Get Bent

by C. M. Stunich

  “Hit diamond with Amatory's next album, I imagine. Sit right next to us,” I say and she smiles. I think that it might be the first real smile I've ever pulled from her stubborn lips. My body gets tight and I find it hard to swallow. What the fuck? You sixteen years old, Turner? Gonna start stuttering and blushing now, too?

  “I just wanted you to know that I'm surprised by you.” I wait for her to elaborate. I'll admit, I'm a little slow. I don't get where she's going with this. “For sticking around, for not running off and forgetting me the second I was gone. You might not have actually unlocked those handcuffs, but you tried. You sang my songs, and somehow, I heard you. I didn't realize it until now, but that was one of the things that kept me sane.” Naomi huffs and for a split second, I can see her breath outlined in the still air. It's deathly quiet out here right now, no crowds, no musicians, no crew members. There are a few cops and security guards, but they, too, are few and far between on this gloomy day. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you. And … ” A big gasp of breath, a shake of her head. “I respect your passion and your commitment, Turner Campbell.”

  And then she turns and walks away. Dax moves after her and takes up residence by her side. I hear them talking, but I don't register the words. I hear one thing, just one thing only playing round and round inside my thick skull.

  Respect.

  Naomi Isabelle Knox respects me.

  My soul screams a ballad of joy and my heart explodes inside my chest.

  I push open the doors and step backstage, reveling in the wild heat and frenzy of it all. I missed it so fucking much, enough so that I realize suddenly that I would never survive doing anything else. I was built for this, mind, body and soul. Dax reaches down and squeezes my hand, and I don't care who's looking or wondering or contemplating my identity. They can guess, but they won't be sure, not until I reveal myself. Let them stare and whisper. My turn for a little mystery.

  The venue here is a big, brick building with a massive auditorium and a rounded roof soaring above our head in steel beams and bright, blue paint. It's industrial and old and probably a terrible place to be during a storm. All around the room, phones and tablets crackle with weather updates and reporters in heavy, winter coats, braving the worst of the weather for a good story. Fucking idiots. First sign of the sirens and I'm out of here. I'll lay down in the ditch outside the chain-link, and I'll make sure I take everybody that matters with me.

  Police are everywhere in here, but whether it's because of the storm or the murder or even me, I have no clue. I ignore them all and focus on the bitch that's moving across the room towards me in gold heels and a white top. With no bra. What the fuck is wrong with this cunt?

  “Even tiny tits sag,” I tell Hayden when she gets close and tries to smile at Dax. He can't even look at her. I wonder what happened between them last night, if anything. Maybe he's just disgusted with her after what Ronnie told us? Bitch stormed out after her story and didn't bother to stay to explain her actions, and now we're left with this. A big, fat fucking elephant in the room.

  “Thanks for the tip,” she hisses and the word falls right off the end of her tongue like a slap. Her makeup is too much, too loud, too raunchy. She's trying too hard, and her skin is ashen. Something isn't right with her. That's pretty fucking obvious. I stare at her tiny, upturned nose and her massive nostrils, and I try to stay calm when I say this.

  “You're a fucking liar,” I tell her and she opens her mouth to protest. “No. Shut your fucking mouth and listen to me. I have no clue what's really going on. I'll be honest about that because I'm tired of keeping secrets, but I know you're blowing smoke in my face. Whatever it is that you're doing for Eric, for whoever, it's not going to work. Your best bet is to tell me the truth right now. Just admit to it all and find out how far my mercy goes.”

  She just stands there and stares at me with wide, blue eyes and drooping lips. She's not smirking anymore.

  “Hayden, please,” Dax says. He wants to save her, but he can't. Nobody can. Only she can save herself. I give her a chance, one last chance to give me something other than a bullshit sob story. She doesn't.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.” She tries to reach for Dax's arm, but he slaps her off.

  “Don't. Touch. Me,” he whispers, voice low and harsh. “If you don't want to tell us why you're still meeting with Eric, then don't even bother.” Hayden's face falls even lower. Didn't think that was possible. She looks like a fucking Shar-Pei.

