He doesn’t listen. He never does.
“We have the Hawthorne event tomorrow night. Youhaveto perform.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Nolan. I’ll be fine.”
Adriana grins and touches my arm. I wince, but not enough for her to notice. But Micah does. He’s staring at me. “Get some rest, boys. We’re heading to New York now. When we get there tomorrow morning, you will all rehearse once to test the equipment and sound. Then tomorrow night, you’ll be on stage again.”
Then Nolan continues talking, but everything starts to fade out again, like someone dunked me under water.
“Performance.”
“Rehearsal.”
“Press statements.”
“Clean yourself up.”
It’s amazing how many ways one man can sayyou’re propertywithout actually using the words. Adriana steps closer, thescent of her perfume rushing up my nostrils. Her manicured fingers rest on my forearm, a soft drag of nails that probably looksaffectionate to anyone who doesn’t know better.
“You scared me tonight,” she murmurs.
Bullshit.She’s the one who injects me half the time.
I swallow the dryness in my throat. “Didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
Annoyance flashes in her eyes before she smooths it out. She lifts her other hand and cups my jaw, tilting my face toward hers. “Just don’t do it again,” she whispers. “Can’t lose my boy.”
I swallow hard.
Nolan snaps his phone shut. “We’ll talk more when you’re lucid,” he says, like he’s dismissing a misbehaved dog. He turns to Micah. “Make sure he stays upright tomorrow.”
Micah’s jaw clenches so tight I can hear his teeth grind. “Yeah. Fine.”
They disappear into the front of the bus, murmuring about damage control and optics.
The second they’re out of sight, Micah blows out a sharp breath. “You shouldn’t let her touch you,” he mutters.
“I don’t really have a choice. You know that.”
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his tired eyes. “I know.”
I watch my twenty-six year old best friend, co-addict, and the only person who still pulls me back when I start floating too close to the ceiling. He looks like hell, too. When I fall, he falls. That’s how Nolan designed it. Two birds in one fucking cage. My chest tightens. Maybe from the overdose. Or maybe from the fact that I’m still breathing when it’d be easier not to.
Micah nudges the door frame with his shoulder. “You need to lie down.”
“I need to not exist anymore.”
“Close enough,” he says, grabbing my arm before the floor tilts again. “Come on. Try to sleep.”
Sleep. Right.
He gets me to the bunk, and I collapse onto it. The curtain sways as the bus rattles onto the highway, NYC-bound.Withexhausted hands, I go to set my wallet in the cubby by my bed, but I hesitate. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I open it to retrieve the tiny picture I keep hidden away.
It’s a photo of the only woman I’ve ever loved, smiling back at me. After a few heavy moments of anger and sadness and self-fucking-pity, I shove it away and lie back.
I stare at the ceiling, counting the passing highway lights as they flicker across the bus interior. White. Black. White. Black.
Every flash feels like a camera. Eventually, sleep drags me under.