Nocturnes (20 page)

My stomach might be better, but the rest of me isn’t. This is one of those times in life when you know you gotta deal with some seriously heavy shit, and you’re just finding convenient ways to put it off for as long as you can.

A rolling bass line permeates the walls like a heartbeat, giving the studio life. Drums join in. Then Toombs on guitar.

He’ll be so fucking disappointed when he finds out I snuck vodka. I can lie to any number of people—look them right in the eye with a straight face and never think twice about it. I’ve done it to girlfriends, my parents, bandmates, even Jillian. But Toombs is the only one I feel guilty about.

Then don’t let him find out.

I throw a little spring in my step, paint on a fake smile, and bury the lie deep under my skin so he won’t see it on my face.

When I return to the recording room, I grab my guitar, plug in, and weave some audio magic with flawless precision and rampant emotion. I take all the anguish and self-hatred inside me, contort it, and reshape it into something it’s not: a happy little tune about the beauty and simplicity of love.

Head lowered and covered by my shaggy locks, I’m glad no one can see the bitch-ass tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

Side B: “Piece of My Heart”

Shortly after eleven o’clock that night, I slip though the employee door to the alley outside Nocturnes and rush toward my car parked a few blocks away. I keep my wavering control under a tight rein until I settle into the front seat and switch on the ignition.

Water flows down my cheeks and splatters on my torn white stockings. I back out of the lot and point the car toward my loft, alternating between banging the steering wheel at stoplights and smearing tears out of my eyes.

I did it. I don’t know how the hell I got through it, but I managed to fuck a guy for twenty grand and pretend like it was no more taxing than a trip to the grocery store on double-coupon day. In reality, it was more like being gangbanged by demons on the ninth plane of hell, complete with hydrochloric acid-based lube, a cheese grater-skinned cock, and a pair of venom-tipped, spiked balls.

And that was just the sex part.

I’m not sure there’s enough therapy and Prozac in the world to make me ever forget what I did. Or to forgive myself.

While I moaned and groaned and screamed through fake orgasms under the client’s thrusts, I saw Rax’s face.

My chest hurts—physically
hurts
—at the thought of cheating on him with a client.

It’s not cheating. Rax knows this is your job. He’s seen you in action. Fucking people is what you do. At least, when you’re not onstage.

I wish I’d never left Jacksonville. I’d never have lost my ring or had this awful string of back luck. I could’ve lived my life in poor, blissful ignorance and just told Mama’s and Papa’s ghosts I did the best I could to be famous for them.

Maybe things would’ve been different with Rax too. He said he tried to sweep me off my feet in Jacksonville, and I refused. What if he’d come back for me, and I’d followed him to his tour bus? Would we be together right now, living on the road—him a crazy musician, and me his hot girlfriend?

Shit, I don’t even know what kind of music he plays. Shows how interested I was in his career.

Why am I delving deeper into this topsy-turvy mess inside my head? Why am I killing myself with guilt over a guy I hardly even know? An alcoholic one at that.

I rub my eye as I pull into my parking space at the loft. I need a long, hot bath in the Jacuzzi—

Nope. No Jacuzzi.

Shower.

Once inside, I lock the door behind me and strip. The disgusting, torn, and sticky white angel outfit goes straight into the nearby trash can. If my fire alarm would let me get away with burning it, I’d set that thing alight in my kitchen sink and roast marshmallows over it. I pause to set my clip-on earrings on the table, and Mama and Papa catch my eye.

Picking up the picture of the three of us, I recall the day it was taken. We were at an after-party for a ballet I’d wrapped. My first and only big one. Mama had gotten up with me religiously every morning for months to take me to the studio before school so I could practice.

You mustn’t forget your studies, Eve. Ballet is important, but school is even more so. Dancing isn’t everything.
The glint in her eye shines through the years of the aged image into the sadness of my present.

That’s not what Papa says.
I grinned at her.

Your papa is a fool
. Mama always said that about him.

A silly dreamer of a fool.
I added my voice to hers in the sweet, familiar, singsong harmony we often shared. Then we laughed together, forming a totally different kind of harmony—the familial one that bound a loving daughter to the mother she looked up to.

