Time stops, and I swear to God, I feel like my breath is being sucked out of me and swirled around the room, collecting energy from the space around me, so that when it all rushes back in, my chest is so tight that it feels like it's going to burst. I know that people are staring at us now, most of them just as shocked as I am, especially the girls. They've all probably fucked Turner, seen what an asshole he is, so they must know how weird this is for me. But they have no idea how much it hurts.
I reach up my hand to hit him, but he grabs my wrist and holds me back, keeping me at arm's length, so he can study my face and try to pick me apart. I hear applause from out front, and I know that it's almost time for me to go on and take Hayden's place, albeit temporarily, time for me to stand in the light when all I want to do is blend into the dark right now, hide my face and let these feelings wash over and through me.
“You selfish son of a bitch,” I growl at him, yanking my wrist back with such force that I stumble. Behind me, Terre Haute exits the stage and equipment starts being shuffled around like pieces on a chess board. “I can't believe you even have the audacity to say that to my face.” Turner looks confused as shit, like he doesn't understand why I'm not leaping into his arms and giving him my everything. Wow. I thought he was experienced, but really, he's naive. He may have fucked a lot of girls, done a lot of drugs, had a hard life, but he knows nothing about love. Nothing at all. “You wouldn't know what love was if it bit you in the face, Turner.” He narrows his eyes at me, frustrated that this isn't going the way he wanted. Well, fuck him. This is just the way it's going to be, the way it has to be. “Get this stupid idea out of your head and move the fuck on.” I start to turn away, but he grabs onto my elbow and pulls me back, spinning me around so quick it makes my head spin. He lets go of me right away, but that doesn't stop Dax and Wren from grabbing him and pulling him back, holding him still while he tries to meet my eyes and explain something that he doesn't understand.
“I know that you're interesting to me, and you don't take my shit. I know that I remember you even though I shouldn't.” Turner jerks his arms out of Dax's and Wren's grip, flicking himself in the side of the head for emphasis.
And fuck. There it is. There it fucking is, all of that passion and heat and intensity, focused right on me. I feel like Turner's just put a magnifying glass up to the sun and focused its rays down on my head. I feel dizzy and sick, and my ears are throbbing and America is screaming about Hayden. I start to shake violently.
“It's starting to come back to me, you know? Like, all the lurid fucking details.” He stares at me hard, just locks onto me and won't let go. “You gave me a blow job in an elevator, huh?” I close my eyes and count to ten. I'm not embarrassed. Why should I be? I just can't stand to listen to him recount that night right now, not before I go onstage and have all those eyes on me, focusing, judging. “Images have been flashing through my fucking brain of a night six years ago where I was so high, I don't even remember getting a tattoo.” Turner points at me and growls, shaking his head like he can't even believe he has to say all this, like I should just be grateful he 'loves' me. Fuck him. “But I remember you. I didn't realize it at first, but I did.” I do my best not to think about that night on the bus when he called me Naomi, and turn away like I don't care at all.
“I've gotta get ready to play,” I tell him, but he isn't here to listen to fucking excuses. He keeps talking, but he doesn't move. He knows that if he does, the boys will be on him and he won't get even a step further.
“There are girls I fucked a week ago that I don't remember. I don't remember their names or what they looked like or what we did, only that there was a woman in my bed. And I'm sorry I didn't remember right away, and I'm sorry that I fucking left, but I'm here now. Fuck the past. The present's all that matters anyway, right?”
I spin back around so fast that my hair gets caught across my face and sticks to my lips. I take a few steps towards Turner, getting so close to his face that when I talk, my mouth brushes his.
“Your past is your foundation, and if it's crumbling, then you've got nothing left to build on.” I breathe out and Turner breathes in, exact opposites. “To start over, you have to create something new, somewhere strong and stable and sturdy or the whole thing will come crumbling down. And Turner, I can't pick up a piece of that old, rotted, fucking wood and make a new house with it, now can I? You had your chance with me. You're done. We're done. Leave me alone.”
“Not a fucking chance,” he tells me, breathes out; I breathe in. Our breath mingles in the hot air for another second before America steps between us, pushing us apart with strong arms and flat lips. It's only then I notice that they're ready for us onstage. Shit.