6. Torren
6
TORREN
PAST, ArtFusion Day One
“What the fuck did you do to her this time?”
Jonah’s voice has me cracking an eye open and turning my head to glance in his direction. He’s slumped in the chair, eyes closed, with a joint between his lips and a glass of clear liquid in his hand. It’s probably vodka, but it might be tequila. He’s not particularly loyal to either one.
“Nothing.” I groan and close my eyes again. I have a pounding fucking headache. “You know how she gets.”
It’s not entirely true, but I don’t elaborate. I don’t want to talk about this shit with Sav. She’s fucking volatile, and I shouldn’t have to explain that to Jo. One day, she’s obsessed with me, and we can’t keep our hands off each other. The next, she can’t stand the sound of my voice, and we’re facing off like enemies in a death match. Usually, it’s all connected to whatever she’s on, and it’s unpredictable. I was born with an abundance of patience, but fuck if this whole bullshit’s not exhausting.
“Just fuck someone else.”
I snort at his suggestion.
“I’m serious. It will make you feel better.”
I shake my head with a sigh. “Savvy’s not fucking anyone else. She’s just pissy. ”
“You’re in denial.”
Jonah kicks the couch I’m sitting on, making my body jerk. I don’t open my eyes. I just reach into my pocket for a joint and spark it up. I don’t want to talk about Sav and her mood swings. I don’t want to think about what she does when she’s not with me. I don’t want to admit to what I do when I’m not with her. It’s not like we try to fucking hide it. We just pretend it doesn’t happen.
“She’s never going to love you the way you love her, you know. Stop tryin’ to force it before you fuck it up for all of us.”
Jo’s voice is serious and somber, a tone I’m not used to hearing from him anymore. In the early days of the band, dolling out sage advice and profound opinions was a daily occurrence from our guitarist. Sav and Mabes used to call him Papa Jo because of the way he looked out for us. He was the responsible one. The thoughtful one. The wise one.
It’s like that guy doesn’t exist anymore, except in brief moments like this one. I just wish this glimpse of Papa Jo didn’t cut like a fucking knife to the chest. I clench my teeth before taking another long pull from my joint. I let the toxins sit in my lungs as Jonah’s words echo in my ears.
She’s never going to love you the way you love her.
I don’t respond. I don’t want to fuck with any of it right now. I just need a break from all the bullshit.
Playing ArtFusion wasn’t even supposed to be on the schedule. We’re supposed to be enjoying some downtime between our North American and European tour legs. We’re supposed to be resting , but the label doesn’t care. They see dollar signs, so our downtime has been relegated to the fucking tour bus in middle-of-nowhere fucking Arizona.
We’re on top of each other with no privacy and no space. It’s uncomfortable. It’s irritating. We piss each other off at least once a day. Sav’s tried getting a second tour bus for her and Mabel to share, but so far, the label has turned her down. The rest of us haven’t even bothered broaching the topic. If the bastards won’t listen to Sav, they sure as shit don’t care what we think. We just keep holding out for another Grammy, and then maybe our demands will be taken seriously.
“You gonna venture out tonight?” Jonah coughs out the last word, and I don’t have to look at him to know it was accompanied by a cloud of smoke. I’m glad for the change of subject .
“Nah. You?”
I have no desire to go out there and push my way through crowds of people. Jo and Mabel fly under the radar better than Sav and I do, but I can still sneak by without causing too much of a fan frenzy. Sav, though? If she’s not sequestered in the bus surrounded by security, then she has to have a security guard up her ass. It takes the fun out of it.
“Maybe.” Jo kicks the couch again, so I roll my head toward him and crack open an eye. He gives me a rare, lopsided grin. “Might go score some molly from some Ivy League kids. They always have the best shit.”
I choke out a laugh. “You’re a literal rock star, fucker.”
Jonah shrugs. “There’s just something better about drugs bought on Mommy and Daddy’s dime. The rich kids can share.”
I raise an eyebrow, but he ignores me. Jonah doesn’t like to admit it, but if he weren’t lead guitarist in our band, he’d definitely be one of those Ivy League kids dropping trust fund money on drugs at a trendy music festival. He forgets that I know he dropped out of Yale. Asshole.
The door to the bus opens and Mabel appears, a frown marring the usually cheerful expression of our drummer. She sends a scowl my way, and I already know she’s going to bitch about Sav.
“Don’t look at me,” I say before she can hurl accusations. “She woke up raging and hating the world. I was just the first one to set her off.”
Like usual, Mabel implies with a quirk of her thin, dark brow, then she rolls her eyes and walks past me, disappearing into the back.
She’s not wrong. I’m usually the first one to set Sav off. Admittedly, I say things that I know will irritate her. I do it intentionally these days. Like tossing rocks at a land mine. If she’s feeling particularly vicious, I might as well trip the trigger early and get it over with. That way she can explode, we can move past it with an angry fuck, and then we can all go about the rest of our day.
