Real Ugly(34)

“My fantasy? What the fuck are you smoking, Naomi? I just want to know about my kid.” Not entirely true, but she's obviously not up for anything else tonight. That much is obvious. No matter. I'll get the kid, and I'll get the mother. It's a fact of life. Whatever she says to the contrary, anything about not wanting to see the child or how its adoptive family might act, I know she's in pain. It's etched into every line of her face, every word she speaks, every breath she breathes.

“You've somehow got it into your mind that there's going to be this big ass fucking reunion   with some miracle child who will just throw themselves into your arms and shout, Daddy!” Naomi stands up suddenly and throws her arms in the air. “That they'll just come away with you, and I'll follow, that you'll have the family you've always wanted. Am I right, Turner?” She smiles wickedly at me. “Tell me I'm right about that.”

I stare right back at her, and I think about what she's saying. Is that what I'm doing? Trying to put together a family all of a sudden? Maybe. I try not to delve too deep into thoughts like that, but yeah. Yeah. Sure.

I tell her the truth. After all, it's my fucking policy.

“What's wrong with that?” I take a step closer to her, wondering how far she'll let me go before she runs away again. I lock my eyes with hers and wait for the answer to the question.

“From whore to family man in just a matter of days?” she asks this sarcastically, and I get the feeling she's actually trying to rile me up. Doesn't work. I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my chin back.

“A kid changes everything. Most people have time to get used to this shit. You just sprung it on me. What do you want me to do? I have a six year old running around out there somewhere that I've never met. You know how fucked up that is?”

“Turner,” Naomi says, shaking her head like she can't believe what it is she's about to say. “There is no – ”

“Naomi!” A voice cuts through our conversation and a second later, pretty boy emo fag Dax is standing behind her panting. In his eyes, I can see that he thinks he's in love with her, and it makes me sick. I don't know exactly what it is that I want from her, but she's right – a family might be it – so I don't like the idea of Dax moving in on what's mine. Pisses me the fuck off.

“What?” she snaps, and I'm glad to see her taking her anger out on him, too. Dax looks at her carefully and speaks very, very slowly.

“Naomi, the police are here, and they're looking for you.”





Aw, shit.

My mind starts to spin as soon as Dax's lips utter the word police, and then I'm thinking about my other big secret and the dirty mess I made back in Tulsa. The one that was videotaped without my ever knowing it. The one that's sitting on America's iPad ready to be seen by anyone that has access to it. God, I hope she was smart and finally deleted that thing. Strange that it never occurred to me to ask. I've never been good at subterfuge. Jesus and fuck and fuck and FUCK.

Inside, I freak the fuck out. On the outside, I remain cool as a goddamn cucumber.

“Why?” The word doesn't come from me; it comes from Turner Campbell. Dax keeps his gaze on my face, but answers the question. He's still wearing the same clothes he had on onstage which is rare for him – normally he makes a flat out sprint to the shower. It's kind of his after show ritual. They must've been waiting for me at the bus.

“They say they're looking for someone.” Dax pauses and scratches the dark stubble on his chin. I try not to compare him and Turner because that would imply that I'm interested in one or both of them, and I'm not, but it happens anyway, and I decide that Turner has a better chin. It's thicker, more square, but not barbaric. Fuck. My teenage crush on him has come back raging harder than ever, despite the fact that I've already tasted what he had to offer and didn't find it all that great. Plus, he left me knocked up. Not a good way to start a relationship. Turner and I will never, ever happen. I'd rather die first.

“Who?” Me, this time, asking as if I don't have a care in the world when in all reality, I have two. Two really, really big cares. Felonies actually. I mean, I haven't been charged with them, but why would the police be here looking for me if it wasn't about that? I didn't stab anyone … Well, not recently anyway.

“Your … brother,” Dax says, and my heart plummets to the dirt beneath my feet. Shit. Dax licks his lips and looks down at the ground with his gray eyes, like two gravestones right there on his face, all the contemplative quiet of the dead right in two round orbs. Doesn't hurt that he has them tattooed all over his arms, two full sleeves of dead people and dead things – ghosts, skeletons, zombies. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry as this fucking desert. “I didn't know you had a brother,” Dax continues, and his voice sounds kind of hurt though I'm not sure why.