Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  Nothing.

  I shouldn’t expect anything else, given our situation, but I really thought we’d made headway toward healing our past last night.

  I guess I’m still the same fool I always was.

  “One more week and then it’s back to a shower big enough to shave my legs in,” Shanae announces more than states. “Did Fria say where she was going?”

  “Nope.” I scoop up my sleep shorts and tank, and head for the tiny bathroom. “My guess is she’ll roll in before we’re due to leave.”

  Considering she wouldn’t shut up the entire setup about breaking her record for how many guys she’d had in one night, my money is on her exacting some fucked up revenge tryst against an Emery who’s no longer here to care.

  If he even would have anyway.

  I prepare myself for bed, and then make my efforts to brush my teeth pointless when I scoop up the uneaten chocolates. Maybe I’m a day late, but surely a session on the PlayStation and some un-needed sugar will shift this cloud?

  Three failed missions later and a stack of empty wrappers that hide the uneaten candy, I admit defeat. My back screams bloody murder, and I can’t concentrate enough to make any real headway in the game. Even the cozy night in I’ve looked forward to for a week did nothing to shift this funk. Why the hell does it affect me, anyway? What do I care if he’s left? I didn’t want him here, to begin with, so I should be relieved. Right?

  One thing is for sure, though: if I want a restful night before we do it all again tomorrow, I need to crack a painkiller before this ache in my back turns into a debilitating migraine.

  I dig through the make-up kit and pull out my old compact. I learned early on touring with other musicians that, even on your own bus, it pays to hide what others might want.

  I click the lid open and stare at the smooth silver of the empty base for an inordinate amount of time before releasing a loud, “What the fuck?”

  “What’s the matter?” Shanae asks, leg swinging over the side of her bunk.

  “Realized I’m out of finishing powder,” I lie, snapping the compact shut.

  “You can use mine.” She sets her tablet aside while I sweat it out.

  The last time I remember seeing them was when I took one the show before this. I had one before we went on and remember thinking that there was enough left to see me through until I can fill my script.

  Before we picked up Emery.

  That fucking goddamn … “Motherfucker,” I breathe. I fist the evidence of my chocolate binge and rise from the sofa. “What were you playing?”

  “This word thing where you have to make as many as possible from a group of letters.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I sass, heading for the trash bin.

  “It makes me feel smart,” she calls after me. “Plus, it’s kind of addictive. Better than spending money I don’t have online shopping, right?”

  I settle with my shoulders against the bunks opposite and nod. “I guess so.” I can’t believe that asshole fleeced me.

  “So?” She taps the button to send the device to sleep and then pops it away. “Are you going to spill why the fuck Fria’s beef with Emery has you so messed up, or not?”

  “I’m not messed up.” My brow pinches. “Not about Fria, anyway.”

  “You’re not okay, though.” Rolling to her side, she props her head on one hand. “You knew him years ago, right?”

  I nod, peeking out at her from under my thinning lash extensions. Just another thing I’ll need to find spare dollars for when I get home.

  “What happened?”

  My breath rushes from heavy lungs. “It was silly.”

  “Silly enough that you’re still thinking about it however long later.”

  She has a point.

  Shanae lifts an eyebrow as though reading my mind.

  “We met on this stupid holiday music camp thing. His parents sent him because they wanted to foster his interest. Mine sent me to get rid of me for three weeks.” I fold my arms, shoulders curling in as I recall how naïve I was. “We became friends.”

  Shanae grins, rolling further to her stomach to rest her chin on the back of both hands.

  “This was before Facebook was how people stayed in touch, right? So, I give him my number, and we stay in contact through text. He’d send me stupid jokes, and I’d tease him about the girls that’d chase him because they just wanted the bad boy.”

  She snorts. “Such a healthy relationship.”

  “Me?” I smirk. “Or the giddy girls?”

  “Both.”