When Mabel steps back in front of me a few minutes later with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, I know the angry fuck is off the table.
“Savvy and I are going to a hotel in town. You are welcome to also come, but I think it’s best for all of us if you stay here. We’ll be back before the show.”
I stare blankly at her .
Mabel is always taking Sav’s side. They were a packaged deal when I met them, so it’s fine. I get it. But the divide has been growing lately, and these days it almost seems like Mabel’s defense of our frontwoman is done begrudgingly. Mabel definitely resents me for screwing up their friendship, but she resents Sav more, and she hates it. Jealousy is deteriorating Mabel’s loyalty, and Savvy is too steeped in her own disaster to even notice.
I notice, though.
Finally, I concede with a nod. “I’ll stay here.”
Mabel turns on her heel and leaves without another word, and Jonah lets out a slow whistle. He’s getting more fucked up the longer we sit here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he passes out soon.
“Now you definitely can go out tonight.”
His words are slow, groggy, and his head is starting to lull to the side, resting on his shoulder in a way that makes my own neck ache.
I push up from the couch and look out the window just in time to catch sight of Sav. She’s standing with Mabel, surrounded by three security guards next to a black SUV. She’s wearing sunglasses, but when she tilts her head in my direction, I know her eyes are on me. I don’t duck away from her. I don’t hide. Instead, I look her over.
The outfit she threw on to storm out on me—cotton pajama shorts and my tank—is gone, and she’s wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Her silver hair is still a mess, though. She probably hasn’t done anything with it since I had my hands in it early this morning. Before everything went to shit.
Fuck, she pisses me off.
My attachment to her is deep in my veins, thrumming in my neck like my heartbeat. I have to keep myself from going after her. From provoking her. I want to fight with her. I want to hear her scream at me, to feel her lash out, because even her vitriol is better than being alone with my thoughts.
I take another drag from my joint, but I don’t take my eyes off her.
It’s unhealthy. I can admit that. Our relationship is built of the most unstable things—a house of matches over a lake of gasoline. Lately, our spark has felt dangerous. Lethal.
The only time we work is when we’re high. The moment we sober up, the haze is lifted, revealing only a mess of live wires and hurt feelings. One wrong move, and we’ll burn down everything and everyone around us.
But even knowing this, I still don’t look away. I see her lips curve downward in a frown. Her eyebrows scrunch. Then, before she’s shuffled into the back of the black SUV, she lifts her hand, brandishing her middle finger in my direction. On impulse, I do the same, making sure the expression on my face mirrors hers, and I don’t lower my hand until she’s in the SUV and driving out of sight.
I stare at it until my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and read the text I was expecting. I read it and let loose a sinister laugh. I could have guessed, right down to the punctuation, what she sent.
Sav
I can’t do this shit with you anymore. See you at the show.
Me
I’m sorry.
I hit send on the half-ass apology, but when the message doesn’t show as delivered after a minute, I know she’s blocked me. She certainly didn’t waste time. She never does.
I close out of the text and block her number before deleting it as if it will do anything. Her phone number is one of the only three I have memorized, and now none of them will answer if I call. My mom’s written me off, and my brother is in jail.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and close my eyes, breathing slowly through my nose. I wait for her dismissal to sting. I wait for my head to spiral into what-ifs and my heart to ache in that unrequited love way it always does when this shit happens. When I recognize the dull throb of pain, I open my eyes with a defeated sigh, then let them drift to the space where the redhead from earlier was standing. Was staring. Eavesdropping .
I wonder if she’ll take what she saw to the media. I drag a hand down my face. That’s the last thing I want, though I suppose there’s nothing new they can run about Sav and me. They’ve already ripped us to shreds ten times over.
She was pretty, the redhead. Probably beautiful if I’d let myself look her over a little longer. And she didn’t cower away from my stare. She wasn’t panting after me. There was no phone out. She took no moves to approach me. It was like she’d accidentally stumbled upon us. She didn’t seem interested in throwing herself at us for an autograph, either. Or throwing herself at me for more than an autograph.
There’s a good chance she’s not a fan, and that intrigues me more than anything else. More than her thick thighs and ample breasts. More than her unique hair color and full lips.
I’m tired of fans, and that stokes my interest in the girl.
I think about it for less than a minute before I make up my mind.
“Fine. Let’s go check shit out.”
All I get is Jo’s deep breathing in response. When I turn in his direction, I find him passed out cold with a lit joint hanging precariously between two limp fingers. I shake my head, but I’m not surprised. I pull the joint from his hand, take a drag, then stub it out in the ashtray on the table. I push the little button on the side of his chair to recline the back so he’s no longer hunched over and twisted.
“Gonna get into your stash, yeah?” He doesn’t answer because he’s passed out. I slap him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
I snag a hat and some sunglasses from my bunk, then dig through Jo’s shit. I’ll find something to make me forget about Savvy’s bullshit, and then I’ll slip into the crowd and pretend I’m someone else for the night.