Real Ugly (18 page)

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 rage, and I'm pretty sure that the next words that come out of my mouth aren't going to be so pretty. Best I don't screw up my career over some chick.

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.

Neon lights flicker overhead from the crooked piece of plastic that hangs from the ceiling, swinging back and forth slightly with the air from the vent above the stalls. Graffiti and stickers cover most of the yellowing tile, and the rest is stained with God only knows what. I lean back against the door and keep smoking. The coke intoxication is starting to hit me now.

Naomi leans over one of the sinks and lets her blonde hair fall around her face like a curtain.

“Go away, Turner,” she says, but there's no heat behind her words. Well, not anger anyway. I guess there's plenty of … something. Lust, I guess? I'm not sure. I stare at her, let my eyes glide down her body, from the firm set of her shoulders to her round ass, the leather boots that cover up the tattoo of my name. I flick my cigarette onto the floor and start to check the stalls, kicking in the doors as I move down the line. Naomi raises her head and watches me in the dirty mirror. Somebody drew devil horns there in red lipstick and they just happen to line up perfectly with Knox's head. How trippy is that? “What are you doing?”

“Oh come on, Naomi. You know what needs to happen just as well as I do.”

“Um, actually, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, so just spit it out for me and let me hear it.” Naomi turns around and waits for me to finish. Good. There's nobody in here but us. Somebody knocks at the door and Naomi tells 'em to screw off.

My smile gets a little bigger.

“You know it; I know it. We gotta fuck, Naomi.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“You're a real piece of work, you know that?” she asks, vehemence dripping from every syllable. I take a step forward and she stiffens. I pause and light another cigarette, watching as her eyes trace the lines of my lips as I slide it in nice and slow.

“And you're not? You come at me spouting some shit about a dangerous bitch on the loose and refuse to explain yourself. Are we talking about that skinny, anorexic chick? The one with the small tits.”

“Jesus fuck,” Naomi whispers, letting her eyes close for a moment. “Hayden Lee. You don't remember screwing her, do you?” I shrug and tap some ashes on the floor. Not a big deal; they join up with wads of toilet paper, gum, even a few dirty T-shirts. Interesting.

“Not really, no. She must not have been all that impressive then.”

Naomi's face drops for a moment before she picks herself back up and starts towards the door.
Fuck. Wrong thing to say.
I chase after her, but when I grab her elbow, she pushes it back hard and hits me in the stomach. For a second, my anger gets the better of me, and I end up grabbing her rough, too rough maybe and spinning her around, slamming her wrists above her head.

When I kiss her, she bites me so hard that I bleed, but I don't stop, not even when she tries to knee me in the balls.

“Go to hell, Turner,” she says, looking me in the face, tensing her muscles as she tries to get free from my grip. “Never again, I already told you that. You and me, not gonna happen.”

“Doesn't have to,” I whisper against her face, my breath heating her skin, making her squeeze her eyes tight. When they flicker open, they're full of rage. “Just once. That's all I'm asking. Then you and I can move on and forget the past, the tattoos, the abortion.”