Real Ugly (8 page)

“No problem, lemme just stop the caravan and tell all five bands and their staff to wait while you run in for some tampons.” I flip her off and roll my eyes as I grab a plate and slap some food onto it. I'm not hungry and my stomach feels like it's full of lead, but I'm going to go through the motions, damn it.

“Fuck you,” I tell her as I scoot in beside Hayden and try not to touch her skin. You never know where it's been. “You know what I meant. When we get to Phoenix, I need cigs. Jesus Christ, who put a stick up your ass this morning?”

“You did,” Hayden says, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her cheek against her hands. She stares at me with her blue eyes and smiles an evil smile that makes my already aching belly feel like it's being pulled in two directions. God, I might throw up. “Turner's been calling all night and all day.” Hayden nods her chin at the counter, and I look up to see my phone resting there next to America's. Oops. Guess I forgot to drag it in my cave with me.

“So?”

“So, you know how I feel about him,” America says as she switches off the stove and dumps whatever it is she's cooking onto a plate. “And I don't want Amatory Riot too closely associated with Indecency. It's only a matter of time before somebody dies or fucks up, and they'll be screwed. We don't need to be attached to a sinking ship.” She punches the faucet on hard and starts to scrub, splattering her fancy suit with soap bubbles and droplets of dirty water.

“I had no idea you two were so into each other,” Hayden continues, doing her damnedest to take my bad mood and bring it up to a whole new level. “Let's just hope he's better in bed than I remember.” Her smile remains stuck to her lips as she drags a bite of food up to her mouth and chews it slowly, like a fucking cow. My fingers clench around my fork, but I manage to resist the urge to stab her in the thigh with it.

“Interesting,” I say, letting a smirk twitch on my lips. “That you remember fucking him at all. Glad you got your memory back though. Now you can owe me and Blair one for cleaning up your vomit and refraining from posting pictures of your puke covered ass online.”

Hayden frowns, but before she can say anything else, Dax is sliding a box of cigarettes across the table at me.

“I know they're not your favorite, but it's better than nothing, right?” I clamp my hand over the carton and drag it back, feeling Hayden's eyes boring into my cheek. Good. Let her think that Dax and I have something going on. I think he's the only guy she's ever truly had feelings for. Hmm. Maybe I should start dating him just to fuck with her? I consider it for a moment. Anything that hurts Hayden makes me happy. Call me cold, but it's true. Misery loves company.

I light up and start smoking.

Dax watches me with gray eyes and then slides a cig of his own into his mouth. Soon, the whole table is lit up, even Hayden. Hey, you know what they say – the band that smokes together, stays together. It's a scientific fact that cigarette smoking is a bonding exercise. Look it up.

“You really into that stupid fuck?” Wren asks, grinning at me and nibbling on the end of his cigarette like it's a stick of gum. A pair of black studs wink at me from between his brows, bouncing light across the ceiling. I doubt he even really cares about the answer to that question. More than likely, he's just trying to stir shit up. That's Wren for ya.

“I don't even know him,” I admit, figuring the truth is better than any lie. “I slapped him in the face, so he's into me now. I think he just wants his balls back.”

Wren and Kash laugh, but Dax narrows his eyes, like he can smell a secret hidden somewhere in my words. Turner could; I know that's why he spoke to me like that on the phone. He knows I've got secrets, and he'll do anything to pry them out. I've got to figure out a way to make myself a lot less interesting and fast. No more onstage stunts. Period.

I stab my cigarette out in an ashtray and stand up, dumping the rest of my food into the trash and tossing my plate onto the counter for America to clean up. One bonus of having a manager with OCD is that she'll clean shit up, if only to soothe her own anxieties. I snatch her tablet on the way out of my room and hold it up for confirmation. She nods at me and lets me disappear into the bathroom where I sit bare assed on the toilet and take a piss. Flicking my fingers across the screen until I find the video of me covered head to toe in blood.

It's kind of hard to watch, but I make myself do it over and over and over again until my eyes hurt and the seat starts to dig into my butt. I'm trying to play Nancy fucking Drew here, searching for clues as to who could've filmed this. They would've been standing in the hallway with the camera or phone or whatever it was about waist high. This makes it even harder for me to make any deductions about height.

I stand up and fasten my pants with one hand while I continue to hold the tablet in the other.

Picture's a bit shaky, like whoever it was was scared – or excited. I mean, they didn't say anything, didn't try to stop me. The shot ends with me crumpled over the bed, sobbing. The scissors fall to the floor and stain it crimson. So ominous. So, so ominous, the sound of that blade falling. I don't think I'll ever forget it.

When I exit the bathroom, America shoves my phone in my face and snatches back the tablet.

“Deal with your shit,” she tells me as I stare at the incoming call. Blocked number. Turner.

“What?” I snap as I answer it, crawling into my bunk, so I can at least pretend to have some privacy. A harsh chuckle slithers through the speaker and fucks my ear.

“Hey there,” he says, like we're old friends. “Glad to see that you're finally up and at 'em.”

“Fuck you.” I hang up and toss the phone down, knowing full well that when he calls me back, that I'll pick it up. Fifteen minutes pass. A half hour. Two.

When I fall asleep, I fall asleep dreaming of Turner soaked in blood.

Two secrets wrapped up in one and both ready to destroy me at the same time.

Great.

