Real Ugly (25 page)

“What's your fucking problem?” he growls, letting his face wrinkle with anger. Finally. An emotion that I recognize. “You're hot then you're cold, like a fucking tap. What's the matter with you?”

“You,” I tell him, pulling open the door a crack, so I can hear where Terre Haute is in their set. “And you have been for a long, long time. Why can't you just learn to leave things well enough alone? We did our thing and now we're done. Stay away from me.” I start inside and Turner follows, trailing behind me and reaching out to grab my wrist. I spin around and snatch it away from him. “Go away, Turner. I'm warning you.” I know that Dax is probably watching us, America, too. I need to get rid of Turner now, so I can prepare myself to go onstage. This is going to be hard enough as it is.

“No,” Turner says, stubborn as shit, staring at me like he's trying to pick me apart with his eyes. It'll never work. He couldn't figure me out if he tried. He doesn't know me, and he isn't going to. So what if he knows my secrets now? Who cares? He still did what he did to me, still is what he is, will never change. I can't even entertain the thought. The next words out of his mouth blow me away, break me up into little pieces, chew me up and spit me out. Holy fucking shit. “Let me give it to you straight, Naomi. I don't keep secrets. I hate them. They sit inside of you and they eat away at your fucking soul, so I'm just going to come right out with it.” Turner pauses and takes a deep breath, face shadowed in the dimness, cheekbones highlighted by a stray sliver of light that's leaking from the stage. Vaguely, I hear America in the background asking about Hayden, but I don't care. Right now, all of my attention is focused on Turner Campbell and his narcissistic delusions. “I'm in love with you.”

Time stops, and I swear to God, I feel like my breath is being sucked out of me and swirled around the room, collecting energy from the space around me, so that when it all rushes back in, my chest is so tight that it feels like it's going to burst. I know that people are staring at us now, most of them just as shocked as I am, especially the girls. They've all probably fucked Turner, seen what an asshole he is, so they must know how weird this is for me. But they have no idea how much it hurts.

I reach up my hand to hit him, but he grabs my wrist and holds me back, keeping me at arm's length, so he can study my face and try to pick me apart. I hear applause from out front, and I know that it's almost time for me to go on and take Hayden's place, albeit temporarily, time for me to stand in the light when all I want to do is blend into the dark right now, hide my face and let these feelings wash over and through me.

“You selfish son of a bitch,” I growl at him, yanking my wrist back with such force that I stumble. Behind me, Terre Haute exits the stage and equipment starts being shuffled around like pieces on a chess board. “I can't believe you even have the audacity to say that to my face.” Turner looks confused as shit, like he doesn't understand why I'm not leaping into his arms and giving him my everything. Wow. I thought he was experienced, but really, he's naive. He may have fucked a lot of girls, done a lot of drugs, had a hard life, but he knows nothing about love. Nothing at all. “You wouldn't know what love was if it bit you in the face, Turner.” He narrows his eyes at me, frustrated that this isn't going the way he wanted. Well, fuck him. This is just the way it's going to be, the way it has to be. “Get this stupid idea out of your head and move the fuck on.” I start to turn away, but he grabs onto my elbow and pulls me back, spinning me around so quick it makes my head spin. He lets go of me right away, but that doesn't stop Dax and Wren from grabbing him and pulling him back, holding him still while he tries to meet my eyes and explain something that he doesn't understand.

“I know that you're interesting to me, and you don't take my shit. I know that I remember you even though I shouldn't.” Turner jerks his arms out of Dax's and Wren's grip, flicking himself in the side of the head for emphasis.

And fuck. There it is. There it fucking is, all of that passion and heat and intensity, focused right on me. I feel like Turner's just put a magnifying glass up to the sun and focused its rays down on my head. I feel dizzy and sick, and my ears are throbbing and America is screaming about Hayden. I start to shake violently.

