Naomi runs her hand through her hair and pulls out a lighter, snapping it open and jamming a cigarette between her teeth. She's shaking, just a little, but whether with anger or excitement or fear, I have no clue.
“There is no kid, Turner. Not anymore.” She snaps her eyes to mine, dares me to defy her with that dry, desert gaze. I drop my arms to my sides.
“I don't follow.”
She barks out a bit of harsh laughter and shakes her head, stepping back and putting her hands on her lower back, bending over so that she's facing the ground and not me.
“Of course you don't,” I hear her whisper, and then my anger gets the better of me, and I'm stepping forward and pushing her back. She stumbles a bit and then recovers, launching herself at me and decking me under the chin with a hard right upper cut that makes my teeth hurt and forces me back a step or two.
“My kid is dead?” I ask and then she starts to laugh, crazy laugh, like so loud that people start to stare. “He's dead and you're laughing?”
I hear footsteps and I know people are coming to break up the fight that we're only sort of having.
“My kid,” she repeats, pulling herself up straight, filling her lungs with air. “It was my kid and my choice to make. You hold no rights to that memory, Turner. The only reason I'm even telling you this is because I'm tired of being haunted by all these ghosts.” Naomi gestures violently at the air around her. “I'm tired of counting down the time to this day, this day that six years ago I had the abortion. It shouldn't bother me anymore, but it does. It does, and you know why, Turner?” She points at me and then holds up her other hand to stop Dax from bursting into the mix. He's followed closely by their skinny bitch singer; I hear Trey pause behind me. “It bothers me because I let myself get tangled up in you. I fell in love with an image, a false idol beaming down at me from on high, and right after I lost everything – my dignity, my morals, my sense of self – you took all that was left. You may not have meant to, and it may not have been personal, but that just makes it worse. You brought me to my knees without knowing you were doing it, not even caring. You meant the world to me, and I meant nothing to you. Well, you know what? I'm not a teenager anymore, and I don't look up to you. I don't respect you, and honestly, I think you're one of the most despicable creatures to ever grace this earth.” Naomi stands tall and for a second there, I think she's going to cry, but she doesn't. Naomi Knox holds her head high and spills one of her festering, rotten secrets into the air. I hope it makes her feel better to talk to me like that, get all these things off her chest, because it makes me sick.
My head starts to spin, and I feel dizzy.
“Naomi,” I start, but she interrupts me.
“Just over six years ago, you stepped in and helped me out, and then we spent a night together that I will never forget.” Naomi reaches behind her back and comes up with a knife. I take a step back and Dax moves in close, but she isn't coming after me. Instead, she bends down and unzips her boot, revealing a bare calf and ankle underneath. The tattoo of my name winks back at me. “You left me with a full belly and an empty heart,” she says with a sigh. “And you still had power over me because I let you.” Naomi pauses. “Not anymore. The cat's out of the bag and about to get skinned.”
The knife flashes down and slices skin, cuts right down the side of that little heart tattoo, and before I know it, I'm moving forward and shoving Dax back, sliding to my knees in the dirt and cupping Naomi under the chin with my hands. I don't try to take away the knife because that isn't my fucking choice to make, but I look her in the eyes and I don't know what to say. My chest and throat get tight, and I feel something there, bubbling beneath the angry, but I'm upset and I'm only thinking of myself. What's new?
All I can think is that she was right: I was looking for some kind of fantasy family. What the shit was I thinking? And she lead me on. Sort of. Or maybe I just jumped to conclusions all on my own … I can't even keep my mind straight right now. Instead of coming up with something meaningful, I just kiss her which is so totally out of place for the moment that I don't even blame her when the knife comes up and slashes my arm, mixes my blood with hers.
Naomi drops the knife and scrambles backward, lurching to her feet and stumbling out of there with blood trailing behind her, beading on the dusty cement in crimson dots.
How do you live down a scene like that? Hmm? How do you walk away knowing that everybody thinks you're a friggin' psychopath? And maybe I am, just a little. For a second, I lost it there, but now that I'm standing on the stage with my ankle throbbing and my axe pressed against my crotch, I feel a whole lot better.