by Nora Flite
Palming his skull, Colt grit his teeth in preparation.
Porter spoke first, his hand coming down, landing on the table so hard it reverberated through the bus. “Drez, just tell us the truth. Is this thing—you and Lola—going to mess up the tour?”
“Not just the tour.” Colt jutted his chin at me. “Everything. You and her, you going to turn us into some shit show? Tear us apart and leave us like some forgotten group of nobodies?”
“Of course not!” I straightened as disgust rushed up my spine. I wanted to do something with this energy, this angry flood of emotions, but there was no place to channel it. It left me on edge, molars creaking from clenching them. “You're actually worried I'd do something like that?”
Colt hunched his shoulders, reminding me of a vulture. “I don't know. Maybe not intentionally, but come on. She's been with us a few days, played one single damn show!” His voice rose, the skin around his mouth going pale. “You couldn't keep your dick in your pants long enough for her to integrate with us better? What is it about her that's turned you so—so...”
“What?” I didn't remember stepping forward. My face was mere inches from Colt's, pressure thrumming in my temples. “Turned me so fucking what? Say it.”
He stared me down. I knew Porter was still beside us, but he didn't exist. It was just me and Colt, horns locked on the verge of a fight. One beat, two beats; my heart counted as I waited for him to answer me.
Unblinking, he finally did. “Selfish. You kicked Johnny out because he was putting this band at risk. Now you're willing to be the one who breaks us apart. Why? What changed?”
Even with all my built up rage, I had no answer. I sensed their surprise when I turned away, effectively abandoning the challenge. He's right. When did I start caring more about getting what I want—no. I always chased what I wanted.
But when did that turn into Lola Cooper?
Like my bones had melted, I fell into a leather seat. “I don't know what changed. You're right,” I said, watching them both in resignation, “Something has. But it doesn't matter. Call it selfish all you want, you'd be spot on. I want to have Lola and I want this band to succeed. I want both.”
Porter's voice was swimming with sadness. “Can you have both?”
It was the question I hadn't wanted to hear. I felt the answer bubble up before I could think on it. “Yeah. I can.” There was a certainty in my response that didn't reflect my internal struggle.
Was it possible to have both Lola and my band?
If I had to choose between them—No. I don't need to choose.
I don't need to pick one or the other.
I fucking refuse to.
Exhaling loudly, Colt's skinny arms folded behind his head. “As long as I don't need to hear you and her banging at night on this bus, I'll zip my lips.”
It was as close to acceptance as I could expect from him right then. Grinning sideways, I helped break the tension. “No promises there.”
Porter laughed first. It was contagious, all of us letting the sound escape while tension evaporated from our bodies. It was a reminder that we were all friends. It was a reminder that I needed.
With their worries spoken and the air cleared, we hung out on the bus and reveled in the comfortable quiet. The world rolled past, Colorado looking especially beautiful that sunny day.
Though I smiled at Colt's jokes, or shared eye-rolls with Porter when they fell flat, my mind roamed. The silent cellphone in my pocket began to feel like a throbbing tumor. I touched it, ran my fingers over the shape and waited.
We were an hour out from Aspen, the location of our next show that very night, and I still hadn't heard from Lola. An itch of worry grew, similar to my craving for tobacco. She hasn't messaged me. Are her and Brenda that busy shopping for food? No, it's more than that. She wanted to get Lola alone.
I imagined Brenda trying to talk Lola into hiding what had happened, like she'd tried with me this morning. It curdled my blood. Lola won't agree to that. She couldn't. Honestly, I wouldn't let her try. My mind ran with the idea. I pictured Lola attempting to slink into the shadows. Or worse, turning away as I got close.
But that would be all she could manage, I thought fiercely. My hands squeezed the tops of my thighs. I'd chase her down, steal her lips, her tongue, in front of every single pair of eyes watching. I burrowed my nails in further. If she dared to try and turn herself, us, invisible, I'll just have to expose our relationship to the fucking world.
Relationship.
