And there were two guys helping themselves to food out of the fridge. Just pulling things out and making sandwiches. Even though it wasn’t their house. Who does that? Had they been raised by wolves?
"Hey, it’s the tortured princess."
The girl with the long black hair threw her arm around me. I hate people touching me. And why was she calling me tortured princess? Had Jack called me that? I looked around for him but couldn’t see him. Maybe he was still in the bathroom. That was a nasty thing to call someone.
"Having a good time, princess," she asked then glanced at someone across the room and they both laughed.
"What’s funny?" I asked.
But the girl kept laughing. She looked at me as though she was about to say something then doubled over laughing again.
I squirmed out of her arm and headed to the courtyard, trying to get away from these freaks. I’d get the GPS working on my phone then I could work out a way to get home. I sat on the wooden bench to one side, trying to get a WIFI connection. I had some money in the bank. If I got a cab, I could stop at an ATM and make a withdrawal. It’d be short on money for food for the week but better that than suffering through this night.
The door slid open. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize and I wished whoever it was would go away and leave me alone.
"Hannah. Hey, Hannah." It was Spud. I think of the entire band, Spud hated me the most. Or maybe Jack hated me the most and Spud just copied him. I didn’t even know who hated me the most. I just wanted to go home.
I got up to leave but Spud pulled me back down on the seat.
"Don’t go yet, Hannah. We need to get to know each other."
If he even thought about "getting to know each other" in any sense that involved his body coming into contact with mine, I’d kick him in the balls. This party was shit. I felt like shit. I don’t even know why I was here.
Spud didn’t move any closer though. Instead he pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it. He took a deep drag then handed it to me.
I waved it away.
"Oh, come on, Hannah. Don’t rich girls like you do pot? You into the good stuff, huh?"
I nodded my head.
Okay, now I might sound like I’m lame and all goody-two-shoes but I’ve never done any drugs at all. It’s not a moral thing. Well, maybe it is. See, growing up, going to parties all that, I’d had one idea planted in my head.
If you do drugs, you get caught. And, if you get caught, you end up in the papers and that will cause a SCANDAL.
Of course, the "you" in that sentence wasn’t a general "you" but a very specific me "you". See, when you are richer than most people, you are also of more interest than most people. So, I’d grown up thinking a scandal was the thing I had to avoid most. If you had your name in the paper, it had to be in the business section or the social section. Not the front pages.
"Come on, a tiny tote won’t hurt you. Might relax you a bit, you are all tense."
I crouched on the edge of the seat, my hands fidgeting in my lap. Through the doors, I could see Jack and the black-haired girl watching me and laughing.
Screw them. Screw everyone. I took the joint from Spud and took a big drag on it.
Then I coughed. And I coughed. I thought my lungs would come up my throat and splatter all over the ground. Spud slapped me on the back.
"That’s the way, Hannah."
I stood up and walked into the kitchen. I had to make my way through all those people but my legs suddenly felt so heavy that I was aware of each movement of each step, each section of my foot rising from the ground. I had to be walking in slow motion but I focused on the kitchen.
Suddenly, everything just seemed so funny. The guy with an earring stretching a big hole in his ear. Hilarious. The girl talking in the high-pitched voice. Too funny.
The world had gone fuzzy and blurry around the edges.
I found a glass and poured myself a water and then wrapped my hands around it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. I made my way back to the couch and sat down very carefully, not wanting to spill my water.
A couple sat on the other couch drinking from teacups. As I watched them pour from the teapot, I realized it wasn’t wine.
"What are you drinking?" I asked, but my voice felt thick and heavy as though it wasn’t coming from me but from somewhere behind a heavy curtain.
"Wine," they answered.
And I giggled because it seemed so clever yet at the same time so pointless.
Then I noticed the cup of coffee I’d not drunk sitting on the coffee table. It stared at me with evil intent. I couldn’t look at it. I had to avert my gaze. If I looked at the cup of coffee, it would know I hated it and didn’t want to drink it. It would draw me in and try to doom me.
