned onto some satellite channel, playing that gossip show Entertainment Tonight. There was a picture of me in the corner and the presenters seemed to be having a heated discussion about the interview. I sunk down onto the couch and grimaced.
"What everyone's now saying is that Jake West is the champion of the misunderstood. Now that he's spoken up and told the entire truth about his illness, all the good and the bad bits, that it's a huge step towards a greater understanding in society."
Snorting at the irony, I hit the power button on the remote and shut the idiot box off.
"They fucking love you, bad boy," Joe said with a laugh.
"Who fucking knew." I shook my head in disbelief. "I thought they'd rip me to pieces."
"They love the whole love story angle," Sasha butted in. "People love romance."
She handed me that day's copy of the Metro, the free paper they gave out at tube stations, and I shook my head at the front cover. Where is West's Wildcat? They'd printed that blurry photo of Blair and I together that first night at the hotel in Melbourne and my heart constricted at the memory. That lot had taken the romance angle and run rampant with it. There was mention of all the other stuff, the addictions and everything else…but they were on the lookout for Blair big time. They'd even gone as far as doing a reader poll. Eighty-nine percent thought I'd win her back. The press had seemed to accept my apology, which was a big fat what the fuck, but my wildcat was still on the loose.
"It won't scare her off," Sasha said, watching as I read the article.
"This is exactly the kind of thing that would send her running," I replied, throwing the paper onto the table. There was no doubt that it was all sweet and romantic, but my wildcat didn't do romance and neither did I. I wasn't all hearts and flowers…most of the time I just spoke with my dick. A tight smile tugged at my lips as I remembered her saying she thought it was delicious. Fuck.
"Deep down, even the toughest woman likes a bit of romance. It's a trade secret, West. Don't go blabbing it about, eh?"
I glanced up at our tough as guts manager and couldn't help smiling. "If you say so."
"I'm gunning for a happy ending, so shut your face, asswipe."
"The only good thing to come out of Furlough was his decision to hire you, sweetness," I quipped.
"Well," she said with a laugh. "of all the shit storms to fall into, this was probably the better one."
"I'm taking that as a compliment."
"You should."
My phone buzzed in my back pocket and my heart began thumping in my chest. Snatching it out, I had to do a double take to make sure I was reading it right.
Wildcat: I need to see you ASAP.
"Fuck. Me," I said, staring down at the screen. The interview either worked or I was about to get beaten every which way from Sunday.
"What is it?" Sasha asked, looking at me expectantly.
I showed her the text. Blair wanted to see me. I'd get to see her again.
"We need to mount a massive covert operation," Sasha said, nodding out the window.
"There's no way I'm getting outta here, so we have to get her in."
"What's going on?" Joe exclaimed from behind us.
I waved my phone at my best mate, a stupid as fuck grin spreading across my face. "Blair wants to see me."
"Fuuuuucccckkkk," he exclaimed as the others snapped to attention.
"She's either gunna forgive you or rip your nuts off," Mick said.
"I'll take anything right now," I replied. "First, we've gotta get her in."
Sasha pulled out her phone and began typing a message. "Leave that part to me. I'll have her here by the end of the day and those sharks outside won't even get a whiff."
"Look at her. She's a fucking Houdini," Rob said with a laugh.
Turning back to the window I knew that getting Blair inside was the easy part. Keeping her here was a fight I'd die a thousand times to win. I'd throw myself to the sharks again and again if it meant even a scrap of her time and attention. She was giving me a chance and fucking hell was I taking it.
Fighting and fucking had been our MO, but I wanted more than that. I wanted her heart as well. I wanted every single bit, good and bad. Cracks and all. There was no way she was leaving without hearing it one last time.
She'd be my wildcat forever and always, no matter where she ran to.
When I passed through the barriers at Green Park Underground station that afternoon, Sasha was waiting for me. She wore a leather biker jacket with the collar flipped up, an oversized grey beanie with her hair tucked inside and aviator sunglasses covering her eyes. If she was trying to do the incognito look, it wasn't working that well. I knew who she was the instant I set eyes on her.
"Hey," she said with a smile as she caught sight of me through the throng of people. "Glad you could make it."
I shrugged. "I guess." When I'd heard from her and not West, I didn't know what I should feel about it.
Giving me a knowing look, she gestured down the street to where the hotel was. "We have to go undercover through the service entry," she explained. "You'll understand in a sec."
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I followed her out onto the footpath and my gaze instantly locked onto a gridlocked street. Not traffic congestion, but people congestion. People as in media. People with cameras and vans with satellite dishes on the roofs. People waiting for a scrap to make a dollar off. Vultures.