I spend all day on the bus smoking weed and jacking off. I have to. Otherwise, my mind gets all wrapped up on Naomi fucking Knox. I'm so zoned into her right now that I didn't even take advantage of the girls waiting outside the door last night. They were all grayscale while Naomi was in full fucking technicolor.

Oh baby, you can bet your sweet ass I'm not giving up on you,
I think as I stroke my cock to her image and lean my head back against the wall behind me. Any girl that can sour hot pussy for me is worth chasing. I bring up the memory of our foreheads pressed together and the sweat rolling down between her breasts and blow my load into my hand, tossing it into the sink and washing it away before I get pissed again. Can't help it. My mood is night and day right now. One minute, I'm wanting to worship the ground she stands on, and the next, I want to destroy her.

She obviously doesn't like me, doesn't even respect me. But why? I comb my brain for that flickering punch of memory and can't find it.

“Fuck,” I snarl as I kick open the bathroom door and stalk to the front of the bus. Nobody talks to me right now; they all know better. I rip the charger out of my phone and call Knox back. When she answers, her voice is groggy and far away, soft. My hard-on springs back with a vengeance, pitching a big ass tent right there for Josh to ogle. He rolls his eyes and turns away in the captain's chair, focusing his gaze out the front window.

“Hello?”

“You gonna stop hanging up on me, so we can talk?” She pauses, and I swear to Christ, I can hear gears in her head clicking as she realizes it's me on the phone. Man, she must be pretty tired if it took her this long to get that.

“What do we have to talk about?” she asks me, and I can hear blankets rustling. I wonder if she's masturbated to me yet. If she hasn't, she will. They always do.
Even if this one's different?
my mind asks me. I'm too distracted to pay it much attention.

“Well, you never showed up for drinks last night. I was worried about you.”

“Bullshit,” she says, but her voice lacks any conviction, like she's too tired to even give me that emotion.

“And you owe me an explanation.”

“Oh? Do I?” Naomi says sarcastically, and my fist clenches hard at my side.

“You asked me if I sent it. Sent what?”

“Go to hell, Turner.” The phone crackles, and I think she's about to drop me again, so I speak quick. She needs to know that I know she has secrets. I could tell that from the moment I met her. It's a special trick of mine. I spent my whole life around people with dirty, little deeds to hide, so I consider myself an expert.

“Listen, babe,” I say to her, wanting to make this pretty fucking clear. “I know we've met before. I may not remember when or where
yet
, but I will. You can bet on it.” I pause and listen to her breathing for a moment. “And if it's one of those little secrets you want kept, come find me before I spill it.”

This time, it's my turn to hang up on her.

I clench my hand around the phone and drop it from my ear, noticing as I start to turn around that Josh is glaring at me again. Maybe he doesn't like the way I talked to Naomi. So what? He doesn't know that I'm just fucking with her. I'd never tell, no matter what it was. I may not have any secrets of my own, but I sure as shit know how to keep them. And let's be honest – most secrets are better left buried.

Phoenix is hot as fuck. No wonder I've never come here before. As soon as I step off the bus, sweat starts to pool on my lower back, and my head swims in the heat. It's the middle of the night for crying out loud, and the desert is still baking the shit out of this city.

I wipe my hand across my forehead and get out a cigarette, lighting it up before I start across the parking lot and catch a glimpse of Naomi moving across the pavement with a purpose in mind. She keeps looking over her shoulder like she expects something to leap out at her.

A grin spreads across my face.

I toss my cig down and hurry forward, cutting through the bushes and heading her off before she comes out the other side. When I step out at her, she doesn't scream, doesn't even flinch, just glares at me with her orange-brown eyes for a moment before taking out her shades and slipping them on her face. It's dark out, so that means she's trying to hide from me.

My grin gets bigger.

“Hey there, in a hurry?”

Naomi ignores me and moves off into the darkness, blonde hair catching light from the street lamps and glowing as she moves between pools of brightness.
Angel, devil, angel, devil.
That's what she looks like as she crosses between light and dark. I follow a few steps behind her.

At the next intersection, she pauses and turns to look at me.

“Stalking is an actual crime, you know.”

I shrug.

“Yeah, but walking to the gas station isn't. I can't help it if we're going to the same place.” She continues to stare at me, and then turns away, letting smoke trail from her lips in a gray cloud and curl up and into her nostrils.

“What the hell do you want from me? You want to fuck me, is that it?”

I think about that for a minute and run my hand through my hair. That's a good question. What do I want with this girl? Even I don't know the answer to that.

“At first, I kind of wanted to punch you in the face,” I admit. Turner Campbell doesn't keep secrets of his own, not even little ones. Learned my lesson by watching the people around me fuck up royally, eaten alive from the inside. Stupid ass motherfuckers. Once it becomes a secret, it's hard to let it out. If you don't keep it inside to begin with, it doesn't get the chance to fester and rot. So, honesty is my policy. If it makes me a dick, so be it. “But now, yeah, I'd kinda like to fuck you.”

“As long as you promise not to leave me half-naked with my panties down around my ankles,” Naomi says with a sarcastic smile, and then starts across the street. I follow after her and flip off a trucker who honks at us when the light turns green.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask her as I catch up and watch as she rolls her eyes at me. Naomi pauses at the island of cement in the center of the road and turns to face me with raised brows.