Whatever it is that she wants, it's going to be bad. I just know it.
Without asking questions, I follow Hayden into the back and watch as she makes herself comfortable on my bed, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a small container. From inside, she picks out a hit of acid and places it under her tongue.
I put my hands on my hips and watch her carefully, examining her from head to toe in case there's something I should be clueing in on. She's got on enough makeup that she looks like she's ready to start work over on second street, and the pink tank she's got on is see through enough that I can see her nipples. Classy.
“What?” I ask her. I'd like to get this over with before she starts tripping and ends up with hallucinations of demons trying to rape her. God, I hate it when this bitch is shit faced. She's a real train wreck, almost worse than when she's sober.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“No,” I say automatically, although I already know that I'm going to do it. I touch a hand to my belly and refuse to think of Turner Campbell. “What?” Hayden sits up suddenly and her eyes shift from side to side like she's paranoid or something. Or maybe she took drugs I don't know about earlier in the morning. Who the fuck cares?
“Tomorrow night, you're going to sing for me,” she says and my eyebrows shoot straight up to my hairline.
“What?” Hayden wanting to not only give up the spotlight entirely, but give it to me? What the fuck is going on here? “You're tripping hard. I'll come back later.” I start to walk away, but she reaches out and wraps her fingers around my wrist, reminding me of Turner's strong grip and the feeling of his hard body pressing against mine. My nipples harden instantly, and I tear myself away from Hayden.
“Do this for me, and I'll stop,” she says, sitting up and then leaning over so that her head nearly touches the bed and the rumpled, black sheets. “I'll stop holding … that … over your head.” She snaps her gaze up to mine, and her blue eyes are desperate, coated with a fine sheen of wetness. “America is going to flip out if she … ” Hayden sits up suddenly and glances around me, but our manager is off composing a Tweet or some shit and isn't here to eavesdrop. Spencer's music from up front trickles back and gives us even more privacy. “I need you to keep her distracted until it's too late, until you get onstage. Just tell the crowd I'm on the rag or something.” I wrinkle my nose at her.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” I say to her, plating my hands on my hips, feeling bruises there, indents where Turner's fingers claimed me. I drop my hands to my sides. “I do this, and you stop ordering me around? Stop asking me to clean up your puke? That sort of thing?”
“You're home free,” she whispers, and while I don't exactly like her tone, what can I say? This is too good to be true. I've been Hayden's bitch for years now. To be free would be … I can't even express the emotion in words.
“How do I know you're telling the truth?” I ask her and watch as she rises to her feet, moves across the hall and digs under her pillow. When she reemerges, she's got a photo clutched in her hand. Hayden takes a deep breath and presses it to her boney chest. For a second there, she looks terrified, but I figure it's just the acid and don't worry about it. I wonder if I should.
“You've got my word, Naomi.” Hayden searches my face for a long moment, pupils dilating rapidly, breath coming faster and faster. “You've been a good friend,” she tells me, and I have to admit I'm stunned as shit to hear that. It's the first time she's said something nice to me since we graduated high school. Or rather, since she graduated high school. Me, I'm just a loser fucking dropout. “I know I haven't treated you right, and I'm sorry. I just wanted to keep you around, and I was afraid if I stopped teasing you, you'd go.” I stare straight at her and don't say a word.
When she finally presents me with the photograph, when I look down at it and see the image that's burned to film, I throw up in my mouth a little.
“Oh, fuck.”
I am trashed as shit, but not from the coke, from Naomi Knox.
My head hangs over the sink and my hands curl with rage. At her, at myself, at whoever gets in my fucking way. I've already ripped Josh a new one today, and Milo … Well, let's just say that he's been avoiding me like the plague, hasn't knocked or bitched once, and I've been in the bathroom all night fucking long.
“Dude, some of us need to shower.” It's Treyjan, of course. Nobody else has the balls to talk to me when I'm like this. I feel hungover from Naomi. She's in my blood now. And I thought I was going to be able to get her out of my system. A harsh laugh tears its way out of my throat before I rip open the door and shove Trey back hard. Nothing against him, but when I get upset, I fight. It's a condition that was pounded into my blood from my useless mom and her boyfriends.