Page 80 of Revel
I don’t have to look up to know whose voice that is, nor do Iwantto look up.
Wrongher.
I’m pretty good at writing people off. If you fuck me over, I’m content with never talking to you again. Only it doesn’t work in this case because every other day for the last month, I’ve had to see this bitch and her cheating eyes. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know, but you didn’t pick up your phone on Christmas.”
“What are you doing here?” I push my hand through my hair and thinking maybe we should put a sign on the bus that says “cheating whores not allowed,” but then again that would mean half the members of the band wouldn’t be allowed on either.
“Looking for you.”
Every time I look at Hensley, I wonder what she was thinking when she fucked him. Was she thinking of me? What about when the test revealed two pink lines, did she think of me then? Because I know for fucking sure she was thinking of me when she passed out on stage from hemorrhaging. I know she was thinking of me when she miscarried. I know because I drove her to the hospital. I stayed with her in the ER because that guy she was thinking about when she cheated on me, he told her to “take care of it” without involving him. He wrote her a check for fifty thousand to keep her mouth shut about who the father was. And now, she’s still thinking of me. She’s still in my goddamn face every other day.
“Well, you found me.” I sigh, reaching for my cigarettes and flask. Standing, I shove the flask in my back pocket. “Now leave.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she fidgets with the zipper on her sweatshirt and runs her fingers through her short blue and purple hair that’s spiked today. I used to think Hensley’s hair was cute. Something different in a world full of plastic beauty molded by Hollywood. Now I crave a long curtain of thick red curls that tickle my nose and frame honest emeralds. “Is it true you spent Christmas withher?”
Look at the watery eyes and flushed cheeks. I want to lie just to hurt. I want to lie to deflect the vulnerability I know I still have around her. My hands shake, a lump rising in my throat. “I spent Christmas alone.”
“How long have you had a crush on the princess of pop?”
Anger surfaces in my cheeks. My jaw clenches uncontrollably. I take a drink from my flask despite the sun only being up for hours. “Go away.”
Hensley snorts, rolling her eyes. “Figures I wouldn’t get an honest answer out of you.” She licks her lips, eyes narrowing, waiting for me to say something. This is what she does. She digs and provokes, always wanting an emotional reaction. From a girl who lacked connection as a child with anyone, she needs one now. Only I’m not the one to give it to her any longer.
I don’t answer her.
The door opens, and again, I don’t have to look up to know who it is. I know when she’s in a room.
Hensley laughs, her back against the stripper pole. She rolls her head toward Red standing wide-eyed next to the door, dressed in all black like she’s trying to hide from someone. “Oh, uh. . . . Sorry.” My eyes find Red’s, memories of shared smiles and cold toes linger. “Should I leave?” she asks, pushing the words out in a shaky sigh.
I light a cigarette, drawing in a breath. On the exhale, I shake my head and say, “No. She’s leaving.” I look to Hensley. “Leave.”
Hensley snorts, her jaw tight, her knuckles white. Pushing off the pole, she zips her jacket up.
Red sets her phone down on the counter next to the door but doesn’t engage conversation with Hensley as they cross paths. She whispers something to Red, low enough I can’t hear it.
I swallow, my hands still trembling, eyes darting to the girl watching me. The one fighting to keep her eyes expressionless in the presence of evil.
I draw in a smoke-filled breath, and then another when I feel the seat next to me dip. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.” I’m surprised she isn’t asking about Hensley, and why she was in here, but something tells me that’s the difference between those two. She’s not accusing or assuming there was something going on. I find it refreshing in a world of highly insecure women.
I put out the cigarette, shrug, and then smile lightly as I lean over and kiss her temple. “So?”
“I wish you would have told me.” Her voice is soft and caring and so unlike the girl who just left. She doesn’t want anything from me but this, the connection. “We could have celebrated.”
“I didn’t want to. If I wanted you to know, I would have said something.”
She looks out the window, her hair falling into her eyes. “Oh.”
I shift slightly toward her, draping my arm around her shoulder. “What time do you go on tonight?”
“Last.”
“Rough.”
I’m assuming she takes the meaning literally, or at the very least, a reminder as it’s meant to be. Her face tints pink, her fingertips finding the curls over her shoulder, nervously twirling them. “Not as rough as you were. . . .”
My lips brush against her neck. “You asked for it.”
