I stand there in silence and listen to her speech with my cock throbbing and my heart pounding. Sweat is pouring down my face and into my eyes, and my breath is coming fast and shallow, making my vision spotty and blurry. I'm jealous, I admit. Stupid as it fucking sounds, even after her impressive but admittedly hurtful speech, I can only think about one thing.
“What are they?” She stares at me like I'm the craziest person she's ever laid eyes on. Her laugh, when it does come, is harsh and painful.
“God, you're a fucking idiot.” Naomi holds up three fingers. I can't help but notice that they're shaking, too. “You.” She drops one finger against her palm, and I take a step forward, letting flashes of memory flicker over the top of my vision. I can remember her telling me that before, but I didn't get it. I've had lots of girls tell me that in bed. It's just something people say. Honestly, I think she's the only one that ever meant it. “Your baby.” Naomi drops her second finger, leaving only her middle up, so she can flip me the bird. “But I could not, in good conscious, force her to suffer alongside the rest of us.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “And myself. I lost that love a long, long time ago, and I'm only now just starting to get that back. I won't let you take it from me.” She pauses and lets her hand fall to her side, shifting her eyes away from mine. She doesn't stop shaking.
“I wouldn't dare,” I tell her, trying to get her to look at me, but she won't. She flat out refuses to give me the satisfaction. “And I could probably teach you a thing or two about it. If anyone's an expert in loving themselves, it's me.” It's a joke … sort of. But Naomi doesn't laugh. Instead, the words hang in the air like they've been drawn there, etched into the white smoke that drifts lazily around the room. Part of me is aware that I've got to get onstage soon. The rest of me doesn't care. I stand very, very still, and I wait. After what seems like forever, Naomi drops her hand and licks her lips.
“If you're waiting for a declaration of love from me, it isn't coming.” She looks at me and then glances over her shoulder at the bits of broken guitar that were salvaged off the stage and placed inside of a plastic bag. Her manager's holding them now, and she doesn't look all that happy about it. I try to stick to my honesty policy. I figure I sound like a dick anyway, so I may as well just go for it. If you've got nothing to hide, it's a hell of a lot harder for other people to hurt you.
“Nah, baby, right now, I just kind of want to fuck.” If I don't touch her before I go onstage, I'm going to be worse than animalistic. It'll get real ugly, real fast. Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, right? Fucking toxic. Still, I think she's wrong about me. I know love because I know the absence of it, you know what I mean? Like, I know black because I've seen white, something like that. But just telling that to Naomi isn't going to do me shit. I'm going to have to prove it a thousand times over. There's a lot of baggage that has to be dealt with first.
She looks at me with an expressionless mask plastered over her face, then back at her band, then at the door. After a moment, she reaches down and touches her fingertips to the handle. I can tell she wants me just as badly as I want her. When we're onstage together, we just connect. We're like this.
“I don't think that's such a good idea right now,” she whispers, and I hear this whoosh of air, like everybody that's been watching us can finally breathe again. The silence breaks, and the roar of the crowd comes echoing violently out at me. Duet. Duet. Duet. They want Naomi back. Can't say I blame 'em.
“Encore?” I ask her, but my heart is sinking fast, drowning in blood. I feel like I'm sweating excitement out through my pores. I feel like something is happening, but instead of an explosion, it's a whisper. It happens so quietly and discreetly that I hardly notice it. I'm not used to subtlety anymore. I've been living with everything happening in a big way for so long that I miss it. That's my fucking problem. Since there's nothing crashing down around me, I don't notice that anything's wrong.
I should have never let her walk out that door.
“Turner,” she says as pulls the handle down and steps forward. “Fuck off.”
As soon as she leaves, I have a mild freak out and punch the wall so hard that my entire arm goes numb for a moment. If I didn't have a fucking show to do, I'd chase after her. I think she knows that. By the time I get out there, it's going to be too late. The night's fucking ruined. But there's always tomorrow, right? Unfortunately, that's not always true, but I guess I don't realize that yet.
When the crowd starts to chant my name, I snarl deep in my throat and storm that stage, ready to fucking destroy them. They're going to get their money's worth tonight, that's for fucking sure. I lost the battle with Naomi, but I'm going to win the war. Eventually.