"It'll be fine," Sasha said, catching my alarmed expression.
"Fine?" I choked out. "It's a fucking circus. A mental bloody sideshow."
"Pull your hood up," she said, tugging at the hoodie that I was wearing under my leather jacket. "If we put our he
ads down and don't make eye contact, there's a better chance we can get in without any of them noticing."
Good fucking luck, I thought to myself. There had to be at least thirty news crews and that wasn't counting the paparazzi. There were even fucking cops, directing traffic and erecting fluro orange barriers around the pit. Soon, they'd have to block the entire street to traffic and pedestrians. All of this was because of West? Fuck me. I suddenly felt like turning around and getting back on the tube and never coming back.
Sasha must have sensed my fear, because she hooked her arm through mine and began steering me through the rubber necking pedestrians on the footpath. "He's not in a good place right now," she said. "There's only so much we can do for him. Me, Joe, Mick, Rob. Even Josh. He needs you."
I snorted, not trusting myself to respond to that one. No one had ever need me before, so what was I meant to say to that?
I put my head down and let Sasha lead me across the street. I hardly noticed when we weaved through a bank of photographers, sucking on cigarettes and chatting to one another about fuck knows what. They didn't look at us and we didn't look at them. If they knew then I'd be drowning in an ocean of flash bulbs and inappropriate questions. If they got up in my face, I knew I'd be one of those people in court for pushing over a photographer and smashing his camera. I was that unlucky.
Then we were in a tiny lane way, a delivery van parked at the end by a large roller door. Sasha glanced behind us, then rapped on a smaller human-sized door marked "Deliveries". A male head popped out a second later and beckoned us inside.
"Thanks, Max," Sasha said when we were safely inside the loading dock.
"No problem," he said with a grin.
"Max is one of the doormen," Sasha explained to me.
"Oh." Cloak and fucking daggers.
"C'mon." She began leading me through a warren of passageways, past the restaurant kitchen to a service elevator that seemed to be used by housekeeping.
The doors slid open with a ding as soon as she pressed the call button and she nudged me forward into the car. Holding the door open with the flat of her palm, she swiped a key card and pressed the button for one of the top most floors.
"Do you want me to come up with you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No."
"Room seven-oh-nine." Sasha offered me an encouraging smile as the doors closed and I was finally alone as the elevator began to rise.
I didn't need encouragement from someone who was blatantly Team West. It pissed me off to no end that no one was on my team. No one was there to give me a helping hand, but that was probably my fault. I hadn't exactly confided in anyone since I moved to London. Not my housemates, not Lucy, not anyone.
I stepped out of the elevator in a daze and found myself walking across the plush carpet until I was standing outside a door marked seven-oh-nine in gold numbers. He was on the other side of the door and I found myself glancing back the way I'd come.
No backing out now bitch, I thought. Grow a fucking pair.
I raised my hand and knocked, staring at the little peephole in the door, wondering if he was staring back just as intently. Fuck, I wanted to puke right about then.
The door flew open and West filled the opening and I felt that familiar pull. The one that wanted me to press up against him and never let go. That was called lust. He just stood there, his gaze raking over my entire body like a hungry lion. I was the gazelle and he was the predator. I didn't know what I should say, so I stood awkwardly in the hallway, waiting.
"Hey," he said through a heavy breath.
I cocked my head to the side and he grimaced.
"Blair, I-"
"Fuck, I should pummel you for telling the whole goddamn world my name," I said, shoving past him, my shoulder clashing with his arm.
"You deserved the truth," he said, letting the door close loudly behind him. "All of it."
"On fucking television?" I cried.
"You would never have let me tell it to you otherwise."
I shook my head. No, I wouldn't have.
I glanced over his hotel room and wrinkled my nose. This place was a mess - he was a mess. He looked like he hadn't shaved since the interview, whenever the fuck they'd recorded it, and his shirt was rumpled like he didn't give a fuck. West never gave a fuck about what other people thought, but this was different. The other day at the shop, he'd told me that I was falling apart. Maybe he should take a good long hard look in the mirror.
I picked up a Wildcat poster from the table and scowled so hard at it, it was a wonder the stupid fucking thing didn't burst into flames.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked. He never took his gaze from me as I prowled around the room, running my fingertips over his things.
"You can get me some answers," I said, not looking up. If I looked up, I'd throw myself at him. Fucked if I was giving him the satisfaction.
"Ask me anything."
"Anything?" I scoffed. "Sure you'll tell the truth this time?"