  “I have to,” she whispers, looking down at the floor. The metal bars overhead quiver and vibrate with sound as Ice and Glass opens up their set. The crowd cheers, but the sound is a little subdued by fear. This weather just fucking sucks. “I'm sorry.”

  “That's it?” Dax asks, shaking his head and licking his lower lip angrily. “That's all you have to say? Why can't you just tell us? Why keep lying? We can protect you, Hayden.” I think of the picture she gave me, the way she acted that night and I wonder if it was all an act. It means something to her, sure, but what? So many questions, so few answers.

  “Because I don't need any fucking protecting. I just … I'm a little confused right now.” Hayden touches her fingers to either side of her face, pressing her long nails against her temples. “And I'm starting to wonder why exactly it is that you're here. Aren't you in hiding or something?” I start to smile, slow and sinful. Wicked.

  “Does that matter if you're feeding information to Eric? He already knows I'm here, right?” Hayden grins, but it's not a pretty smile. In fact, she looks kind of crazy. I can't even believe we used to be friends. I guess I should've thought something was wrong with the bitch when she watched me murder my foster parents. She wanted to be there. When I shared my feelings with her, she encouraged me. Why has that never bothered me before? Because I was too wrapped up with guilt and fear? Because I wanted an alibi? I have no fucking clue.

  “It's not just Eric you have to worry about, sweetie. He's kind of … extra. Like a perk or something, you know? He's inconsequential, really. And he knows. He knows everything.” She laughs and I realize I have to get Dax out of here before she spills it. I don't want Dax to look at me different. He might not understand, not everybody will. That's why I reserve the right to tell who I want when I want. That's my freedom.

  “Can we have a minute please?” I ask him, and he starts to protest. Absently, I realize that Turner isn't in the building yet. That freaks me out. A lot. “Can you please go see what Turner's doing outside?” Dax stares me down with his gray eyes. “Please.” He waits another moment and then sighs.

  “Alright. Okay.” He glances around the room, scopes it out. It's dark and crowded back here, but it's not possible for anybody to sneak up on me. I'm as safe as I can be for the moment. I notice Blair giving the three of us a queer look from across the room. She's going to figure this out pretty quick I think.

  I wait till Dax moves away and I feel a rush of cold air from behind me.

  “You told him, didn't you?” I ask her, and she pouts out her lips. “When?” Hayden shrugs.

  “He pretty much figured it out by himself. Katie's too much of a fuck up to do anything that calculated, so who else? I just confirmed what he already knew. But he helped you out, ever wonder why?” I don't respond. “He's always loved you, Naomi.” I shake my head. I will not stand here and listen to crazy talk.

  “I'm taking the stage tonight and you're not getting on it. If you behave, if you redeem yourself to me, maybe I'll change my mind. Until then, watch your fucking ass. I will figure out what you're up to and if it's bad enough, I'll chop off your fucking clit.” Hayden laughs, giggles actually. It's creepy as fuck.

  “Seriously? How about, no? You think you can do shit? You got kidnapped Naomi, and it took that balding psychopath to get you out. Think about it, what will you do when he finally finds her? Hmm? Once Eric gets Katie back, he's never letting her go. She escaped once. It won't happen again. He wants her almost as much as he wants you.” My turn
to laugh, to shake my head and look at the floor. It's rough cement speckled with bright splatters of paint. Artsy, twisted, weird. I like it.

  “I can't even believe this shit. Is that what this is about?” Hayden just keeps smiling that weird smile.

  “Um, let's think about this. She stole the scissors from Eric and sent them to the police. She killed fucking birds and wrote in blood on our trailer. She hopped the fence and got to Turner, screwing up the plans we had for him. She stole his keys, nearly got us caught when she sent Turner snooping around. She set you free. Need I go on? Without her, you're screwed, Naomi.”

  “The doll head?” I ask. “The baseball cap?” I figure if she's going to tell me shit, I might as well know all of it. Hayden shrugs.