“It's starting to come back to me, you know? Like, all the lurid fucking details.” He stares at me hard, just locks onto me and won't let go. “You gave me a blow job in an elevator, huh?” I close my eyes and count to ten. I'm not embarrassed. Why should I be? I just can't stand to listen to him recount that night right now, not before I go onstage and have all those eyes on me, focusing, judging. “Images have been flashing through my fucking brain of a night
six years ago
where I was so high, I don't even remember getting a tattoo.” Turner points at me and growls, shaking his head like he can't even believe he has to say all this, like I should just be grateful he 'loves' me. Fuck him. “But I remember you. I didn't realize it at first, but I did.” I do my best not to think about that night on the bus when he called me Naomi, and turn away like I don't care at all.

“I've gotta get ready to play,” I tell him, but he isn't here to listen to fucking excuses. He keeps talking, but he doesn't move. He knows that if he does, the boys will be on him and he won't get even a step further.

“There are girls I fucked a week ago that I don't remember. I don't remember their names or what they looked like or what we did, only that there was a woman in my bed. And I'm sorry I didn't remember right away, and I'm sorry that I fucking left, but I'm here now. Fuck the past. The present's all that matters anyway, right?”

I spin back around so fast that my hair gets caught across my face and sticks to my lips. I take a few steps towards Turner, getting so close to his face that when I talk, my mouth brushes his.

“Your past is your foundation, and if it's crumbling, then you've got nothing left to build on.” I breathe out and Turner breathes in, exact opposites. “To start over, you have to create something new, somewhere strong and stable and sturdy or the whole thing will come crumbling down. And Turner, I can't pick up a piece of that old, rotted, fucking wood and make a new house with it, now can I? You had your chance with me. You're done. We're done. Leave me alone.”

“Not a fucking chance,” he tells me, breathes out; I breathe in. Our breath mingles in the hot air for another second before America steps between us, pushing us apart with strong arms and flat lips. It's only then I notice that they're ready for us onstage. Shit.

“I'm going to ask you one more time: where is Hayden?”

“She's not coming,” I spit, turning away, looking around at the rest of the band. They don't look nervous though, just confused. “I'll be filling in for her.”

“Oh? Will you?” America asks, laughing like a hyena on the fucking plains. She sounds like she's ready for blood. “She have somewhere better to be?”

“Apparently,” I respond, refusing to look at Turner's face. My lungs are full of him now though, and I swear that even with all the noise around me, I can still hear him breathing.

America doesn't respond, but the skin on her cheeks and forehead is so tight it looks like she just got a face-lift or something. I look away from her and out at the bit of the crowd I can see from here, buzzing and murmuring, waiting for Turner probably. That's why most of them are here, to see him before Indecency's new record deal goes through and they become untouchable, playing venues so big that a football stadium looks small.

Without another word, I step forward and leave the drama behind, moving with stiff confidence over to my guitar. I slide the strap over my head and step up to the center mic. Okay, so I won't be able to put on the sexed up show they're looking for, but I can blow their mind with music. That's what I have to do right now, for them and for me. I glance over to my left as the rest of the band files out behind me and catch Turner's eye.

He's mad, yeah, but determined. Getting away from him is going to be damn near impossible.

I turn back to face the crowd and take a deep breath, doing my best to pull that inner me out, so she can take over. I can't slide into myself right now or this whole night's going to be for shit. A bad show on top of a bad day will only make things worse. I have to rule this. I'm a fucking rock star, after all, aren't I?

“Hey there.” I pause for a moment and try to remember where the fuck it is we're at. “Colorado.” Some cheers go up but not enough. I see people glancing at one another, disappointed, and once that happens, I start to pick the crowd apart, take the image of these people in my head from a single entity to thousands of tiny dots with frowns and sneers and laughter. I let my eyes shutter briefly for a moment.
Get ahold of yourself. You're a strong woman. You going to let a little stage fright fuck you up?
I open my eyes and sweep the dark mass below me. It stretches out and back, spreading out on either side and tapering off at roped entry points beyond which tables sit, covered in drinks, surrounded by even more people. My throat goes dry, and I find myself having trouble speaking. I open my mouth again and nothing will come out. I blame Turner. This is his fault. I could've handled this. After all, it's not like it's my first time onstage. He just tightened that noose around my neck, and I feel like I'm being choked. Do you know how hard it is to be offered the one thing you always wanted just after you've convinced yourself that you don't anymore? Just when you've accepted that you'll never have it? It's cruel. Worse than never being offered it at all.

