“Shit,” he groans, and just the sound of it almost convinces me that I should jump his bones. Almost, but not quite. “I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me.”
“Dax, please,” Naomi says, her voice friendly but not overly affectionate. I still want to know what their story is. As soon as I look back at him and see him looking at her, I get part of it. Ah. Dax is staring at Naomi and then flipping his eyes back to me. Back and forth. He does this for a minute and then swings his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing roughly onto his face and digging his fingers into his scalp. He likes her. And me. Well, he's got a thing for her, and he wants to fuck me. When Dax stares at Naomi, his expression softens and his mouth relaxes, but when he looks at me, he swallows too much and runs his tongue over his lips. “You've been pushing yourself too hard. You need to take it easy.”
“What happened at the hospital?” he asks her, carefully keeping his gaze trained on her face. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything's fine,” Naomi says, pauses, touches her hand to her blonde hair. “For now. Just … rest up, take a shower. We can talk later.” She glances over at me and an awkward silence descends on the room. Everyone has a system here, a group, a set of people they should be with, things they should talk about, places to go. Me, I'm new here and I don't fit. I can't call a horde of demons to my hands and smash them into an instrument. I can't fight with that fury and that rage that I saw Dax in earlier. I'm not a singer or a musician or even an artist, I'm just a stripper with a stupid baby brother and his dumb friends. But I'm here to help, not make things more awkward.
“I'll be in Milo's room if you need me,” I say, and then, with one last glance at the beautiful, dark eyed drummer before me, I turn away and walk out the door.
“I'm not doing this again, Hayden,” I say, pushing her off of me. It takes a lot of effort. Sometimes, I just let her hang on me, touch me, whatever, because it takes so much work to get her to stop. Especially on days like today when I feel like I'm going to throw up. I should have never slept with her. That was my mistake. She's been a lot more lovey since then, usually when we're in private. But that day she came back … I was so wracked with pain over Naomi's supposed death. And Hayden seemed so upset, looked up at me with those eyes and told me horror stories. I'm such a bleeding heart fuck, I tell myself as I check my cellphone. There are no missed calls, no messages. Did I expect something different? A good job, son or something? If my dad even watched the concert – which is doubtful – then I probably don't even want to hear anything he has to say about it.
I sigh.
“I'm not mad, Dax,” she coos, turning away and busying herself with running a comb through her long hair. She's not wearing much, just a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top, no bra. Hayden is cute, but I can't look past the damage. And she is damaged. Maybe irreparably so. I want to help her out, fix her, but maybe that's not my job? Maybe she's the only one that can fix her? Fuck. I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't know which parts of her stories are lies and which ones are truth.
“Not yet,” I tell her as I run my hands down the legs of my sweatpants. Finally, I got a chance to shower and put on some clean clothes. I had to settle for a loose, old tee and some holey black pants because there was no way in hell I was getting into a pair of jeans or a tight fitting shirt. I can barely stand up. America made me see the medic, but all he could do was hand me some more pain pills and tell me to go sleep it off. I keep picturing that day the tornado hit and trying to figure out what exactly it was that got me. I saw this flash of metal and then nothing. I'm pretty sure it was a car door. “But when I tell Naomi everything, you will be.” Hayden freezes, going so still I'm not sure for a second that she's even breathing. The comb falls from her fingers as she spins around. I try to keep my gaze focused on the rose tattoo below her bellybutton, but inevitably, my eyes are drawn back to her face.
“Why?” she whispers, voice breathy. “Why does she need to know about everything? She has the fucking photo.” I sigh again and Hayden turns away, blue eyes watering as she stomps over to the table near the window and parts the white curtains with angry hands. A joint finds its way off the ashtray and into her mouth. I watch as she digs a lighter out of her purse and flicks the wheel. “Why does Naomi get everything?” she cries, leaning forward and clutching the edge of the table with too white fingers. “You, Turner, all the fame, the credit, the fortune.”
“Naomi doesn't want me, Hayden,” I say and I try not to sound bitter about it. She spins to face me, her brunette hair sticking to her lips and clinging there. The smoke from the joint whirls around her wet eyes, framing them like glasses.