  “I don't know, Naomi. I really don't. I know what they want with you, with Katie.” She bites her lip. “Turner, Dax.” And then she snaps her gaze up to mine and slashes right through me. “Think you're done being my bitch? Not a chance. Not ever. I will never let you go completely. Never. And you can't. Have. Them. Both.” She steps closer to me, and I finger the knife I have in my back pocket. “Where's the picture?”

  “On a cloud drive waiting to be uploaded at noon tomorrow if you don't tell me everything.” I smile, even though inside I'm a mess, sliding jigsaw pieces across a massive tabletop. I'm starting to see part of the picture, but I don't have the box. It's taking me longer than I want.

  “You're a liar.”

  “Not as big a one as you are.”

  “I'm singing tonight.”

  “You're not.”

  Hayden stares me down and then she sighs and glances away at the floor. I can't tell if she's actually crazy or playing a game, if she's in this because she wants to be or because she feels like she has no other choice. I don't care.

  “Fine,” she whispers. “Upload it.” She backs away a step and scoops hair behind her ear. “Tell the world I'm a monster and they'll love me harder for it. I'll survive.” Hayden smiles. “But I am singing tonight.”

  “If you get on that stage, I will kill you.”

  I keep very still when I say this. She needs to know I'm serious.

  “If my words fall from your lips, you will die and it will not be pleasant. Don't force my hand, Hayden. The death of that girl, Marta, that's on you. I don't know what else you're capable of, but if you fail to see how serious I am right now, I will know without a shadow of a doubt that you're not stable.” Hayden ignores me. She doesn't think I'm a threat, doesn't mind giving me all the behind the scenes bullshit. I don't matter to her right now. She knows that I'm being forced into a corner. I can't ask the police for help because of what I've done. My secret is wrapped around my throat. I'm about to slip free, but if I'm not careful, the noose may tighten around my neck.

  But I'm serious about what I said. She better not test me tonight.

  A rush of cold air hits my back and Turner's arms slide around my waist, bringing a small gasp to my lips. He presses his face into the crook of my neck and tears prick my eyes. I don't expect it, but something just wells up inside me, making my heart stop, my lungs contract. My hands rise to his and brush against them. Dax scoots by us and intercepts Blair on her way over to us. I don't know why he does it, but he keeps her back. I guess he doesn't want to sabotage Turner. That's not how he wants to win my attention. Good for him. I like Dax a little more.

  “Why'd you have to go and say that to me right before a show?”

  “Huh?” I ask, trying my best to keep the jiggling tears behind my shades. If they hit my cheeks and fall, I'm done for. I keep my eyes on Hayden's back, but she's just doing her usual before show bitching. She doesn't sneak off and talk to a person bathed in shadows, doesn't try to find Eric. There's already a plan in play and it doesn't matter what I do.

  “Say you loved me.”

  “But I didn't.”

  “Close enough,” he whispers, releasing me and spinning me around, crushing his lips to mine, cupping my face with his inked fingers. “You're going to turn my tiger into a pussycat.”

  “Hayden … admitted a lot of shit, Turner. I think we're in trouble.” I touch his chest. “I think this, we, us, whatever this is, is in trouble.” He grasps my hands, pulls me to him. Roadies and crew members, musicians and managers, even a few cops, watch us with disbelief. Here he is, this asshole, this playboy, this guy who breaks hearts in his wake, smashing them like a storm, not even aware that he's doing it. And he's kissing this mystery girl in a hoodie with the sweetest lips the world has ever fucking seen. My heart starts to pump frantically.

  “We got this. Fuck the fucking fuckers.” He starts to pull me towards the bathroom door, but I plant my feet firmly on the colorful concrete.

  “We can't do that right now, Turner. There's serious shit going on here.” He grins at me and pulls at my Mrs. Turner Campbell bracelet with a snap. Why the fuck am I still wearing this thing?