“How's it fucking going, Denver?”

Turner's got Wren's mic in his hand and is strolling towards me with a smirk on his face, one that betrays the glint of anger and hope that's warring in his eyes.

“You know Naomi Knox, right?” he asks, and he holds his hand over my head, starting the crowd up like a revving engine, just a slight purr that you know will become a rumble before long. “You're going to have to forgive her. Her leading lady, Miss Anorexia herself … ” A murmur of laughter ripples through the group. “Is MIA at the moment, so tonight, you're going to get the extreme pleasure,” he purrs as he drops his hand and rubs his belly, purposing exposing the taut flesh above his jeans. “Of listening to her sing. I just announced my undying love for her, so she's a little flustered at the moment. I'm sure once she realizes she feels the same way, she'll calm down.” More laughter, a little nervous this time but quite a bit louder, bursts from the group, and then the crowd starts a chant.
Duet. Duet. Duet.
They want Turner and I to sing together. Of course they do. They've all seen that video of us on YouTube.

I purse my lips tight and glance at him from the corner of my eye. God, he looks like an angel again, highlighted under the bright lights, blue-black hair gleaming, tattoos vibrant and popping. I don't want to do this with him, but I don't know how to get rid of him either. A rock and a hard place. Guess I just have to figure out how to make that
hard rock
and we're good to go.

Turner turns to face me, still smirking, still looking arrogant as fuck in the mouth but dangerously unstable in the eyes. What a volatile place to be. I swallow hard and strike a chord. We start up
Turning the Key on the Past,
totally fucking up our setlist for the night. Oh well. Fuck it. I need to play this song. Turner needs to hear it. He was right; it's about him anyway.

I press my lips to the mic and try not to think too hard about this. Either he'll join me or he won't. I don't care.

My voice, when I start to sing, sounds loud, too loud, and lonely. I sound good, I think, but not quite right.

“
Struggling to understand why this pain feels different from what I've felt before.
”

When Turner's voice cuts in through the other mic, I falter and I miss the next line entirely, wrapped up in the golden chords of his voice that curl so tightly around me that I forget to breathe for a second and end up lightheaded and dizzy.

“
Waking up to the sound of your voice, playing in my head, always running in my head.
”

When he exhales at the end of the line, I inhale and start up again. This time, both of our voices join together and mine doesn't sound so lonely anymore. The stage vibrates with sound as Wren and I destroy it with our guitars, pulling Blair and Jesse and Dax along for the ride. The crowd is screaming now, having an absolute panic attack and rushing forward, crushing the poor people in the front against the bars so tightly that the bouncers have to rescue them and pull them over, escorting them to the edges to watch with wide eyes and heaving chests.

“
When I walk, I stumble. When I run, I fall. 'Cause it's the same mistake that will fool us all. I fell in love. I … I fell in love. I. Fell. In. LOVE!
”

Turner curls over with that last scream, folding down and then bouncing back up, spinning in a circle and thrashing his head back down. If I thought things were intense before, I was wrong. That was just a tease.
This is gonna get worse before it gets better, isn't it?
My pulse starts to pick up, moving at a dangerous speed, so quick I can feel it throbbing against the side of my throat.

“
And we, we just can't be. There is no place to go where the pain won't find us.
” Turner leans into me and puts his face close, too close. Unconsciously, I wet my lips with my tongue, and the rest of the band picks up the next verse while Turner and I dance around each other, spinning in a slow circle, stomping the stage beneath our feet with each step.

“
Because we're the broken ones, the halves that got left behind, the hearts that will never stop bleeding. We fell in love. We … we fell in love, and only you fell out of it.
”

My hands comes down hard, hits the strings and vibrations travel through me, take over my brain and close the door on my inhibitions. The inner me is hanging all the way out, kicking around like a fucking maniac, like I've just freaking lost it and gone crazy. It was only a matter of time anyway. See, this is why I didn't want a confession of love. This shit is just … it's insane.