My life would’ve been so different if my parents had lived. I might have turned out more like a real angel instead of this deceptive, hollow excuse for one.

I glance down at myself. The biohazardous remnants from my meeting with the client in Hell remain fresh and crusty on my skin. Along with some new bruises.

Definitely time to shower.

I head to the bathroom, turn the dial, and step under the hot spray. Though I use plenty of soap, I can’t get clean enough. After thirty minutes of scrubbing, I give up, towel off, and don my robe. I brush my teeth twice and return to the living room.

Three taps on the door throw my ticker into overdrive. I look through the peephole. Rax. The fast-pumping organ engages warp speed.

Tightening the sash on my robe, I huff in some air and let it go. I open the door.

Rax’s eyes are glazed, and a fresh set of purple and blue splotches covers his cheek. He leans against the jamb. “Hi.” Alcohol thins his breath.

So, he got into another fight with someone. Why am I not surprised? Rax is pure, unadulterated trouble. I hitch my hands to my hips and plump my words with a little extra sass. “Come to say goodbye since you forgot to this morning? Or did you leave something here?” Like my scattered, covered, and smothered heart I wish he’d just go ahead and relieve me of.

He doesn’t answer right away. After a few seconds of silent study, he says, “Can I come in?”

“No.” He’s lit, banged up, and I can’t deal with any more shit than what’s already overflowing the confines of my plate.

He drops his arm as if it weighs fifteen tons and slinks backward. “Okay. I won’t come back.” He turns away, a sweaty, dejected, drunk mess of a man, and throws over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Eve.”

My mouth hangs open as I watch him stumble through the darkness toward the street, head lowered, swinging his arms, and kicking stray rocks.

I shut the door and lean against the wood.

Don’t even think about it, Eve.

Hell, yes, I’m thinking about it.

I stride down the hall to my bedroom and throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. How can I let him go like that? He’s shit-faced and who knows what else. The least I can do is give him a ride home.

Stupid, stupid girl.

I rush out the door and hightail it to the corner where a honking horn stops Rax from stepping straight into a car’s grille.

He flips out his middle finger and yells, “Fuck you, asshole.”

Tires squeal, the horn toots again, and the car drives off. I run over to Rax and grab his arm.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you so drunk you can’t even see a pair of headlights coming straight for you? Stupid fucking idi—”

His lips descend on mine like rain, showering me with cool calm, washing away my anger and worry for his safety. Hands grasp my belt loops, drawing me closer with each breath until our jeans touch and set off fireworks inside my denim. I know he’s staring at me through the kiss, and I can’t possibly look at him for fear he might send some crazy love virus through our connection, like a Trojan horse intent on breaking through my defenses and turning on me when I least expect it.

But these lips, the subtle sweep of tongue, and the thudding beats inside his chest—they’re all for me. The kiss confirms it without a shadow of doubt.

When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to discover his are closed. Even more surprising is my reaction. I’m hurt. For no good goddamn reason.

He said he didn’t want to miss a second of me. Why is he shutting me out, when he’s the one who came to me?

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead with trembling lips. I can’t tell if he’s having more withdrawals or if his emotions are that unbalanced. I kind of hope it’s both.

I cup his cheek. “Why’d you come back, Rax? I told you to stay away.”

Leaning into my hand, he kisses my palm. A current of electricity sizzles up my arm. When he settles his gaze on mine, a conduit opens behind his blue irises. The ensuing flood nearly knocks me over.

“I can’t stay away from you, Eve. I can’t fucking do it.” He clenches my hand within his, and I hug him tightly. “I needed to see you one more time.” My shoulder muffles his words, but I get the message loud and clear.

He’s so warm and big and right. Exactly the forgiveness I need after my hell day at work.

Thanks for murdering my defenses, Rax. How can I say no to you?

“Come on.” I tug him toward the loft. “Tell me what happened to your face. You didn’t go back to Nocturnes, did you?”
God, please say you didn’t.

A deep breath in. “No.”

