Irresistible Refrain t-1

by Michelle Mankin

  “Stop.” I put my hand on his arm. “You protected me when it mattered. Really. The mess I’m in right now is my own.”

  His brow creased. “I want to help anyway I can.”

  “I appreciate that.” I gave him a tentative smile. “But this is something I have to do for myself and if we’re being honest here I think you’ll admit that you’ve got issues of your own that need sorting through.”

  His head lowered. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Mom really screwed us both up good,” I whispered.

  28

  Arm over my eyes, I lay in my bunk on the bus with the curtain pulled closed. Earbuds in, no music, just static. Endless purposeless white noise just like a life stretched out before me without her in it.

  I hadn’t heard War come on board yet. I knew he was probably still out at the hospital with Lace. That’s where I would be if I was him.

  I love you.

  The sound of her voice saying those words to him instead of me had been going through my brain on an endless loop. Baring my soul to her, exposing the ugly truth about the Morris deal, none of that had changed her mind. I’d always believed deep down that someday we would be together. I’d purposefully kept out of relationships or chosen ones destined to fail, hoping that one day she would be mine.

  But now it looked like I was going to have to figure out how to move forward and start to live a real life without her. I turned over on my side and punched the pillow. Suddenly, the curtain on my bunk slid back.

  Dizzy poked his spiky head into the gap. “You awake, man?”

  “Yeah.” I pulled my earbuds out. “How is she?” I asked even though I knew I had no right, even though I knew I should cut the fucking cord already.

  “She’s in a good place, all things considered,” Dizzy whispered. After a glance behind him, he continued. “Listen, why aren’t you answering your cell? She’s been trying to call you. She wants to talk to you before she gets transferred to the rehab facility.”

  I shrugged, noncommittally.

  “Are you gonna be ok?” Dizzy scratched his head as he studied me.

  “Yeah, just too many hours awake I guess.”

  “Alright. If you say so.” Dizzy didn’t look entirely convinced. “Here’s the number at the hospital anyway.” He handed me a piece of paper. The number on it was in her handwriting. “Call her, ok? She really wants to talk to you.”

  Without waiting for a response, Dizzy slid the curtain back into place and once more I was alone with only my thoughts to torture me. I flipped onto my back and stared without blinking at the silver ceiling of the bus for so long my vision blurred. I wanted to hear that beautiful voice of hers, but what would that accomplish? What was left for her to say? Nothing I wanted to hear, I was sure.

  I crumpled the note in my fist and tossed it at my feet.

  I stared out the window, watching the sunrise above the clipped hedge that lined the perimeter of Second Chances. Outside I could hear the fountain softly gurgling, but inside a torrent of conflicting emotions raged within me. I’d been able to keep my mind occupied while I filled out reams of admission paperwork, met the staff and been shown to my quarters. But now I was alone, overwhelmed, and adrift. I longed for a shot of something to numb the pain. It would be so much easier to escape into the drugs than to face what lay before me.

  Why hadn’t he called? I’d delayed the transfer for over an hour hoping to hear something from him. Anything. A dark wave of emptiness crashed over me, leaving me hollow in its wake. This was even worse than that morning after prom.

  Because now wasn’t a backup plan.

  There was no one waiting in the wings to help. The one I’d always counted on to catch me when I fell was ominously absent and silent.

  And I had no one to blame but myself. I’d pushed him away one too many times. I sank back onto the mattress and lay down on my side, the polyester comforter scratchy against my wet cheek.

  This time I was truly on my own.

  29

  I glared poisoned daggers at War’s back as he walked offstage after our lackluster performance at Miami’s American Airlines Arena. My former best friend and I were no longer on speaking terms. If it wasn’t so pathetically sad, it would almost be comical, the way we communicated now using other people as intermediaries. Though it hadn’t been too much of a problem during the Miami sound check, it had been a big problem during the concert. It was really fucking hard to hit your cues when your lead singer wouldn’t make eye contact.