"I promise."
I sat down on the edge of the bed and a moment later, the mattress dipped as he positioned himself as close as he could without touching me.
Fuck, where should I start? I'd thought of a million questions on the way over here, but now I couldn't think of any. West waited as I deliberated silently, but the wait must have been too much for him.
"Have you…" He began, his voice full of uncertainty. It was so un-West like I was thrown for a moment.
"Have I what?"
"Been with anyone else."
My eyebrows rose in a mixture of shock and anger, but I bit my lip before I could spit something venomous out. I guess it was my thing…before. Jake West had ruined the entire male penis experience for me for eternity. Any dick that wasn't his may as well be flaccid and the size of a pin.
"I understand if you have. I mean, we aren't…"
"When did you turn into such a pansy ass girl, West?" I hissed, unable to hold myself in anymore.
"Since you left me."
"Fuck." I turned my face away from him. He just kept coming back and in the beginning it was the one thing I wanted, but now? "Who-" I stopped and let out a tired sigh. "Who was the woman?" The woman who was sucking something that had been mine.
"Her name is Evie."
"She was the woman you had an arrangement with?"
"Yes. One of them."
I felt sick. I'd heard him say it in the interview, but in person it was a whole other can of worms. My skin was prickling with I don't know what. I used to sleep around, but I didn't have a harem of cock's that got paid a wage.
"I knew she had what I wanted." I stiffened and West must have felt it, because he turned to face me. "Drugs. I knew she had drugs. I never wanted to touch her."
"But you fucked her before?"
His jaw tensed and I knew he had and didn't want me to know about it. "Yes."
"Were you together?"
"Fuck," he hissed, running a hand through his hair. "No. Never like that. We used one another. I'm not fucking proud of it."
He used to fuck groupies. Probably forgot all their names there was that many. Did he plough them all in search of a connection, or was it just to get off?
"Did you fuck all those women looking for your precious connection? Or did you just like objectifying woman?" It was out of my mouth before it could even pass through any kind of filter.
West rubbed his eyes, his jaw tensing. "I was a complete fucking cunt, Blair. I know I was and sure as fuck I'm not proud of it."
"Answer the question," I snapped like I was daring him to break me apart even further.
"In the beginning, no. I just wanted to fuck for the sake of fucking. I was a kid. A fucking kid with a raging libido with drugs and money and fame shoved down my throat. If I could go back, I'd change it all. Those things mean shit." He grasped the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. "I never intended to turn out like that. I never-" He let out a shaky sigh and shook his head. "I was myself with you, Blai
r. One hundred percent. I may have left out a few things, but I was me. Please tell me you saw me."
"What about me? Did you see me?" I screwed my eyes shut so I didn't have to see his reaction.
"Every fucking part, wildcat." I tensed at the sincerity his words. "I came back for you time and time again, that's gotta mean something. I don't give a fuck what anyone else wants. It's about us. You and me."
"Stop," I whispered, my hands over my face.
"Evie was in on it," he said, ignoring my plea.
"What?" I frowned, not getting his meaning. She was in on the plot with Furlough?
"She was fucking Furlough from the day we landed in London. They both wanted something and I guess they saw an opportunity."
"She wanted you to see her…" She wanted to be what I was to West. She wanted him to love her. A hollow ache began to spread in my chest.
"Back in Paris, at that club…she approached me and tried to-" He stopped and swallowed hard. "I said no and thought it was the last I'd see of her. Then…" He trailed off and I guess I knew the rest or had enough pieces to slot the fuckers together. Fake tits Evie wanted West for herself so she was fucking Furlough until she could get close again. Furlough wanted me out of the picture because he felt like my presence was disrupting West's focus on the band. And he kept Evie around until he saw an opportunity to use her. It'd been one huge sordid circle of manipulation. Everyone was using someone to get something else.
It hurt, I couldn't deny it. I wanted to cry and beat the shit out of him. I wanted to let it out because I hadn't exploded yet. I was so wound up, it was a complete surprise that I hadn't snapped.
"I never meant for you to meet her. I never wanted her to touch me."
"But she did." I glared up at him, my jaw tense. "You were mine."
"Blair, I was high."
"That's a fucking excuse."
"I know. I was a fucking weak prick. I let my addictions rule my life and I let it hurt you. Never again, Blair. Never."
He reached out and brushed his fingertips across the back of my hand and I jerked away like I'd been burned. I wanted to straddle him right then, but it would only cause more agony. West was my addiction. How couldn't he see it and understand why this was so hard?