by Nora Flite
Tossing the cup aside, its purpose done, Johnny dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “You smoke?”
I curled my lips back. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Take that as a no.” Cupping his lighter close, the fire turned his lips cherry-red. Smoke billowed, the smell making me think of Drezden. “Like I said, this wasn't planned.” On the table, my phone buzzed again. We both glanced at it; him, with disgust—and me? I couldn't hide the hope in my eyes, he saw it plainly. "Don't get excited," he muttered.
“Johnny, please, just let me go." I leaned towards him as much as I could "You don't need to keep me here.”
Waving smoke away, he rolled the cigarette to one side in his mouth and spoke around it. “Yeah, I do. I tried to talk you out of that band. Tried to fucking tell you how awful Drez is. You didn't want to listen.” Ash fell to the rug. “This was the only way to keep you from playing.”
Shifting in the chair, I winced at the twinge in my shoulder. Was it out of the socket? “Why do you care if I play or not? You aren't in the band anymore, what does it matter to you?”
He turned his head suddenly, listening for... something. Taking another drag, Johnny let the grey haze flow around him. “You talk too much. Want more water?”
Why does he want me to leave the band? I'd figured out why Sean had been struggling with it, but Johnny—there was only one thing he could want
My eyebrows shot up to my scalp. “You wanted me to leave so you could take my spot again!”
“Again?” His foot kicked a chair, sending it flying. I ducked my chin, expecting him to swing at me. “Again? You took my spot, not the other way around!”
My breath rattled in my chest. Johnny looked rabid, on the verge of taking a bite out of me. I could see the raw edges of his gums, the cigarette illuminating everything. He moved, hands coming down on my shoulders. “Don't touch me!” I screamed.
Again, on the table, my phone vibrated.
Johnny moved away, guilt twisting his forehead into long rows. “Lola, I'm not that kind of guy! I don't just hurt people!” Remembering the way he'd slammed me into the coffee table last night, I didn't comment. “Just calm down,” he mumbled. Was he talking to himself, or me? Lighting a new cigarette, Johnny dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
He can't see my hands. Cautiously, I worked my wrists together behind me. As a kid, I'd played games with Sean where we tied each other up, pretending to be cops or robbers. They were silly games, and while they didn't help me with untying my binds, the memory gave me strength.
My phone, buzzing away, gave me even more.
People have to know something is wrong. What time was it? The filthy blinds over the windows hid the info from me. Never letting Johnny out of my sight, I kept tugging at my wrists. Whatever he'd used, it was starting to yield from the friction.
Tape? Is that it? Not even electrical tape, but the cheap, clear stuff. Johnny really hadn't thought up some grand scheme. He just wanted me to quit the band so he could stroll in and save the day. But he can't now. He has to know that. There was no way anyone would take him back, even if they were desperate.
The tape slid enough for me to inch my fingers out. My blood pumped like gasoline. One wrong move and I'd be set ablaze. Letting Johnny into my hotel room was the last wrong move I planned to make.
My ankles were attached to the chair legs. Free hands, but nothing to do with them. If Johnny came close, could I do something? Punch him in the teeth is what I want to do, but that won't help me escape.
Looking at my phone, it became clear. If I can grab it, I can tell someone where I am. My stomach coiled over and over. But where am I? Johnny hadn't said. Looking around, it was clearly a motel room. But which one?
Scanning the floors, the walls, I looked for something iconic. A crumpled pile of towels revealed the name in poor, faded embroidery: Greenmill Motel. It was like a drum had exploded in my brain. Sean told me that! My brother had visited Johnny here. He'd know where to find me.
I peeked at Johnny. He was lying on his side on the bed, his back to me. Inching my aching arms around, I reached for my phone. My fingertips hovered just as it vibrated. The noise touched my bones.
“For fuck's sake!” Johnny cried, rolling over on the old springs. “That damn phone of yours needs to shut up and—hey! Stop!”