  After the encore, Dizzy had cursed up a storm and stomped off stage with the latest groupie in tow. From their position against the far wall, King and Sager were continuing to cast dubious glances my way as they conversed with a couple of roadies. Watching War with his arms thrown around a couple a women did nothing to improve my foul mood. How could he do that to Lace when he’d just told her he loved her? Apparently two weren’t enough for our Tempest front man either. He crooked his finger to get the attention of a brunette whose blouse was so low cut I could see her nipples.

  I took another drag on my cigarette as War started making out with all three of them.

  Asshole.

  So intent was my focus that I practically jumped out of my skin when I felt someone lay a hand on my arm. My gaze swept over the curvy form of an ebony haired beauty as her black finger nails traced a line to the center of my bare chest.

  “Bullet,” she purred. “Don’t you wanna get laid?”

  I froze. Sure I did, but not tonight and not by her. I was sick of this fake shit. I might not have Lace, but I wanted something better than that, something real. I looked at the woman again, really looked at her. Behind the outward overtly sexual display, I knew that there was a living breathing person inside, one with feelings. That’s something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

  I also noticed that her hand trembled. She definitely had stars in her eyes. She couldn’t be much older than my sister, Miriam, in fact. I’d been carefully avoiding thoughts like these for a long time. But all these women who threw themselves at us had one thing in common.

  Hope.

  Hope to hook up with someone famous. Hope that they’d be the one to tame one of us. Hope that when we hooked up with them it’d be the start of something beautiful and not just a sex act.

  One time, never twice, leave ‘em satisfied, but always leave ‘em.

  I couldn’t do that anymore.

  The loud sound of a slap had me turning me head just in time to see War disappear inside the temporary dressing room with his trifecta.

  Hell, fucking no.

  I gently removed the woman’s hand from my arm. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s not you. It’s me. Maybe…” But I trailed off. She’d already turned away and moved to Dizzy before I’d even finished speaking. Appeared she was about to make him a similar proposition. So much for my attempt to save the world one groupie at a time.

  The sound of Brutal Strength’s set starting in the background, I skirted around a group of tour personnel and didn’t stop to knock at the door I’d seen War enter. I threw it open so hard it clanged against the cinderblock wall. In spite of that, it took several moments before anyone inside even noticed me.

  Leather pants unlaced, legs splayed lazily wide, War sat on a folding chair guzzling whiskey straight from the bottle. The woman kneeling between his legs was going down on him while he watched the other two women going at each other.

  One of the girl-girl twosome glanced over at me. “Hmm, Bullet’s here. Come on over, baby.”

  War’s head snapped up and he glared at me. “You’re not invited to this party, Jackson.” He took a long swig from the bottle. “Now, get the fuck out!” he shouted at me before pushing the woman’s head back down.

  I saw red. Total fire engine red. Siren’s blaring in my ears. The works. I stepped further into the room. “Give us a minute, ladies,” I said cooly, but inside I was on fire, shaking mad.

  The woman in front of War, sat back on her heels, wiped he
r mouth, gave me a confused look, and motioned to the other two to follow her out of the room. As soon as the door closed, I spun around to face War. Our illustrious lead singer re-laced his pants and met me in the center of the room, his own eyes ablaze. “This better be a fucking emergency.”

  Furious, I took a step forward and shoved War with both hands.

  “What the fuck, man?” War knocked both my hands aside and gave me an equally hard shove back. “You busting in here just to pick a fight with me?” War mockingly crooked the fingers of both hands. “Well, come on, Bullet. Bring it. Though I don’t get you at all, man. It’s me that should wanna beat in your fucking face in for what you did to me.”

  All the anger and hurt I felt about Lace choosing him instead of me coalesced into my clenched fist. I reared back and let War have it. There was a satisfying smack as my fist connected with his jaw, sending a shock wave all the way back to my shoulder.

  The force of the blow knocked War clear off his feet. His body slammed into the liquor cabinet. Bottles of booze fell like rain off the shelf, crashing onto the concrete floor.

