Real Ugly(43)

Dax purses his lips and the pale skin on his face gets even paler. This is him getting angry. Doesn't happen often, but when it does …

“Why? Because you don't want to hear what I have to say? Because you don't want to know how I feel about you?”

I reach over and snatch Hayden's hands away from Dax, clamping her wrists together in my hand, cuffing her with tight, angry fingers. She giggles and struggles a bit, but it's all a show. She's not even trying. Anorexic bitch can fight. Trust me, I've been on the receiving end of those blows. Do I hit back? Sure. Does it still hurt? Fuck yeah, it does.

“You mistake my actions for an emotional response,” I hiss as I drag Hayden off the bunk closest to Dax and shove her into the bathroom. She's got that squinched up face on that says she's about to puke. A few seconds later, she does. Right into the bathroom sink. Hot dog. Much easier to clean up. “When in all reality, it's just indifference. Leave me alone, Dax, and keep your confessions to yourself.” God, Naomi. Harsh, much? I know that the words I'm saying are a little intense, but I'm emotionally tapped out right now, and it doesn't look like I'm going to be let out of the ring anytime soon. I don't need Dax adding anything else to the mix.

“Oh? Huh. Seemed like you were more than willing to spill your heart out for Turner.” I ignore Dax's words, refusing to get drawn into an argument. Why bother? What's the point? I sweep Hayden's hair away from her face, pulling back the pale hazelnut locks to keep them from getting covered in puke. The less mess I have to deal with, the happier I'll be. When she leans too far forward and smacks her forehead against the faucet, I can't hold back a smirk. “Fine. Don't talk to me. Ignore me.” I hear rustling behind me and soon Dax's hand is coming up over my shoulder and flashing something in my face. “But you might not want to ignore this.”

The item clatters to the countertop next to Hayden and footsteps sound down the hall behind me. Before I pick it up, I stick a cigarette in my mouth and lift Hayden up by the shoulders, pulling her skirt up and pushing her down on the toilet. I leave her there to do whatever it is she needs to do and pause for just a second to pick up the small, round object. As I exit the bathroom, it takes me a second to register the sight.

The piece of plastic cupped in my palm has eyes and hair. It's a head. A doll's head. And inside of it, a business card with the address of the clinic in Tulsa.

The cigarette falls from my mouth and hits the floor, my stomach churns, and my hand clenches tight. When I open my fingers, there's nothing left but shattered bits of plastic.





I'm so fucking pissed right now.

I get onstage and I scream my rage into the microphone; the crowd goes mad wild. Chicks throw their bras and panties at me; dudes start fighting in the mosh pit. Everything just goes crazy. My energy becomes their energy and soon the whole room is a roiling mess. When I'm done, I throw my mic to the floor and kick it offstage – the speakers screech and Milo intercepts me on my way out.

“Don't fuck with me,” I tell him as I try to get ahold of my emotions, to understand them. I run my hand through my hair as sweat pours down my face, soaks my shirt, just fucking drenches me. I want to pace back and forth, like a tiger in a cage. Behind me, the crowd is yelling for an encore. Fuck them. I'm trembling with rage, and I'm pretty sure that the next words that come out of my mouth aren't going to be so pretty. Best I don't screw up my career over some chick.

Naomi.

That's how I've got to fucking think about her, how I always should've thought about her. I don't know when things turned different. Because I thought we were connected somehow? I don't friggin' know. Whatever it was, it was a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment. I let that itch under my skin turn into a raging fire that's ripping me apart from the inside out.

“Turner, I don't want you doing anything you might regret,” Milo says, and I spin around, more than willing to take my frustration out on my manager. His pale blue eyes stare calmly back at me, but his hands are shaking and his tie is loose and crooked. He's scared. I don't know if he thinks I'm going to hit him, or if I'm going to storm out of here and make an ass out of myself. Whatever the reason though, he has a right to be afraid. I'm this close to exploding right now.

“What do you know about any of this?” I ask, getting up in Milo's face. He's shorter than me, blonde and pale, wispy. Not very intimidating. “Just do your fucking job and play damage control, got it? I own you, remember? Want to keep your fucking job? Then clean up the shit I leave for you.”

With that, I turn away and shove past Treyjan who's watching me with nervous eyes, out the doors, through the darkness.