Desperately I snatched my phone, fumbling with sweaty palms to open it, to dial anything. Johnny was on me, digging his nails into me, wrenching for the device. No, no no no! Inhaling to capacity, I started to scream for help.
His backhand shut me up, but it didn't stop me. Releasing the phone, I rolled forward, knocking the chair over beneath me. Holding onto his legs, I prayed he'd crack his skull on the side-table as I brought him down.
“You little fucking bitch!” He buried his grip in my hair. “I told you to stay quiet, you lying—aahh!” I'd buried my teeth into the meaty part near his thumb. Dug in, and just worked my jaw as hard as I could.
When he hit me that time, I saw spots of white.
My eyes lolled to the side; the phone rested near my face, open so I could read the missed calls. Drezden. So many calls from him.
Johnny shoved the gag in my mouth, tying it so tight I struggled to get air. “Shut up.” There was no sympathy anymore. “Were you always the sort to betray people, or did you pick that up from Drez?”
I tasted coppery blood—his, not mine. It filled me with glee knowing I'd managed to hurt him. Grunting, Johnny lifted my chair up, forcing my arms back behind me. “You actually got the tape off?”
Yanking at him was pointless, but I tried anyway.
Something made a plastic-squeal. He bound my wrists with more tape, but that wasn't enough, and we both knew it. “You're more trouble than I was ready for,” he muttered. Cloth wrapped over my wrists next. Socks? A shirt? I didn't know.
Picking up my phone, Johnny frowned. “You think the cops can trace this?” Glancing at me, he waited, like I could answer. “Guess it doesn't matter.” Looking around, he stomped out the smoking remains of his fallen cigarette. “They're going to find me eventually, huh? Fucking fuck.”
Watching blood drip down his arm from my bite marks, I shivered. He really didn't consider what to do next. What would happen to him next.
For the first time, Johnny was debating what to do with me.
- Chapter Twenty-Nine -
Drezden
“Why the hell would you bring her to meet Johnny?” I growled.
Sean bent over the steering wheel, one great hump of regret. “I didn't know he would do something like this!”
“How much further?” I'd been digging my fingers into the tops of my thighs the whole ride.
Squinting out at the growing evening sky, Sean sighed. “I'm not sure. Fifteen minutes. The motel is on the edge of the city.”
“You better hope she's okay,” I whispered. There were shadows on my tongue. "For your sake." I'd burn the whole world to the ground if it meant saving Lola.
“Why the hell are you so pissed at me?” he asked, pulling us sharply around a turn. “It isn't my fault that the crazy motherfucker kidnapped her!”
Scrunching my face, I looked out the window. It was too easy to imagine the scene—Johnny stealing Lola from her hotel room while she fought tooth and nail to escape. The images fueled my rage even more.
“Now you've gone silent on me,” Sean muttered. “Seriously. Why are you such an asshole to me?”
The question caught me off guard. “Pretty sure you've been just as big of a thorn in my side.”
His eyes darted up, then away. “I had my reasons not to like you.”
“Then we're even.”
“We're not fucking even!” He punched his fist into the wheel. “You started this shitty thing between us! You had no reason to be such a dick to me years ago, what did I do to deserve your shitty treatment?” In the darkness of the vehicle, his eyes were glowing. “What did I do to you that made you want to hate me so
much?”
Closing my eyes tight, I breathed through my nose. The entitlement in his stare of disbelief when I rejected him... I can't forget that look. It had stayed with me for years. I knew why now, though. My recent excavation into my past had helped me understand.
But how could I explain to Sean that he'd reminded me too much of my father?
“Nothing,” I said flatly, “You didn't do anything.”
“Then why? Was I really so bad at guitar? Was that enough reason to—”
“No, that wasn't the reason.” Grabbing my forehead, I dug through the waves of migraines. I was feeling the exhaustion from my overnight trip home, but more so, the emotional drainage from searching for Lola. Honesty. “I knew guys like you. Men who couldn't handle the idea they weren't made for greatness.” Men who tried to destroy those better than them.
