“Sit down, Josh,” he says as I smirk and bring the coffee to my lips, clinking the mug against the piercings on either side of my lip. “Wipe yourself off and relax.”
“Look, I'm tired of being shit on because I made out with the girl he likes. It's getting old. Besides, she fucking came onto me.” My lips purse and my free hand curls against my thigh, but I keep the anger back. And I am so fucking proud of myself for that. “Besides, he doesn't deserve her anyway.”
“Alright, that's fucking it.” Ronnie reaches out a hand and stops me as I rise to my feet. There's a limit to everything, especially my newfound patience. Apparently, Josh wants to see just how far he can push me before I snap. “I'm tired of listening to this shit.” Ronnie faces me and waits until I'm fully seated before he speaks again. When he does, he sounds tired and worn out, like he could go at any minute. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I don't want to lose another friend. As if he can sense what I'm thinking, Ronnie brings up Travis.
“He's not here to replace him you know.”
“Bullshit.” Ronnie smiles sadly.
“He's not. Nobody will ever replace Travis.” I roll my eyes and try to keep calm, drumming my fingers along the back of the bench.
“Don't start spewing that love all, peace to the masses bullshit, Ronnie.” Josh looks between him and me, face set in a frown. “Travis played bass; Josh plays bass. He's a replacement.” A shitty one. I keep that last bit to myself and get out a smoke. I don't know why I'm trying to sit here arguing loss with Ronnie. He knows more about it than anybody.
“Turner,” he begins, taking the lit cigarette from my hand and forcing me to go back for another. “Can I give you a little bit of advice?” I shrug.
“Sure, why the fuck not.”
“Be careful,” he begins, putting out the cig even though he hasn't smoked it yet. He's getting distracted and his eyes are starting to gloss over with memories. In a few minutes, he'll retreat to the bathroom to shoot up some meth. “With Naomi, I mean. Take this shit seriously, okay? Because once you fall in love, really fall in love, so deep that you feel like you're fucking drowning in it, you'll never be able to find a replacement. Travis was our best friend, and he always will be. Bass or not, he was there in a way that nobody else will ever fill. It's the same thing with love – once she holds that spot, you'll never be able to get it back.” He leans in close to me, and I notice then that his hands are shaking. “Do you understand me?”
“You sound like a fucking fag,” I tell him, but his words make my stomach hurt and my head spin. I know they're true, and they scare the shit out of me.
A knock on the door startles us all out of the conversation, and I'm the first one up, padding across the floor and clicking the lock on the handle. Outside, it's just starting to get dusky, fading from day to night. Our useless fucking bodyguard is missing, but there's a box. I move down the stairs to pick it up and bring it back inside. There's no name on the package which kind of freaks me out. Normally, I'd throw shit like this away. Today, I'm feeling ballsy.
“What's that?” Ronnie asks, getting up from the table to come stand behind me. I shrug as I grab a knife from one of the drawers and slide it under the tape.
“Probably some naked pictures and a few used pairs of panties,” I say with a grin. We've had worse delivered. I unfold the flaps and the grin dies right where it began, melting down my face with a spark of fear and a jolt of rage. Inside the box is Travis Gaborone’s baseball cap.
When I wake up the next morning, I feel like shit.
“Stupid fucking pills,” I snarl as I struggle to sit up and run my hands down my face. Cold air hits my tits, and I realize suddenly that I'm naked and that my headphones are still sitting on my pillow, blasting music into the darkness.
Turner.
So he really did come, then?
I think about the implications of that and then shrug them off. Can't think about that right now. I can't even imagine what would happen if he decided to take all of his energy and focus it one me. I'd never escape. I grab my iPod and switch it off, flinging back the curtain and checking to make sure I'm alone before I scramble out of bed and search for some clothes to throw on. I settle on a green Terre Haute tank, some acid washed jeans, and a pair of black heels. I have no clue what time it is right now, but since I didn't fall asleep until dawn, I can guess that the show isn't too far off. In the distance, I can hear the rumble and murmur of voices, the sounds of trailers being opened, equipment being dragged across the cement. Yep, it's just about that time.
I step into the bathroom and play with my hair, swirling it into a messy bun on the back of my head. A quick slash of eyeliner, some gray shadow and dark lipstick and I'm done. I like to look good, but I'm not a fussy chick. That's Hayden's role here.