Instead I watched the lights on the DVD player. They looked so pretty. I’d never noticed how pretty lights on a DVD player were before. They spelt out words. If I kept watching them, maybe they’d spell out a message…
Eric sat down beside me. I felt like we’d merged and become one. He didn’t need to speak, we didn’t need words between us. We could just know each other’s thoughts. He rubbed my shoulder but it wasn’t like his hand and my shoulder but just an extension of each other. Joined together in this wonderful blurry haze.
"Are you okay, Hannah?" he asked.
As soon as he asked that, it all fell apart. I wasn’t part of him at all. That had been a trick. He was there and I was here and my brain felt so confused. I didn’t even know if I could trust him.
I tried to tell him I was fine but the words felt too thick to come out my throat so I just nodded.
"Well, if you need anything, let me know."
Then I thought about it. Why did Eric think I needed help? Maybe I didn’t look fine. Maybe I looked terrible. That’s why people kept staring at me. I had something wrong with me.
I should ask someone. But who could I ask?
I reached for the glass of water but my arms had been weighed down with bricks. They weren’t my arms. They were someone else’s. I had to think straight. I had to get back to my sane, rational sense. But all I just wanted was to curl myself into a ball so no one could see me or do anything to me. When I looked up, everyone stared at me. If they didn’t stare, they weren’t staring on purpose.
If I didn’t get out of here soon, someone would talk to me. And I couldn’t let them do that. I had to move without anyone noticing.
There were steps going up to a loft. If I could get up there, I’d be safe. But how could I do that without anyone noticing?
Then the doorbell rang. It was the police. Oh my god, what could I do? I’d be busted. I knew this would happen. I just knew it. I had to get away.
Nobody seemed to panic but I had a moment of clarity. I was the only one who could sense this impending doom. I couldn’t warn them, I just had to save myself.
My heart pounded crazy fast. It drowned out the music and the talk. All I could hear was my heart. People had to be looking at me. They had to be able to hear it too.
If I ran, it’d only draw attention to me. If I sat here, I’d get busted. Then everyone seemed to herd around the doorway so I took my chance and bolted for the stairs.
As I reached the top, I smelt pizza. It smelt so good. I wanted nothing more than a slice of pizza. I didn’t eat pizza but right now, I’d kill a man for a slice. There was one thing I wanted more though and that was to be alone.
I opened the door to one of the rooms but didn’t turn on the light. If I turned on the light, people would know I was there and they’d come for me. The police downstairs, the pizza police, they’d know.
I fumbled around until I found the wardrobe. I opened the door and felt something warm and comforting. A lambswool jacket. Perfect. It would protect me from the pizza police. I put it on then kicked the shoes on the bottom of the wardrobe into a pile and curled myself into a corner, well hidden behind the clothes. The door wouldn’t close properly so I tried to pile the shoes around
me to form a barricade.
I must have fallen asleep for a while because the next thing I knew light filtered in though the crack in the wardrobe door and I could hear people moving. They couldn’t find me in here, not with the jacket wrapped around me. I’d just stay really quiet and they’d go away.
Bedsprings creaked like someone had sat down on them and I heard muffled voices and a moan. These people weren’t looking for me; they were up to something else entirely.
I had to get out of here but, if I left the wardrobe, they’d see me. The moans increased and I knew I was trapped.
Then I heard a zipper.
Followed by slurping sounds. Oh. My God. No. Not that. I pulled the collar of the jacket up over my ears, hoping to block out the sound. Maybe they’d be finished soon. It helped until the voice started. The unmistakable voice of Jack Colt muttering, "yeah, babe… oh yeah…"
My stomach lurched like something lived inside it. It was like I’d gotten stuck inside a bad porno. Yet, despite myself, I could feel a stirring inside me. Heat rising between my legs. Part of me wanted to move so I could see through the crack in the door but I didn’t want to make a noise. My nipples hardened against the fabric of my bra and I squirmed in discomfort as the timbre of his voice deepened.
This was all a dream. It was part of the drugs and the booze. I could just ignore it and it’d go away. But the squeak of the bedsprings got louder and the sharp deep breaths and that obscene slurping.