  “I don't know what your dirty fucking mind is up to. I thought you had something to tell me that required privacy.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Come on.” He pulls on my arm again, and I follow, feeling like the world is crashing down around me, making waves. Some of them are good, some bad. I don't know. I'm all sorts of messed up right now.

  “I want a bump,” I tell him. “I miss coke.” He laughs, but he doesn't respond. Instead, I get whisked into the tiny bathroom with the silver toilet, slammed against the wall and kissed so hard I can't breathe. Turner sits me on the sink and presses his erection against my jeans. “Turner, seriously?” I ask, but I don't sound as bitchy as I want to. Instead, I sound kind of … happy. Gross. Fucking disgusting. “Hayden's got a plan in place. Eric knows I'm here.”

  “What's new?” he asks between kisses to my throat.

  “If this your idea of talking, you suck at it.” He pauses and puts his hands on either side of my hips.

  “Naomi,” he begins, pushing himself back and reaching for my belt. Despite my protests, I don't try to stop him. I also refuse to look at the used syringes on the floor or the walls covered in wet toilet paper. I don't like to make a habit out of fucking in nasty ass bathrooms, but here we are again. When it's the most inappropriate, awkward moment of all. “You can't say something like that to me and not expect to get fucked.” I raise my brow as he tugs my pants down and leaves them dangling from one leg, cupping my bare ass in his hands.

  “What the fuck are you babbling about?” I ask him as he fumbles to get his pants undone and slap a condom on his dick. But if Turner Campbell's an expert at anything besides singing, it's sex. He manages.

  “Respect, Naomi. You can't tell me you respect me and not thoroughly just … fuck with my head. I might have a bit of an inflated ego right now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Are you going to shut up and let me fuck you? Frankly, I don't care about any of this other shit. I'll deal with it when it comes.”

  “I fucking hate your ass,” I tell him as he jerks me against him, fills my body with his and spreads my hips wide. I'm not going to sugarcoat what happens next. We just screw. We slam together hard and fast, slapping sweaty warm skin against one another and grunting like a bunch of ancient cave fucks. It's ugly. Real ugly. And disgusting. But then, it's beautiful, too. It's a slice of wild nature happening right here in this bathroom, bringing us close, stopping our hearts and starting them again in unison. It's quick, it's messy and then it's done.

  He comes; I come.

  And then we just sit there while electric guitars and drums vibrate the walls around us. I drape myself against his chest and just try to breathe.

  “I don't know what I'm doing here,” I whisper and he gives me an answer. The man I hate, that fucked my life up, that shouldn't have anything nice or constructive to say, gives me a solid, reasonable step to stand on. What the fuck?

  “You're learning to love.”

  Pure. Simple. True.

  And from the mouth of Turner Campbell. The world is full of surprises.
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  Just not all of them are good.

  The stage is set.

  The players are all thoroughly entrenched in the game.

  Me, I'm standing on the edge of the stage with my eyes closed and hot blood pumping through my veins. I feel Turner Campbell standing behind me, and I feel better because of it. I don't want to love him, but I think I do. Or I might. One day, when I stop hating him so much maybe.

  The crowd is quiet, almost deadly silent, as they wait in nervous anticipation. The problem is that they're still thinking about the storm. I'm going to kill that fear. When I get onstage, they're only going to be thinking about me.

  Dax sits down behind his drums and gives me a gentle nod of his chin.

  Without waiting another second, I move forward, out onto the open stage in front of a couple thousand people. I wish there were more, but I'll make do. The word will spread and soon, everyone will know.

  Whispers and rumors spread like fire, catching on people and flaming bright and suspicious in the dull light. I ignore them and focus only on Hayden who's coming out the opposite side, walking straight towards me. She doesn't look angry or nervous. She smiles at me when we get close and pauses, leaning forward and putting her lips to my ear.

  “I won't ever say I'm sorry, but I'll tell you this. If you think I'm a good performer, let me be onstage with you. You can borrow the spotlight … for now. I won't help tonight, but I won't hurt either. If you survive, we can talk about it.”