  He scrambled to his feet and rubbed his jaw. “You bastard. You’re the one who fucking screwed my woman.” Then he came at me like a blitzing middle linebacker.

  I managed to dodge him just as the door flew open and Dizzy, Sager, and King burst into the room. As I was rounding on War, Dizzy stepped between us. King grabbed my arms from behind. Sager did the same to War. I saw the PR chick from Black Cat had followed them into the room. She closed the door behind her.

  “Let me go.” I struggled to break free from King’s grasp. The guy was the same height as me but built like a fucking tank. I couldn’t budge him. My gaze flashed back to War. “You don’t fucking deserve her, asshole. She loves you, man. She almost died barely twenty-four hours ago and you’re getting yourself a blow job the minute she’s not around.”

  “Used to love me,” War muttered. “She served me walking papers at the hospital.” He shrugged out of Sager’s grasp. “I didn’t start this shit.”

  Holy shit. Lace had broken it off with War! And she’d tried to call me before she went into rehab.

  I didn’t even notice that King had released me. My mind was still reeling from the implications of that bit of earthshattering news when suddenly War was nose to nose with me. I smelled the fumes on his breath and his face was red and twisted with anger.

  “I warned you, brother. Bitches are trouble. But you didn’t listen. And now she’s come between us. Messed us up. Messed up the band.”

  “Wasn’t her that did all that. It was you, asshole,” I growled. “You’d sell your own mother if the price was right.”

  “Whoa,” Dizzy said. “Easy, guys. Let’s leave the mothers out of it.”

  “I can’t believe you.” War shook his head. “You’ve got that bitch up so high on a pedestal you can’t even see her faults.”

  The shrill ringing of a cell phone cut through the charged silence that followed the last comment.

  “Yes.” Beth eyed us all warily as she answered the call. “I’m here now…No, you were right, Mary. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done.” She pocketed the cell. Her heels clacked on the concrete as she took a couple of steps forward. Her demeanor was entirely professional. Apparently she was totally unfazed by what she’d just seen. “You guys obviously need a keeper. Mary’s calling in Ian Vandergriff to handle things.”

  I cringed. Vandergriff had a reputation industry wide. He was the manager who’d been brought in to straighten out the Dirt Dogs after their lead singer had passed out on stage for the third time in two weeks. I’d heard it had taken less time than that for him to bring them to their knees. The guy was a total hard ass.

  Shit.

  Beth glanced back and forth between me and War. “Vandergriff’s salary is going to come out of your tour bonuses by the way.”

  Great. Just fuckin’ great.

  30

  Twisting my hands together I sat on my bed and stared out the window at the courtyard, by now a familiar tableau. The soft gurgling of the fountain was the only sedative I had left. No more methadone to keep me company. It had been tapered off days ago.

  Just me and my sober self.

  Well, and Dr. George. The other rehabbers referred to him harshly as Sawbones. I wasn’t really sure why. The wrinkled old psychiatrist seemed benign with his grey hair and grey beard, his kind eyes and soft tone, like some benevolent grandfather figure.

  It wasn’t the session with Sawbones that had my stomach turning summersaults. It was my first mandatory group session, and I wasn’t relishing the thought of laying out all my baggage in front of a bunch of strangers.

  A quick glance at the clock had my stomach roiling. Time was up. I took in a careful breath and straightened my shoulders.

  You can do this.

  I pushed off the bed, stepped into my slippers, crossed the room resolutely, flipped off the light switch, and opened the door.

  “Hey,” a musical female voice called out. “Hold up.”

  I turned and saw a young woman with long platinum hair locking the door to the room next door to me. She was beaming an infectious double dimpled smile as she walked over. Her smile even put my brother’s illustrious one to shame. Despite my nerves, I found myself grinning back at her.