My stomach lurched again. As I struggled to stop the part of my brain that wanted to enjoy this, it made the nausea rise in me. My belly contracted harder and that horrible choking feeling started in my neck. I tried to hold it back but there was no stopping it. Luckily, I had a bucket nearby. The rush of booze shot out of me and into that container. As I hugged it tight, someone screamed and the wardrobe door burst open. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a bucket but a cowboy boot. And then everything went black.
Chapter 7
When I woke up the next morning, I had no idea where I was. The sun streamed in the window breaking my head in two. If I put my head back under the covers, it would all go away. I grabbed the pillow and put my head under the blanket. It smelt good. Lemony and spicy. I could stay there in that lemony, spicy cocoon forever and I'd not have to face anything.
I could hear banging from somewhere out there, like someone cooking. I wanted a glass of water but I couldn't think of a way of getting it without anyone seeing me. Bits of the night before raced back into my head, although I tried to push them away.
I edged my foot out of the bed then realised I was naked.
What the hell had happened? I'd passed out and now I was naked? And where were my clothes? I'd be a prisoner in this room until someone came to dress me. Maybe that was their plan – they'd plied me with alcohol and drugs then taken advantage of me and maybe intended hold me to ransom or least try to get out of the contract. It hurt my head just to think about that.
Then I heard a knock at the door.
Was there anywhere in the room I could hide? The wardrobe. No. Not the wardrobe.
"Want a cup of tea?"
It was Eric.
"I guess." I couldn't hide there forever and I'd rather face Eric than Jack Colt any time. I pulled the sheet up tight under my chin but heard him walk away.
I sat up and arranged the blanket to make sure I was fully covered. My eyes had de-blurred enough so that I could focus on my surroundings. Rock posters covered the walls, a few of them curling off at the edges where they'd started to unstick. A bunch of guitar magazines and old pizza boxes surrounded the bed. Clothes piled out of the wardrobe onto the floor, mostly t-shirts and jeans but I could see an expensive-looking leather jacket hanging up and those biker boots didn't come cheap either. I assumed this was Eric's room since he was the one making tea but that didn't seem like the sort of stuff he'd have laying around. And somehow, he seemed like he’d be much neater.
Eric knocked again and walked in with the cup of tea.
"Wow, you look… well, you'll feel better after this."
He sat on the edge of my bed.
"Umm, Eric… do you know where my clothes are?" I kind of choked the words out. Is there are classy or elegant way to ask where your clothes have disappeared to after a night of drinking? If there is, I don't know it.
"I'll bring them up for you. They are in the dryer. You kinda… well, you were sick last night…"
"You put my dress in the dryer?" I jumped then realised my boob was showing. I quickly pulled up the blanket. "That dress is dry clean only. It's pure linen. It'll be wrecked."
"I'm sorry. I thought it'd be best to wash it straight away…" Eric covered his mouth and looked so upset, of course I couldn't be angry.
"That's okay. You didn't know. And at least it's clean now, right. I need something to wear home."
Eric smiled.
"Did I really throw up? That's so gross." I picked up my cup and sipped the tea.
He nodded.
"On myself? Please tell me it was just on myself and that I didn't throw up everywhere. Oh God."
He didn't meet my eyes. I'd obviously made a big vomitty mess and he'd had to clean it up. Then I remembered. The boot. Oh, hells no.
"I'm so sorry. You must hate me. And you even put me to bed after that and let me sleep here."
"It's not my bed. And it wasn't me…"
I’d meant to act like a dingbat not a teenage girl on her first bender.
Before I could say any more, someone bashed roughly on the door.
"Is she out of there yet? I need to get my gear."
Jack Colt.
He walked into the room and threw my clothes on the bed.
"Hurry up and get out. You must have things to organise – like a gig at the Metropolis."
I stared at my teacup. I really hoped that somewhere, in amongst those leaves was a shred of my dignity that I could reclaim. I couldn't find it.
Jack grabbed some papers from the desk and walked out without a glimpse at me. I gulped down the tea.
"I'll leave you to get dressed," said Eric, standing up.