  I roll my eyes before continuing. “Anyway. The back and forth carried on for, like, two years or something before—”

  “Hold up.” Shanae twists herself around so that she’s bent over, perched on the edge of the bed. “Don’t make out you don’t know how long it was; I see it in your eyes.”

  “Fine.” I glare at her. “It was two years and four months.”

  “Knew it.” Her feet hit the floor, and she heads for the kitchenette.

  I follow, taking refuge on the sofa Emery slept on, using two cushions to make a cubby for myself in the corner. Shanae busies herself fixing us a mug of coffee, proving the point on why we need it halfway through the task.

  “What happened next?” she asks on the tail end of a yawn.

  “The texts got less like banter and more …” I screw my mouth up, eyes narrowed while I search for the right word. “Challenging.”

  “You mean, he started sexting you?”

  “No,” I scoff. “That’s the problem.” I pick at an invisible thread on the cushion cover. “They weren’t overly suggestive. They were just more intimate.”

  Shanae turns, frowning. “Explain.”

  “He asked me about my family, and I asked about his. We shared funny memories, as well as stuff that hurt us when we were younger. I guess we developed this level of trust that I totally misread.”

  She hands over my drink, silent while she tucks a leg beneath herself and waits for me to continue.

  “Em asked me once what I wanted in a guy.”

  “Ooo.”

  I lift a hand. “Yeah. Settle down.” Her face drops. “It morphed into what the perfect date would be and how I knew if I really liked someone.”

  “And?” Shanae leans in for the punchline.

  “He took his current girlfriend on the date, instead.” Using the coffee as a shield, I hold it in front of my lips as I explain. “It was how they got together.”

  “Ouch.” Her disbelief is blatant in the peak of her eyebrows.

  “Right? The worst part was, we’d got drunk and had messy sex the weekend before. Finally broken the friend-zone.”

  Her over-exaggerated intake of air would be comical if it weren’t my heartbreak we discussed. “You’ve never told me this before.”

  I nod once before taking a sip of the brew. “Because I was too fucking embarrassed to admit it. I thought Emery was asking me that shit to take me out and have a do-over. But no, he wanted to bury the hatchet by burying us.”

  “Oh, my God, Alice.” Shanae leans back, her face almost blank while she processes the information. “What a jerk.”

  “Yeah. So, I didn’t talk to him for, like, six months after that until he phoned to tell me he’d signed on with Dark Tide.”

  “What happened then? Did he fucking apologize?”

  My hair comes perilously close to dipping in my drink when I shake my head. “He told me to keep in touch because he’d miss his best friend.”

  “You are fucking kidding.”

  “I punched him in the chest and walked away.”

  “He had to say sorry, then. Right?”

  “You realize who we’re talking about?”

  All Shanae can do is sigh. “Asshole.”

  “I think I called him something similar.” No fucking way am I admitting what a desperate idiot I was afterwards. As far as Shanae needs to know, that’s where the story stops.

  A sharp thud at the front of the
bus has us both close to packing ourselves. Shanae and I both whip our heads toward the source of the noise to find Telly stumbling toward the exit.

  “Don’t mind me, girls. Bathroom break.” He ambles off the bus to presumably take a leak behind it.

  “Why doesn’t he just use the actual bathroom?” Shanae muses.

  “I think he feels like he imposes on our space.” My hand drops from where it had clutched my heart. “I seriously forget he’s here sometimes.”

  “I think he does too.”

  We both erupt into peals of laughter, totally drowning out the sound of him re-boarding.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Crap. Not Telly. Fria.

  “Just something we said about Telly,” Shanae explains. She rises from the small sofa, downing the rest of her coffee. “I’m going to bed, bitches. One more week and then we’re home free.”

  “It’s hardly free when you’re still there,” Fria grumbles.

  I study her, looking for tells that she only jokes, but she seems deadly serious. “That’s hardly necessary.”

  I’m met with an ice-cold glare. “I was referring to you.”