  “I’m Bridget Dubois. I just saw you in the cafeteria the other day. You got in last week, didn’t you?” She didn’t pause to let me answer. She spoke each sentence in rapid fire succession. “You’re coming to the group session, aren’t you? You look a little pale. Don’t be nervous.” A micro-pause. “Really, don’t be.” She glanced at me, white blond eyebrows arching up expectantly. She reminded me of a pixie with her petite frame, her sparkly blue eyes, and her exuberant manner.

  “I’m Lace Lowell.” I held out my hand which she took and squeezed once before letting go.

  “Nice to meet you, Lace.” She studied my face for a minute before waving for me to follow her down the hall. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to talk the first time if you don’t want to. Believe it or not, I didn’t.” Another dimpled smile. “I think you’ll be surprised. It’s really helped me to know other people have gone through the same stuff that I have.” As we entered the cafeteria together, she continued to jabber while I looked around. The tables had been moved to the side and there was now a circle of plastic chairs near the windows.

  I took a seat in the circle beside Bridget and tried to focus on her rather than on the upcoming session. “Why are you here?” I asked quietly.

  Her gaze slid away. She stared out the window introspectively before looking back at me. “Usual story.” She shrugged. “I fell in love with the wrong guy. Got pregnant. Family disowned me.” Her light and breezy tone said one thing, but the expression on her face told a different story. This girl had been hurt deeply. There was a lot more to Bridget Dubois than I’d initially thought.

  “Lace.” Dr. George took a seat on the other side of me and squeezed my shoulder. “Welcome to the group. We don’t have many rules except that what’s said here remains confidential and that we only speak in generalities about any physical abuse, mental issues, or drug problems. No graphic details here, please. Today’s topic is responsibility. His gaze slid to the brunette across from him. “Brenda, why don’t you start us off?”

  I listened to them one after another and started to relax. A lot of the stuff they shared was frighteningly familiar. Bridget was right. Minute by minute, I was feeling less like a freak, less like a loser, and less like a loner to be here.

  I could do this.

  I made eye contact with Dr. George. He nodded his approval.

  “My name’s Lace Lowell,” I began. “I’m addicted to heroin mostly. Although I’ve done some cocaine and other stuff, too. I’m an addict like my mother was. I’ve been using for about two years now. I tried to get my boyfriend to help me taper off, but I realize now that wasn’t going to work out. I’ve got to take responsibility for my own
choices or it won’t happen. I’m the one who made the decision to take that first dose, and in the end it’s got to be me who decides not to do anymore.”

  I cursed under my breath, ripped out, crumpled up, and tossed another sketch aside. The wadded up ball of paper joined the growing discard pile that looked like white snowballs against the green grass. I was irritated and jumpy. Though my fingers were busy, my mind shifted into reverse. I’d figured out today why Dr. George’s nickname suited him. He had this nasty ability to cut through all his patient’s bullshit like some old time surgeon dispensing with a gangrenous limb.

  He’d certainly cut uncomfortably deep in the session with me today.

  You need to be self-reliant, Lace. Stop looking for a man to come rescue you every time you get into a bind.

  He was right. I pushed my hair back behind my ears and let out a heavy sigh. That was exactly what I’d been doing. First with War, then after that fell apart, with Martin, then War again. And always Bryan held in reserve.

  I sucked.

  I blinked back the burn of tears as I stared down at the sketchpad on my knees. That pathetic dependence on the men in my life needed to stop. It was a trap, letting someone else’s approval define me. I was the only person who could redefine things.

  Sawbones had also made me confront my unresolved feelings toward a father I’d never known. There was definitely a dotted line that connected my lack of a father figure to the lack of judgment I’d used choosing the men in my life.

  But worst of all, he had forced me go back to a place today that I’d never wanted to return to…my childhood. He had pushed and prodded until I told him everything. How worthless my mother had made me feel. That I meant less to her than her next high. How still to this day it galled me to have been denied the love of someone I hated so much. The level of vitriol that had spewed out of me had been shocking. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much anger and resentment I still carried around. The drugs had obviously been my way to cover that all up. Sawbones showed me that I needed to stop repressing and find a healthy way to deal with those emotions.