Looking over, I saw Sean staring straight ahead. I said, “You're better now than you were when you auditioned." Those blue eyes flicked my way. “But your sister is miles better.”
Sean snorted with laughter. He allowed a tiny smile onto his face. “Yeah, I know she is.”
“Do you hate her for that?” In my mind, I pictured the rage on my father's features. How his mouth had writhed like a python, his knuckles coated in my mother's blood.
Sean lifted his eyebrows high. “Hate her? Lola?” The engine rumbled softly, the van slowing as we crawled up a hill. “She's my little sister. I couldn't hate her if I tried."
Warm compassion filled me as I listened to him speak. I judged him wrong.
Sean was nothing like my father.
“There,” he whispered, turning the headlights off. I saw the small, barely lit motel sitting in the parking lot below us. It was the color of stained teeth, the flickering sign threatening to die after each burst of light.
All at once, my blood began to stir. “You think they're both here?”
Sean removed his seat belt in a hurry. “If they aren't, I don't know where else to look.”
His words were heavy. If Lola isn't here, then we have no trail. Pushing the door open, I flared my nostrils in the putrid air. She has to be here.
She just had to.
Quietly, we approached the building. All the doors faced out into the parking lot, some missing numbers on their cracked fronts. Sean and I prowled beneath the window sills. Every room looked empty through the drapes; nothing but still shadows.
Are they not here? My heart was crumbling with a wave of distress. Where do we go next, what do we do?
What do I do?
Touching my pocket, I felt my phone. The idea came to me like a live battery on my tongue. Squatting down, I began to dial in the dark. I was hoping to hear ringing, any noise at all through the motel walls. For a long time, there was nothing. Crickets sang, and in the far distance, a car honked.
Looking over, I saw Sean had his phone out as well. He can't be trying Lola, too, can he? As her number went to voicemail again, I caught a sound that stopped my breath.
“Fuck!” A gritty voice shouted a mere two rooms over. “Shit shit shit, now they're calling me, dammit!”
Sean looked me in the eye. He had Johnny's number. Together we moved, uncaring who saw us now in our blooming excitement. He's here, she has to be, too! We didn't have a plan, but that was fine. Both of us wanted the same thing.
A shared look was all it took; together, we rammed our shoulders against the motel door. Inside, I heard Johnny cursing—it just fueled me more. The door was made from old wood. In two, three hits, Sean and I took it down.
And then, there she was.
Lola, whose beautiful blue eyes were boggling at me not in disbelief—no, she had known I would come for her—but in satisfaction. If it was fate or divinity or some other fucking magical thing that had brought us together in life, I didn't know. I didn't care. All that mattered was that she was mine.
I would never lose her again.
In that tiny room, I froze my acid-green eyes on Johnny and felt the moment for what it was. Here, we both realized... here was where he'd pay his dues.
Lifting his hands to protect himself, he backed into the wall. “Drez! Wait, man! Hold on!”
Distantly, I remembered the day I'd kicked him out of my band. How I'd sucker-punched him, watched him flail and backpedal in an attempt to escape my wrath. That day, I'd only wanted him gone.
I wanted much more from him now.
Lola's scream was muffled scream around her gag. I'd grabbed Johnny up by the front of his shirt without realizing it, and even better, I'd slammed his skull into the wall, making the room—my marrow—quake. Again and again I smashed his body into the hard surface, trying to break him into tiny pieces.
True fear boiled in his eyes. The sight of it brought a smile to my lips. "This is for hurting her," I whispered, but it came out like a snarl. I don't know if he understood me at all, especially with how his eyes were rolling. Was he blacking out?
Someone called out to me. I ignored them. Twisting, feeling Johnny claw at my wrists, I threw him onto the busted linoleum floor. He belonged perfectly on that scuffed, filthy ground. He'd never looked more at home.
“Drez,” he coughed, red streaking his nose. The blood rolled down the bruise on his cheek, over the scabs of old cuts. They looked like claw marks; nails. Had Lola done that?
Reaching down, my fingers trapped his jaw. Johnny struggled but a single knee on his chest pinned him in place. He smelled like vomit and whiskey and revenge. Sweet fucking revenge.
