Chapter 4
Naked except for a black thong, Joni staggered across the hotel suite in search of her leather jacket.
She passed a mirrored table covered with empty champagne bottles, lipstick-kissed glasses, and a powder trail of coke.
A girl she’d never seen before was sprawled on the chaise longue, a false eyelash dusting her cheek.
Through the open door to the bedroom, she could hear Kai’s ragged snores, and beyond that the drone of traffic mixed with music pulsing from a speaker somewhere.
She screwed up her eyes. What city is this? What country am I in?
Two solid knots of pain were lodged at her temples. Her throat felt like bark. She hadn’t warmed up last night. She’d been running late because—
Berlin! she recalled with a surge of relief. That’s right! They’d played at Huxley’s. A packed crowd, a girl bursting onto the stage during the final song, T-shirt soaked with sweat . . .
The thought broke free as she spotted her jacket slumped on the floor.
She crouched, bare knees pressing into the thick carpet, patting down the pockets.
Her short nails were polished black, a lightning bolt striking her left thumb.
Joni hadn’t asked for the lightning—Rhianne, her makeup artist, couldn’t have known Joni was terrified of thunderstorms. As she’d snatched her hand away, Rhianne had protested, “But I’ve only done one bolt! ”
Joni had glanced down at her still-wet nails and shrugged. “Lightning never strikes twice.”
She wanted the polish off. Wanted the hairspray cleaned from her waves of dark hair. Wanted last night’s sweat and sex washed from her body. Wanted to stand under a steaming shower and scrub away every trace of herself.
There! She pulled the bag of coke from the breast pocket, her phone tumbling out, too.
Only enough for a couple of bumps. She’d always claimed she only did party drugs.
A hit of coke and a couple of shots before a gig to get her sparkly, then afterward champagne and more coke to keep the vibe high, and then a bit of weed and a couple of pills to take the tempo down and help her sleep.
So what was this, then? A hit to get her going in the morning?
She’d seen others on this path. Wasn’t going to follow it.
I’m slipping.
A child’s laughter drifted through the open window, and she glanced toward the sound, squinting into the stream of light.
She wanted to catch a glimpse of them and the parent they were walking with.
Were they holding hands? Were they going for breakfast?
Going shopping? She wanted to know, watch.
She couldn’t say why. Maybe she just needed to know there were good things out there.
Her phone beeped with a notification. She glanced at the screen and her heart contracted: a photo of Liz, Helena, and Maggie, squeezed into Liz’s car.
There they were, faces bright and wide-eyed and fresh.
And so damn beautiful! Liz, one hand on the wheel, another saluting.
Helena, glossy black bob cut blunt to her chin, pouting.
Maggie leaning forward, cheeks kissed with freckles, hazel eyes crinkling with warmth as she gave the peace sign.
They were there, right now, together, hurtling toward an adventure.
A strange, uneasy sensation washed through Joni, as if she were looking at them from a distance, watching something that had already happened and she could never reach.
The message read: There’s still time.
Joni shook her head, teeth clenched. You’re wrong.
She could taste her own breath, foul and craggy, feel the greasy layers of last night’s stage makeup.
She was filled with disgust and shame and a seething self-hatred, violent enough to make her feel as if she were ripping open.
Yet there was nothing left inside her to spill out, and the emptiness felt terrifying.
She dropped the phone and staggered toward the low table, swiping aside bottles and glasses. She tapped out some coke on its mirrored surface, peaks of a snowcapped mountain waiting to carry her away from herself, fill that space with a brief, golden light.
As she leaned down, a fingertip pressed to a nostril, she caught her reflection. She looked bleak, like someone she didn’t recognize. She emptied the whole bag of cocaine over her reflection. She needed to obliterate herself. She wanted to die.
To die.
The thought made her lurch back, shocked at herself.
She clutched her hands to her mouth, as if she were scared she’d say those words aloud and then it’d mean something.
She was shaking.
She rushed across the suite into the main bedroom, foot connecting with an empty bottle, which she sent spinning, clattering into the bed leg. She heard Kai shift, grunt, saw a tattooed calf hanging off the bed.
She pulled on an oversized sweater and a pair of denim shorts, grabbed her leather jacket and bag.
Shoes! Where are my shoes?
She scanned the bedroom. Then the main lounge. Her gaze caught on the line of coke still dusting the table—and she felt the pull in her body, something tidal dragging her out to sea.
Leave. Leave right now. The voice was there, deep inside her.
She left the hotel room, took the lift, then hurried across the polished lobby floor and emerged into the Berlin morning, barefoot.
She raised a hand for a taxi. The other she kept in her pocket, fingertips resting against the smooth screen of her phone: There’s still time.