Mountains rolled by, but I didn't see them. That's the word for this, isn't it? I want her—need her—to the point of insanity.
What else could this be but a relationship?
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. So that makes me her boyfriend. I like the sound of that. Again, I fondled the silent cellphone. I'd like the sound of her voice more right now.
Porter dropped down across from me, his dark eyes focusing. “You're worried. What's wrong?”
“Why do you think I'm worried?” My hands loosened on my legs.
Rolling a palm over his faux-hawk, Porter's chuckle was gentle. “It's like you forget how well I know you, man. I know that face you're making.”
I glanced at my reflection in the window. No use arguing. “Fine, you win.” He lifted an eyebrow, silently prompting me to keep talking. “We'll be at the venue in two hours. Show starts at five.”
“You're wondering where Brenda and Lola are.”
“Yeah. Guess I am.” I checked my phone, making sure it wasn't dead.
He spread his fingers on the table, fanned them wide. “Here's an idea. You look like shit, why not go take a shower and take your mind off things?”
“For someone who knows me so well, you're naive to expect some hot water could wash away my thoughts.” Some of my teeth flashed. “It's a good idea, still. I should clean up before tonight's show.”
“It's a genius idea,” Colt added, kicking his feet up where he was lounging. “I've been smelling you all day. Just doing the polite thing and not mentioning it.”
“Always so kind,” the bassist snorted.
Digging a finger in his ear, Colt knotted his eyebrows. “Just doing my part.”
Leaving the pair behind, I strolled down the aisle. Passing by Lola's bunk, my feet stuck on the rug. The curtain hung limp, hiding what I knew was her empty bed. Even with that knowledge, I brushed the cloth aside, confirming the messy blankets were bare. Closing my eyes, I let the curtain fall.
Stepping into the bathroom, I stripped down and ducked under the water-spout. Cranking the knobs, I hung my head and let the steam wash over me. But the shower couldn't get hot enough. I'd turned it on full blast, wishing it would rip the skin from my bones.
The thoughts from my brain.
Lola is fine, everything is fine. Spreading my hands on the wall, I slung my chin low. The drain, swirling with water, was my focus. She'll be back soon. Then, I can have her to myself. It was what I was hanging on for.
Wet lashes touched my cheeks, my mind wandering with images of the girl from last night... from this morning. She'd been fucking perfect. A vision of carnal purity that had left me panting, left me groaning for more.
I touched my chest, feeling the dip between my muscles. It was easy to imagine Lola against me. Those pert breasts, tips hard as nails and burying into my skin. No, I reminded myself sullenly, I didn't feel her like that. I kept my shirt on like some shy kid at his first public swimming pool.
Whipping my hair back, I grabbed for the sponge hanging from the shower spout. It scoured on my flesh, over my stomach and down my thighs. Did she wonder about that? Reaching behind, the sodden sponge rolled over my lower back. Did she think I was being bashful? The idea was laughable.
Gingerly at first, then with snarling gusto, I scrubbed at the scar.
I wasn't ready to let her see.
I didn't want her questions to ruin the moment.
Turning in place, I looked back at the old wound. It had been ov
er seven years, yet still, the injury haunted me. I hated everything about it; what it represented.
Closing my eyes, I thought about the dream—the nightmare—that had ripped me from sleep this morning. Will I ever escape that chunk of my life? Escape him?
Inhaling, choking on wetness, I focused on how amazing my time with Lola had been. Dropping the sponge, I begged for more scalding water; something to blind me from my memories, from everything I didn't want.
The shower handle brought nothing.
- Chapter Eighteen -
Lola
“Maybe I should have tipped him.”
Pulled from my stupor, I found Brenda watching me. “Sorry, what?”
The red-head shifted in the driver's seat, fingers drumming the wheel anxiously. “The kid who helped us load everything into the trunk. He looked exhausted, probably working himself to death.” Turning in place, she squinted out into the parking lot. “Maybe I can still catch him.”
