Real Ugly(36)
“No need for anything as drastic as that,” says Mustache Cop. “Just be careful. The guy … ” He pauses and looks into my eyes with moist, nervous ones, like he's imagining the crime photos. They're pretty gruesome; once you see them, you don't forget. “He's a psychopath and a murderer.” I nod and watch as America oozes down the steps and schmoozes the shit out of the officers, using her good manners to pick up where my bad ones left off. In her white suit and red heels, she looks like a force to be reckoned with. Good. Maybe they'll think twice before coming out here again.
I turn around and glance at Dax and Turner. I should finish my conversation, but I'm just not in the mood anymore. Like I said, one secret at a time is all I can handle and right now, I can't decide whether to be happy or sad. After all, I've just been questioned about a guy who's getting charged with a crime he didn't commit. And I know that for a fact.
Since I'm the one that committed it.
I light another cigarette and turn around without another word, disappearing onto the bus with only my thoughts for company.
The next morning when I wake up, the first words out of my mouth are, “The video?”
America doesn't even look up at me, keeping her eyes on the Facebook page she's perusing, making sure there are no nasty comments left for us, no negative reviews, no perverts. America likes to make dirty things clean. Good for her.
“Do you honestly even need to ask that question?” she says as I stare at the back of her neck, at the freckles that crawl out of her shirt and into her hair. I look at them for awhile and then pop the top on a can of beer. I don't tell her thank you or anything like that, just turn around and start back towards the shower.
Hayden beats me to it and tosses her dirty tank from last night at my head. I bat it away with a growl and narrow my eyes. She's standing naked and proud in front of me, arms crossed under her small breasts, and doesn't even give a shit that Kash is watching her from his place on the bunk next to me.
“Heard about your troubles last night,” she says and I come this close to punching her in the nose. She has a small one that's sort of upturned with tiny nostrils that float too high above her thin lips. If I were gay, I'd much rather fuck Blair than Hayden. I reach into my bunk and pull a box of cigs out from beneath my pillow. Not responding to Hayden is probably the best thing I can do. After all, she's the one I told everything to back then, the one that encouraged me, the one that watched from the closet and absorbed my secret, ate it up and saved it for later, so she could throw it up in my face. God, I can't even believe we used to be friends.
“And?” I ask, trying to sound bored. If she knows I'm annoyed with her, she'll get worse. Always does. At least she doesn't know that secret, the Turner one. She has no idea that we ever slept together, that I was ever pregnant. Thank God. The bitch is bad enough with one secret under her belt; two would kill me. Or her. Yeah, probably her. Not that I like to make a habit of it. In fact, murder is sort of something I'd never like to repeat. The blood doesn't just stain the hands; it stains the soul, too.
“Seems like you might want to be extra nice to me right now, don't you think?” I stare at her, but I don't say anything. She swipes some hazelnut hair over her shoulder and gazes at me with the big Bambi eyes that make men (and women) go nuts. Hayden nibbles her lower lip. “I mean, I'm just saying, the cops left a card and said to call them if anything came up. Since they're investigating a murder, I thought maybe – ”
I cut her off by flicking cigarette ashes at her feet.
“Fine. I get your point. What do you want now?” When Hayden smiles, slow and wicked as sin, I know I'm in trouble. Whatever it is she's going to say is going to push me over the edge and into the frothing waters of hell. Fuck.
“Turner.” That's it, nice and simple. Kash grunts and pulls his curtain up, giving us some semblance of privacy. Can't say I blame him. He hates Turner; every guy here hates him. It's just a simple fact of life on the road with Indecency. He probably hears chicks arguing over Turner Campbell a dozen times a day. You know those fucking horrible T-shirts? The ones that say Mrs. So-and-so? Well, Indecency's merch stand sells tanks with Mrs. Campbell on them. Get the point?
My answer, short and just as simple. “No.”
She leans back and looks me up and down, sizing me up although she knows good and well how far she can push me. She's been doing it for years, ever since we got Amatory Riot together. I should've never gone back to Tulsa, shoulda kept running and held my head low.
“Oh?” I can't explain my answer to her because I can't explain it to myself either. I could give her Turner. I mean, all I need to do is spend five more minutes with the man, let the cat out of the bag, and watch him shift gears real, real fast. Instead, I just stand there and smoke my cigarette. Gray swirls fill the small space, get caught against the black curtains that cover the bunk beds and sneak into the open door of the bathroom. “Really? Tasted something you liked?” I look at her, and all I can think about is Hayden and Turner fucking, and then I just want to hit something hard. I keep my fingers relaxed and my face stoic.