  “Hey.” My good mood fizzles with a sting. “If you want to find somewhere else to live, then you’re welcome to.”

  “Ladies,” Shanae calls out from her bunk. “Don’t start.”

  “Maybe I will,” Fria drops with a shrug, completely ignoring our buddy. Alcohol seems to have loosened her up.

  “What the fuck brought this on, anyway?” I know shit got rough yesterday after Emery made her see red, but why take that out on me?

  “You.” She folds her arms, which doesn’t make her look as staunch as she’d hoped in a short, tutu-style skirt.

  “Pardon?” My head rears back.

  “You rip me a new asshole for sleeping with the douche, and then the second I’m out of sight, you’re on him in the parking lot.”

  She was fucking watching. “Firstly.” I rise to my feet. “Who I talk to is none of your business. And second, he approached me. I left so I didn’t have to hear you recall the exact girth and feel of his fucking dick.”

  “Why?” She does that fucking head wiggle thing, one eyebrow raised. “Because you’re jealous you’ve never seen it?”

  “Are you fucking kidding?” Comfy PJs be damned, I snatch up my phone and head for the exit. “You really think I’m jealous you fucked the womanizer?”

  Disclosure: I am. Just not of how it transpired. I’d do Emery again in a heartbeat, but not while he’s with Deanna.

  And not until he damn well apologizes.

  “What else would it be?” Fria hollers after me.

  “Alice,” Shanae moans. “Where are you going?”

  “Out.” I toss both hands in the air, promptly sprinkling coffee over myself. Fuck’s sake. “I don’t know. I just need space to breathe.”

  “Yeah, well, after I move out, you’ll get plenty of that,” Fria snaps, giving me her back.

  I trudge down the steps with a heavy sigh, almost bowling Telly in the process.

  “Everything alright?” he enquires as I breeze by.

  “Perfect,” I snap.

  Just fucking perfect.

  Especially when I light up my phone for the time and see who messaged.

  THIRTEEN

  Emery

  “Situations” – Escape the Fate

  “You aren’t going anywhere, buddy.” I band my arms tighter around Mosaic. “I’m not finished with you.”

  The trip from the airport felt like the longest car ride with Deanna ever. Or should I say, with the devil? I had hoped by getting high for the flight I’d pass out halfway home and be spared her bullshit, but no, she went on and fucking on about trust and communication and all the other holy relationship amendments she only believes in when they suit her.

  And then, forgive me, father, for I fucking sinned.

  I let her inside.

  Rule number one in all slasher flicks: you never let the scarily hot woman inside. I should have known it was a recipe for disaster, but nope. Intoxicated Emery thought it would be fun to see if I could still get it up for her, even though the sight of the bitch makes me want to die most of the time.

  Turns out I could. So, she sucked my fucking soul right out my dick and left me in the studio above my parents’ garage with nothing but a dog that loves me anyway.

  “You’d never do that to me, would you buddy?”

  He lifts both eyes as though to ask, “What the fuck you think?”

  “Gross, Mosaic.” I make a face at his furry one. “Bestiality is not my thing, dude. I meant to be mean to me. You’d never be that horrible to me, huh?”

  Stretching out on top of me, he arches his head back and sighs out his wet nose.

  Even he’s had enough of my shit.

  “Fine.” I release him from his prison. “Off.”

  His claws click on the hardwood floor as he makes his way casually to the overstuffed bed under the window. I debated with getting a dog at first, knowing I’d be away a lot of the time even if my career never did take off. But I haven’t once regretted it. How could I say no to a tri-colored mongrel when he has floppy ears, mismatched irises, and a patch over his eye that reminds me of all the cool cartoon dogs I loved as a kid?

  Rolling myself into a seated position, I dive both hands through my hair and sigh. I should be in bed.; it’s the middle of the fucking night. But I can’t sleep, and I know why.