“Drezden!” Her voice was pure, I couldn't ignore her. Lola was leaning on Sean—he'd untied her. As always, she wore no mask, her pale skin twisted in a grimace of fear. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
Her terror reached into me and plucked at my heart. Johnny was wheezing, gawking up at me. I tried to recall how this husk of a man had once called himself my friend. From the start, there had never been the connection between us that Colt and Porter had. Johnny was a wild card, too wild.
I should have known better.
“Drez,” Lola asked again, firmer. “What are you going to do?”
Squeezing Johnny's cheeks, digging in my nails, I ignored him and kept staring at her. I wondered what she saw in my face. Inside, I felt the wretched talons of the monster I knew I could be. It was hungry, and here, now, lay the decadent chance to taste victory. To chew at a sweet piece of vengeance.
Swallowing, I said, “I'm going to do what I promised. I said if I ever saw Johnny's face again... I was going to break his fucking jaw.”
Under my grip, Johnny stiffened. Closing her tired eyes, Lola turned away. It was like she was giving me permission to be the brutal beast I knew I could be. But before I could pull back my fist, she said, "Is this the real you?"
My lungs went still. I couldn't move anything, not even an eyelash. Johnny was shivering; no longer fighting back. He had nothing left for me. What had I even wanted from him?
Is this the real me? Hadn't I gone to face my father to prove I was nothing like him?
For a moment, Johnny's horror looked too much like my own mother's.
Flexing my fingers, I turned away from him. I left him whimpering on the floor, his occasional moan punctuated by a curse word.
“Call the police,” I said bluntly.
“No need,” Sean said. Nodding his head, he drew my attention to the distant sound of sirens. “Brenda must have called them like she said she would. That, or someone else in this motel did when they heard the fight.”
My head bobbed, but I wasn't listening. I was fixated on Lola—on her wide eyes, on her bruises and her smile and how her wrists were raw and red. She met me halfway, not caring about the blood I left on her cheek when I cupped her face.
Her mouth opened, but if she'd wanted to speak... I didn't let her. I buried my lips on hers like she was the first sip of water after days in the dessert. Lola, my fucking beautiful, wonderful Lola.
She tasted like victory.
“Drez,” she whispere
d, but I ate my name away.
Cradling her in my arms, inhaling her scent until it made my senses blind, I listened to her heart beat. Mine. Mine, mine, and mine again.
Lola is mine.
And I finally deserved her.
****
The police arrested Johnny, taking all of our statements down. It was smooth and professional. Well, minus the one guy who asked me for an autograph.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked Lola, unable to stop touching her for even one second.
Her smile was soft. “I'm fine. My right shoulder hurts a little, but it's nothing. I'm just... I'm just so sorry about all of this.”
“Don't be sorry,” Sean said, approaching us in the parking lot. “You didn't do any of this. Johnny was the one who went unhinged.”
“I still feel awful that the show was ruined,” she mumbled.
Grabbing her chin, I made her look at me. “I don't give a shit about the show, okay? I only need you to be safe. The rest is pointless otherwise.”
Sean chuckled, eyeing the time on his phone. “Too bad we can't have both. Show should have started an hour ago.”
“We should go there anyway,” Lola said, staring between us. “Maybe even just to tell the fans we're sorry. Just... something.”
I guided her towards Sean's van. “You want that to happen? We'll make it happen. Come on, let's move.”
Lola was warm on my lap in the car. As far as I was concerned, if we stayed like this, the drive could go on forever. I felt... whole. On reflex, I linked my arms around her waist, whispering in her ear. “I'm the one who needs to apologize. You would never have talked to Johnny if I had just told you what you wanted to know.”
Shifting, Lola's hair tickled my cheek. Her lips pressed to my forehead, hands cradling over mine in her lap. “It doesn't matter now.”
“It does matter now,” I declared. It has to matter. “I took care of everything. I'll tell you every single thing about me now, Lola. Everything.”