“Well, what then? Who did this to you?” I stop him and skim my fingers over the angry bruises on his cheek. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s got to hurt, even as gentle as I am.

He faces me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. It does.” I soften my voice. The last thing I need is for him to let me in, but I can’t deny his tug on my heart. He came here for a reason. It’s got to be something more than him wanting to see me. I have to know.

He looks at something behind me and fidgets.

“Rax?”

“My best friend. He wants me sober.”

“So, he punched you?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, that’s some best friend. Tough love, I guess.”

“Something like that.” His tone tells me there’s much more to this story than he’s letting on.

Scanning the parking lot for any strange cars that seem out of place, I lead him into my unit. You can’t fault me for being paranoid after Rico threatened me repeatedly about staying away from Rax. Not to mention Charlie’s warning.

We go inside, and I grab a water bottle from the fridge. Handing it to him, I say, “Tell me what happened with your friend.”

He accepts the bottle and sits. “I’m not here for that. I don’t need a priest or a confessional. I’m here for you. I’m here because I need you.”

My pulse skyrockets. Pretty damn sure I need him just as much.

I join him on the sofa, sitting close but not touching. “Okay then, what can Lola do for you?”

His eyes flash. “I came to see Eve. I’m not interested in Lola anymore.”

Gulp.
“Rax, you know who I am and what I do for a living.”

“Yeah. I do. But I also know Lola and Eve are two different people. I thought I wanted to be with Lola, but…I changed my mind.”

“One night of sex changed your mind?”

“No. One night with
you
did. I didn’t even care about the sex. Not saying I regret it. Just…it’s not as important as I used to think it was.”

Oh God. Fuck it. I’ll take a chance. Maybe I can get him to open up if I go first. Or maybe I’ll scare him away for good. Either/or.

“I had sex with a guy tonight for twenty grand.”

I wait for him to choke on his water, to jump to his feet and yell, or stomp out of the apartment in a fury.

He nods.

“Does that bother you?”
Because it bothers the
fuck
out of me.

He bites his lip, and the twin rings glint under the light from the lamp on the side table. “You want the truth?”

No.
“Yes.”

Grasping my elbows, he turns to me, holding me in place. “Fuck, yes, it bothers me. Hell fucking yes.”

The blood pumps faster, delivering an overdose of adrenaline to the far reaches of my limbs. “It’s who I am.”

“I know. That’s why I can’t get mad at you for it.” He lets go of me. “We’re all fucking whores anyway, aren’t we?” He laughs bitterly.

“So, who’s your pimp? Your manager? Your record label? Who owns Rax?”

He smirks and fixes his eyes on the wall. “Booze owns me. My pimp is a hell of a fucking prick.”

“That’s the difference, though. You can get out from under your addiction. You can fight it.”

He whirls on me. “And so can you, Eve. If you want out, then leave. Like kicking an addiction, you have to
want
it. Just saying you’ll get out of that life is total bullshit. Until you mean it—really fucking
mean
it—it’s never gonna happen.” His words take on a frightening intensity.

He’s right.

“So, when is Lola gonna tell her boss to fuck off so Eve can be happy?”

“When I have enough money saved to buy my dream house and live comfortably.”

“Until then, I guess you’ll have to deal with being a whore.” He presses his lips together.

Retaliatory venom poises at the tip of my tongue. I start to protest, but what would be the point? I can’t argue with his logic. Though he just drew a very divisive line in the sand between us. His statement, truthful as it is, hurts.

“If you’re here to insult me, mission accomplished. Is there anything else you’d like to comment on?” I lift my shirt and reveal bare, bruised breasts from earlier. “These maybe?” I stand and lower my jeans to my thighs. “How about this?” I turn and show him my ravaged, black and blue butt cheeks. “Feel free to gloat or say ‘I told you so.’”

Rax closes his eyes for a couple seconds and shakes his head slowly as if trying to wipe out what he just witnessed. He hops to his feet and paces before me. Frantic. Angry. Hurt.

“Goddamn it, Eve.” He gropes a handful of hair on the top of his head and clenches it. Muscles ripple, distorting his sickly colored cheeks.