Real Ugly(61)

About fifteen minutes before our set, America notices that Hayden isn't around anymore. She was earlier which surprised me since I hadn't seen her all night. She popped in backstage and started bitching about something so inconsequential that I can't even remember what it was about. A few minutes later, right before Terre Haute took the stage, she said she was going outside to have a smoke and never came back in.

When America realizes this, she does what she does best and gets on her phone, making calls and texting Hayden. When that doesn't work, she sends me outside to look for her which, of course, is fruitless because Miss Lee is long gone by then.

I linger outside, just so she'll think I tried. If she doesn't believe I looked hard enough, she'll make me go back out again.

“Hey there, beautiful.” I roll my eyes and turn to face a pair of twinkling brown eyes and an arrogant smirk.

“What do you want?” I ask Turner, doing my best to keep last night out of my mind and away from conscious thought. If I think about it, he'll know.

“To see how you were doing is all. That a crime?” I stare at him, taking in the tight black T-shirt he has plastered against his firm body, the ridiculous pants, the thick, leather boots. If he wasn't so attractive, this whole situation would be a lot easier to deal with.

“No, but breaking into someone's bus and fucking them while they're in a drunken stupor is.” Turner laughs, harsh and loud, and puts the brown beer bottle he's got clutched in his hand up to his lips.

“Oh come on,” he says and then takes a sip. “You think I'm that fucking stupid? That I was born yesterday? I asked your friend, the one with the blonde hair and the blue fingernails to let me in. I figured since he's always sneaking onto my bus at night to screw my driver, that he might be willing to return the favor.”

“So, let me get this straight. You, what, blackmailed Kash into letting you on the bus and then decided it was cool to fuck me while I was high?” Turner just stares at me and the arrogant expression on his face slips a bit, like he isn't quite sure what's going on. What did he expect? For me to throw myself into his arms and tell him what a stud he is? I mean, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy what happened between us last night, but let's be honest, it was a little weird. I keep that thought to myself and just stare him straight in the face.

“Seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself,” he says, finishing his drink and tossing the bottle into the dumpster nearby. His full lips are starting to purse and he looks a little let down. Bad sign. I think about hitting him again just so he'll get pissed off, start swinging, go back to that volatile asshole he was a few days ago. Instead, he just clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides.

“Yeah, well, there are some meth addicts out back, behind the fence near the highway. They're enjoying themselves, too. Doesn't mean it's good for them.” The smallest hint of a smirk rides back up and onto Turner's face, causing his lip ring to catch the moonlight and reflect it into my face. I squint.

“So you're comparing me to meth, huh? Didn't know I was so addictive.”

“Fuck you, Turner,” I say, spinning around to grab the handle of the door. Before my fingers can wrap around the metal, he's touching me, sliding up close and grabbing me around the waist, pressing the heat of my body against his. My heart starts to pump and my hands begin to sweat. This is precisely the last thing I need before I hit the stage. When his lips brush my ear, my elbow goes back automatically and cracks him in the ribs.

A grunt escapes Turner's lips as he stumbles away and then looks up at me like I've lost my friggin' mind.

“What's your fucking problem?” he growls, letting his face wrinkle with anger. Finally. An emotion that I recognize. “You're hot then you're cold, like a fucking tap. What's the matter with you?”

“You,” I tell him, pulling open the door a crack, so I can hear where Terre Haute is in their set. “And you have been for a long, long time. Why can't you just learn to leave things well enough alone? We did our thing and now we're done. Stay away from me.” I start inside and Turner follows, trailing behind me and reaching out to grab my wrist. I spin around and snatch it away from him. “Go away, Turner. I'm warning you.” I know that Dax is probably watching us, America, too. I need to get rid of Turner now, so I can prepare myself to go onstage. This is going to be hard enough as it is.

“No,” Turner says, stubborn as shit, staring at me like he's trying to pick me apart with his eyes. It'll never work. He couldn't figure me out if he tried. He doesn't know me, and he isn't going to. So what if he knows my secrets now? Who cares? He still did what he did to me, still is what he is, will never change. I can't even entertain the thought. The next words out of his mouth blow me away, break me up into little pieces, chew me up and spit me out. Holy fucking shit. “Let me give it to you straight, Naomi. I don't keep secrets. I hate them. They sit inside of you and they eat away at your fucking soul, so I'm just going to come right out with it.” Turner pauses and takes a deep breath, face shadowed in the dimness, cheekbones highlighted by a stray sliver of light that's leaking from the stage. Vaguely, I hear America in the background asking about Hayden, but I don't care. Right now, all of my attention is focused on Turner Campbell and his narcissistic delusions. “I'm in love with you.”