“I—what?” None of this was making sense to me. Maybe it was my distracted brain, still full of Drez's cryptic words and Johnny's intimidating face on the television. “Brenda, wait! Where are you going?”
She didn't look back, her body slipping out the door so she could stomp across the pavement. I leaned over to watch, amazed at the sight of her speeding on her heels after the scrawny teenager in the distance. She's that worried about someone she doesn't even know? It was a side of Brenda I hadn't seen before—No, I corrected myself mentally. If I think about it, when I auditioned for Headstones...
Didn't she show me a similar kindness?
That day, sweltering in the sun, my now-manager had stared at me under her giant hat and told me I'd failed the 'test' Drezden had given her. That damn question, I'd forgotten all about it.
What do you think is the most important thing you need to be a good guitarist?
And I had said honesty.
Brenda was speaking to the boy, shoving something into his hands. From where I was in the car, I could see his confused—if pleased—wide eyes. On her ruby lips, Brenda's smile came and went like a blink. By the time she reached me again, she was all business. “Sorry about that,” she said, sliding in and shutting the door gently.
“It's fine.” I felt my helpless grin taking hold.
Glancing at me, Brenda froze. “Why are you making that face?”
“No reason,” I said, covering my mouth in a poor attempt to hide my amusement. “I'm just... I guess I'm happy to see you being so nice.”
Instead of answering right away, the sound of the engine did it for her. The car jerked forward, slamming me into the seat while Brenda roared out of the parking lot. It wasn't until we were on the long, empty swatch of the freeway that she said anything. “There's nothing wrong with helping people.”
“No,” I agreed softly, “There's not.” My heart swelled, driving a glow of warmth to my face. It was a strange revelation, one that I needed. It put a perspective on Brenda's anger, her frustration, with Drez and myself. She's worried about us.
How could I ever be mad at anyone for that?
I expected us to drive for some time, so when she guided the car off another exit, I wrinkled my forehead. Soon, a sprawling mall appeared in the distance. “I noticed you were running out of outfits,” Brenda said. “Can't have our new star looking so run down.”
“Do we have the time for this? The next show is tonight.”
The flat look she gave me said volumes. “Lola, take a second and remember who I am. Do you really think your manager would make a stop like this if there wasn't time?” Narrowing her eyes, she pushed my patience with a long pause. “We're only two hours out from the venue. If we take an hour to shop, we'll still roll in with time to spare before sound check.”
Fidgeting in my seat, I nodded. “Guess I'm just anxious.”
Her smile cut across her face. “Too anxious to let me buy you some new jeans?”
We shared a pointed look down at my dirty, torn denim. “No," I chuckled, "Not too anxious for that at all.”
“Good." She pointed at the sunglasses on my head. “Then pop those back into place, and let's do some extremely incognito shopping.”
****
The mall was huge, packed with people in spite of the afternoon hour. Escalators poured the milling shoppers out on every floor, groups of teenagers huddling in clumps. I'd never been much of a mall-girl. It was the place the 'cool' kids gathered.
That had never been me.
It's so weird, I thought, squinting at everyone from behind my glasses—my mask. I was always too nervous to come to places like these because I didn't want anyone to see me. Now, I'm hiding for a reason so similar... but so fucking different.
Way fucking different.
This was nothing like being a scared kid, wary of the judging looks.
Lola Cooper wasn't weak or ashamed.
She—I—was a damn rock god now.
“In here,” Brenda said, cutting through my swelling, confusing pride. She led the way into a busy store, the sign reading 'Glam Grime' in giant jagged letters.
Inside, the walls were coated with denim everything. Pants, skirts, even leggings. Colors of ebony and gold dust; the grungy, intentional style of people who made real money and could afford the perks.
It was the sort of place I'd always ached to shop at.
Turning in place, I lost sight of Brenda. Glam Grime was big, a second floor climbing above on twisting stairs. When she said we'd go shopping, I imagined just some new jeans and a tank-top or two. Can I afford this? The reminder that, yes, of course I could—I was hiding for a reason—came in the form of an approaching clerk.
