Twisted(113)

Jazz just played her part, even going back to back with Nick on “Ripcord” as Gray always did. Having those firm shoulders behind her offered her a place to sag when she wasn’t sure she could go on another second. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her hair. The lights seemed way too bright, hazing her vision. Her arms vibrated from the unfamiliar stress of playing, and her whole body felt sore from crying. She tried her hardest to lose herself in the music, to let the hard, driving beats of the songs she loved carry her away, but there was no song that could distract her from the montage of terrifying images rolling through her mind.

Gray, hurt and bleeding. Those beautiful eyes forever closed. When the pictures hit her, stealing her breath and a cry from her throat she couldn’t swallow back, Nick was there, dragging her through the songs with him, willing her to play. His solid form at her side helped her forge on when she didn’t think she could pluck another note. When her voice ran hoarse because she was using all of her energy to try to hold back her sobs.

“You’re doing fucking amazing,” he whispered in between songs, nudging her arm in his version of a fistbump.

She shook her head, so disappointed in herself that she would’ve been on the verge of tears even without the Gray situation. She heard every missed note and hated that her fingers weren’t as fast as they’d once been. Years ago she could’ve handled this setlist without difficulty.

Tonight she was a liability.

“You are. Keep your eyes on mine and keep playing for Gray.”

She did, because she had no choice.

At the end of the show, after they’d played their final encore and taken their bows, she rushed backstage to dig out her phone. She’d latched onto the hope that maybe he’d called her during the time she was onstage. Perhaps he’d even made it back to the cabin or their apartment. Band camp was technically over as of today, but she and Nick couldn’t go back to the apartment when they didn’t know if Gray might return to the cabin. Well, she couldn’t.

Gray hadn’t called.

She didn’t expect Nick to go back to the cabin with her but he did. As soon as the driver dropped them off, he unlocked the door and stood by as she ran from room to room, her momentary hope dwindling once again as it became clear that Gray hadn’t come back. The light she’d left on for him only illuminated that she and Nick were completely, totally alone.

She stayed an extra couple of moments in the bedroom she and Gray had been intimate in, staring at the rumpled sheets and his suitcase. She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and bury her face in his clothes, to make sure his scent never left her for even a moment.

When she couldn’t stomach looking around any longer, she wandered back into the living room and dragged the bands off her braids. She flung them in every direction, not caring where they landed. Her makeup was probably smeared from sweat and tears and she didn’t give a shit.

“Come here,” Nick said from the couch. “You look like you’re going to fall over. You’re too fucking pale.”

She sat next to him, mainly because her feet felt like blocks and she doubted she could make it the few feet to the armchair.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.”

“You need to. I can make you a sandwich.”

“Not hungry.” Truth was, she was starving. It felt like her body was attacking her stomach lining for sustenance.

“If you faint on me, you’re only going to piss me off. Give me five and I’ll make you some bologna and fucking cheese.”

“Nick.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’re going to have to call the police.”

When he swiveled his head to look at her, a sound broke from her throat. “It’s heading toward twenty-four hours. I’ll have to file a m-missing person’s report—”

Saying nothing, he hauled her into his lap. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with dry sobs. She’d reached the point where she couldn’t even cry.

“It’s going to be okay. You have to believe me. My sister said she’d see what she could find out—”

“From her druggie friends. She’d digging through all the popular gutters, right?”

She hated the judgmental words tumbling out of her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the rage that was geysering up in tandem with the gut-curdling panic and misery. She didn’t want to think the worst. The very idea of Gray getting high in some random place—or worse, overdosing—made her want to scream. But what else was she supposed to think?