Born Wrong(2)

I smile.

“Here.” I reach into the front pocket of the sweater and come up with a box of cigs, handing one to her and pulling out my lighter. Naomi takes the cigarette between her lips and sighs in pleasure.

“Thanks.” Droplets of sweat slide down her neck and slither across her chest, tempting my gaze downwards, over her tattoo and towards her breasts. It takes a physical effort from me to hold my head up and stay focused on her eyes. I don't like how long she's holding me here. Naomi has something to say; I can tell.

And I'm not going to like it.

“Dax,” Hayden whines from behind me. Naomi's lip twitches, but I keep my expression neutral and ignore her. She just wants attention, is desperate for it. I think it's because she misses her family so much, and I'm not just talking about her brothers and her dad. Her other family. The one nobody else knows about.

“You have something to tell me, don't you?” I ask, getting out a cigarette of my own. I want to close my eyes and scream, let my voice curdle the blood of everyone backstage, melt them into nothing and get them the hell away from me. I already know what this is about. I've known for a long, long time. Since Naomi told Turner about her abortion. Since she came back from the grave. Since the hallway at the hotel last night. But mix this crap with my nerves? I feel fucking suicidal. Or homicidal maybe. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, not now, Naomi.

“You...” Naomi begins and then pauses, taking a step back. It's so hot in here; the air is swirling with the heat of a thousand plus bodies, too many voices, too much pain. We all carry some around, that's normal. But the people here? They're drenched in it, drowning in their own misery. And supposedly I'm the 'emo' one? Fuck. Why? Because I have ghosts tattooed on my freaking bicep? I feel like I'm one of the most stable people here. I have issues, sure, but I have normal issues. My family hates me, and I killed my mom. No big deal, right?

My eyelashes flicker and come to rest on my cheeks, blocking out the movement around me. Born Wrong. I know Naomi can see the words tattooed on my eyelids. I told her what they meant because I wanted her to understand me, at least a little. I wanted to try. She's fascinating to me. I can't take my eyes off of her when she's onstage, can't look away when she's bent over her notebook, scribbling away. I'm in love with her and all she gives a rat's ass about is Turner Campbell.

My lip curls involuntarily, and I take a step back, opening my eyes to find that she's still staring at me. Naomi wets her lips and looks away suddenly.

“You kiss beautifully, Dax,” she tells me honestly, and my heart beat slows, comes to a complete stop, just so I can hear her better. “You could kill with that mouth, drop a girl into death and have her sighing in pleasure, desperate for it.” Naomi plays with her cigarette with shaking fingers, blowing smoke rings into the dense air around us. A roadie bumps into her arm and she frowns. Her eyes come back to rest on mine and stay there. Four years we've been friends. When I first met her, when Hayden brought Naomi back to my garage to play for us, I didn't like her. Not one bit. But as the years went on … I sigh. This trip down memory fucking lane is going nowhere for me.

“But that's not good enough,” I say, and I try not to grit my teeth. I move back another step and stab my cigarette into a glass ashtray. “Because you want Turner Campbell. Because fucking everybody and their grandma wants Turner motherfucking Campbell.” I pretend I don't see Hayden tilting her head, hazelnut hair spilling over her shoulder. I don't want her to look at me right now, watch me be shot down. This a moment nobody should have to see.

“I want fire, Dax,” she says, and her voice gets breathy. Naomi is in so deep it's not even funny. If Turner breaks her heart … I squeeze my fists at my sides. No, not if. When. When he breaks her heart. Fuuuuuuuck. “I want flame. I want to be engulfed and burned alive.”

“Sounds fucking pleasant,” I say, and I don't look at her. I won't look at her. Not right now. My nerves are shot; I feel like a fallen angel about to approach the gates of Heaven. Today is my second judgment day. I failed before, but here I am again, ready to receive the disdain, the anger, the pain.

“I like you, Dax, but I don't … I can't move on with my life if I don't at least give this a try. Turner … I love him.” Naomi chokes on the words, but it doesn't matter. They sting me so deep, I feel like I've got internal bleeding. My mouth goes dry and my whole body threatens to topple over. I spin around and put my hands on the edge of a table filled with water bottles. “I hope this doesn't fuck up our friendship, Dax. I still care about you.” I try to summon some words to my lips, but nothing will come out. What am I supposed to say to that anyway?