When he'd gone, I gingerly got out of bed. One foot out and then the other. I hadn't asked him who'd undressed me but if Jack Colt had carried me up there, he'd seen enough. I wanted to die. Throwing myself in the bay with rocks tied to my feet seemed like a great idea.
I put on my lingerie, which had survived the washing process intact, then looked at my dress.
The red fabric had turned motley shades of pink, like some cheap hippy tie-dye. Still, it would cover me until I got home. I pulled it over my head but it got stuck. Either I'd put on a stack of weight overnight or the dress had shrunk. Did I mention this dress had cost a small fortune? I didn't want to say anything. I didn’t want Eric to feel bad but I could not leave the house wearing that dress. I needed to do something.
I found a t-shirt on the floor that at least covered my knickers. That would do so I could get downstairs and ask Eric for a loan of something to wear home. I dunno what but he was pretty skinny. Maybe he had a pair of jeans that I could tighten with a belt.
Black Sabbath it said across the t-shirt, whoever they were.
I stumbled downstairs to the lounge room I vaguely remembered.
Eric sat at the table working on his laptop while Jack Colt sprawled on the couch strumming his guitar.
I expected the place to be a mess after the party but you’d have not noticed that people had been here. Not even a stray glass lying around. No wondered I’d heard noise from the kitchen. Eric must have worked his butt off cleaning this place.
The place had an industrial charm but it was freezing cold. Didn't they have central heating? I stood in the middle of the room, shivering, about to ask for something else to put on.
"My Sabbath shirt? Get it off! Now!"
"I had nothing else to wear. My dress shrunk." I pulled at the hem of the t-shirt, trying to cover more of myself while Jack Colt’s glare burnt through my skin
.
"I don't care. Take it off."
"I'm sure as hell not stripping off here."
He went back to strumming the guitar. "Well, it's not like we haven't seen it already."
I ran back up to the bedroom and threw myself on the bed. Maybe the dress would go on if I tried really hard? I pulled it over my head and wiggled myself but could not even get it over my shoulders.
"Are you okay? I bought you up some other clothes." Eric came in with a bundle in his hands. He held up a dress. A totally shabby dress – black stretch fabric, giving the image of cheap whore.
"Thanks, that'll be fine." Beggars can't be choosers and I needed to leave. I didn't even want to think why he had a slut dress just hanging around the house. No doubt from a floozy that Jack Colt had hanging around. They probably had a store of underwear and all kinds of things.
I stripped off the t-shirt and pulled on the dress. It seemed a bit baggy around the boobs and I wished I had a jacket or something to put over it. I looked for my shoes but they must’ve been downstairs, and wished I had something to tie my hair back with.
When I got downstairs again, Jack Colt had gone. Eric drew me a map showing how to get to the train station, complete with directions. He was such sweet guy. I didn't want to mention that the cheap polyester of the dress was giving me hives or that it crept up at the back but, before I left, he told me to wait a minute and grabbed me a jacket to wear so I didn't get cold.
On the way to the station, I grabbed a coffee then remembered I had to pay rent. I went to the ATM and got the last $500 from my bank account. Angie had said we had work today and that Friday was payday. It wouldn't be much but it'd be something to add to the stash. Some weeks, she'd said, you get a few full days and it makes for a decent pay cheque but sometimes it was just a few hours. Maybe an extra $50 or so.
I put the money in my purse and looked longing at the pastries in a bakery window before I got to the station.
Once I got on the train, I felt sleepy. Since it was after rush hour, the carriage was half empty and I had the seat to myself. It actually wasn't that far from Eric and Jack's place to mine, Eric had explained but, because of the way the trains worked, I needed to go right into the city and back out again. I hated public transport. I hated that smell that sunk into the seats from thousands of unwashed butts. I hated the glare of the sun coming in the windows that you couldn't escape and the noise hissing out of a hundred iPods with cheap headphones. A couple of gangly teenagers swung from the rail on the roof of the train, their pants hung down showing their knickers, and an old man gave me sleazy looks.
Bad Boy Rock Star Page 5