The woman had on giant, dangling earrings and a glittery smile. “Hey there! Need help finding anything?”
“Oh, uh.” Shit, should I be speaking to people? My brain wrapped around itself. The memory of Drezden standing in the hotel and smooth talking the receptionist came forward. He'd worn sunglasses, too, until he wanted to reveal his identity. Talking is fine, she won't know who I am. I'm still too new, right? “I was just... looking for jeans.”
“Then you want that wall,” she said, gesturing over my head. “If you need anything else, just ask.”
My hair flopped as I nodded. “Awesome, thanks!” I followed where she pointed, forcing down a wave of nerves. A set of firm fingers closing down on my shoulder just spiraled me back to square one. “Ah! Jesus, Brenda!”
Scowling tightly, she stared over her glasses at me. “Focus, would you? Don't go making chit-chat with strangers in here. We have a job to do.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled. Shaking her free, I moved to the wall of pants. “I was trying to do that job. That woman back there was just showing me where to go.”
“I could have shown you if you'd been following me.” Smoothing her hair behind her ears, Brenda started picking through the clothing. “Incognito, right?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I just nodded. I had been incognito. There was no way the employee had recognized me. I don't think so, anyway. Darting a look over my shoulder, imagining eyes burning into me, I frowned.
The two of us wandered the displays, my fingers drifting over the articles of clothing. Brenda would stop occasionally, forcing something into my arms while pointedly ignoring my dubious stare. Once I was trembling with the weight of it all, I coughed. “This is too much. Let me get a basket to carry it easier.”
“Don't waste your time.” Leaning over me, she waved at the far wall. “Lug it all back to the changing room. We don't have the luxury of dilly-dallying here. Just try everything on, decide what you want to keep, and then we'll get out of here.”
She's so business, even when the topic is playing dress-up. Brenda reminded me of my brother. “Alright. If I don't come back soon, send help,” I laughed, grimacing while I walked away. “I've probably been crushed by all of these clothes.”
In the far corner of the store, the changing room was easy to miss. There was no one standing ar
ound running it. Hope they don't think I'm trying to steal any of this. I would have felt more comfortable if someone had been around to see me go in, or to count my items and hand me one of those tiny plastic numbered cards.
Inside the hall there were four doors, my only companion was the pop-music piping in through the speakers. It reminded me of the time of day, how most teen-shoppers would be just getting out of school. This place will be flooded later. Brenda's right, we shouldn't waste time, I thought grimly. Even if I'm new to the band, after last night... The memory of being on stage, basking in the glow of the crowd, sent a rush to the base of my brain. There's a good chance people might recognize me.
But could that really be so bad?
In the mirror, I studied myself in a new pair of dark denim jeans. They clung to me fantastically. In my tall boots I looked like a beast from hell, and I thrilled at the idea. I'm getting addicted to the thought of being noticed, of being out there while thrashing music free from my guitar.
Goosebumps lifted with my delight. I'm changing, aren't I? With no one to answer my silent musing but me, I brushed it away and slid the jeans to my ankles. The sight of my own lower back in the mirror reminded me of the long scar on a certain singer.
Drezden. My eyes fixed on my reflection, but I wasn't really seeing myself. I wish I could just pretend I never saw that. He clearly didn't want me to see the scar, but why? Too many questions, too much paranoia, flooded my mind.
The sound of someone knocking on my door turned my heart into an earthquake. “S—sorry! Someone's in this one,” I said, quickly bending down to pull my old jeans back on. Below the edge of the door, a pair of white flats waited. Whoever was outside my door wasn't moving or speaking.
Swallowing down a wave of unease, I squinted at those feet. “Hey,” I said briskly, “Didn't you hear me? Do you need something?” Maybe it's the girl who runs the changing rooms. The thought was a flicker of comfort over my rising tide of warning.
In front of my eyes, the feet shifted until whoever it was stood on the tips of their toes. I knew what I would see even before I tilted back my head. That was, in a way, the worst part of it all.