  Leaving the tour bus wasn’t an option when Deanna’s involved, but going without saying anything to Alice was pretty fucking rude. The woman’s been mad at me the better part of a decade, and I still haven’t figured out exactly why. Least I can do is say sorry for the things I’m aware of now.

  I reach out and snag my phone off the coffee table, weighing it in my palm. What are the chances she even has the same number?

  I could look her up on socials, but that seems less … I don’t know. Intimate? Messaging her through the ‘gram is a rookie thing to do. I want to honor the fact we have a past and be a little more personal.

  I open up a message thread and stare at the blank page. There isn’t any history, that’s how long it’s been. Our messages disappeared when I upgraded my phone to a different brand. For some reason, the white page drops a heavy rock deep in my gut.

  E: What has three legs and an asshole on top?

  I start with one of my favorite lines to rile up Toby. I don’t expect an answer. I half expect some guy to message back telling me I have the wrong digits. Convinced she wouldn’t still be on the same service after all this time, I ditch the cellphone and drag my sorry ass across the room to the kitchenette.

  My night gets worse when I discover Mom hasn’t restocked the beers in my fridge. A sure sign I’m in the fucking dog box about something.

  Mosaic lifts his head when I return empty-handed, ear cocked at the noise my phone makes as it vibrates on the table. Hunger forgotten, I beeline for the device and bring up the reply.

  A: I hope you’re not referring to your dick as a third leg now.

  Fuck her; she makes me snort.

  E: A drummer’s stool, woman. It’s a drummer’s stool.

  I frown and smash out another line before she can reply.

  E: Wait. Did you just call me an asshole?

  A: Perhaps. If the shoe fits …

  My butt hits the chair, and I slouch down to settle in for a while.

  E: I never said thanks for dragging my sorry ass out of the airport.

  She takes a while to respond now that the tone has changed.

  A: Well, I didn’t mind doing you a favor. But … I’m sure you know how the rest of my band feel.

  E: She still got her panties in a twist over it?

  A: You screwed Fria after neglecting to mention Deanna, so, yeah, she has, and she has every right to be mad at you.

  E: Like you?

  I regret sending it the second the message shows received. I shouldn’t bring this up,
especially when I don’t have a clue what the fuck I talk about.

  A: I’m mad at you for other obvious reasons.

  She sends a second text.

  A: Do you even know what you did that hurt me so badly?

  This feels like a trap. Do I admit I have no idea and have been a jerk the past eight years over fuck-knows-what? Or do I uphold the lie and pretend I understand?

  One of the options can only get me so far. Must be time to pick the other, then.

  E: I honestly don’t have a ducking clue. I thought of you like a best friend, and then you just quit on me.

  E: *fucking

  The conversation comes to a grinding halt. I stare at my phone until the screen goes black, and then for what feels like an eternity after. What the fuck did I do? She just up and stopped talking to me one day. There was no fight, no disagreement. Just one second she’s helping me plan my date and the next—

  Fuck. The date.

  E: Are you mad I stole your idea for a date night?

  The thread remains inactive. Mosaic rises from his bed and slowly pads over to where I sit. His large head finds a home on my knee, and he sighs.

  “Yeah, I know.” I absently pat his head while staring out at the dull lights of the neighborhood.

  Fuck-all people are awake at this hour, and I shouldn’t be either. You’d think when I’m fresh off a tour, my bed would seem like heaven. But no. Two reasons I avoid turning in, and only one is because my sheets probably still smell like Deanna’s manipulation.

  The other is that somewhere in the past twelve months, I grew to enjoy the numb being blind drunk brings over the respite of sleep.

  So, rather than strip off and bury myself in fresh linen, I head for the en suite bathroom and proceed to spend the next twenty minutes whacking one off in the shower. With no beers in the fridge that leaves me one option—head back out into the night. And if I plan to do that, then I need to empty my fucking balls and minimize the testosterone likely to fuck with my decision-making skills.

  The last thing I need to do right now is add a third woman to the mess in my fucking head.