Where will I go?
What will I do?
Can I just sleep outside?
At some point, I come to a stop and look around, wondering why the hell I agreed to fly over here in the first place. I couldhave picked up some extra shifts at the salon. Weekends are always busy, and I need the hours.
Beauty school doesn’t pay for itself.
"Hey, dollface," someone calls from the group of drunken revelers stumbling past. "Wanna come party with us?"
Ewwww. "No thank you," I reply. "But you go ahead."
They don’t insist. Thank God. I don’t think I can deal with more bullshit today.
And I can't go back to Jett. Not tonight.
Not when the alcohol has unleashed the worst of his temper and entitlement. The thought of facing him again, of enduring another tirade of belittling insults and dismissive cruelty sends a shudder down my spine. Plus, my pride won’t let me.
But the alternative—wandering the festival grounds alone, with nowhere to lay my head and no money to my name—is equally daunting.
Frankly, there’s no choice but to go back to Sonic Trash’s tour bus. If I’m lucky, Jett’s already passed out. Or not even there. That way, I can get a bit more rest.
I take a deep breath and start walking again. I've survived worse than this. I've clawed my way out of the wreckage of my childhood, fought tooth and nail for every scrap of happiness and self-worth.
I won't let Jett break me. I won’t let myself become my mother.
I thinkit’s intentional that I walk really slowly. Deep down in my gut, I know Jett will probably be waiting, all tweaked out and victorious, ready to gloat.
When Sonic Trash buses finally emerge in the distance, I’m so anxious over this confrontation that hasn’t even happened yet that I can’t think straight.
As I approach, I see a young woman leaning against the crew bus, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She looks up as I draw near, her eyes narrowing in recognition.
"You're Jett's girl, right?" she asks, her voice rough and smoke tinged.
"Wendy." I stop. "Yes."
A faint smile tugs at her lips. "I remember you from that music video shoot last year. ‘Wild Dogs.’ The one we did in Glendale. In that huge warehouse."
The memory surfaces, hazy and distant. A crowded set, the glare of lights, Jett's arm slung possessively around my shoulders whenever he didn’t need to be in the take. I agreed to do the guys’ makeup and hair for free. It was right after I started beauty school, and I needed to work on building my portfolio.
"I’m sorry, I don’t recollect your name," I admit.
"I'm Nell. I manage gear. On the road and in the studio."
My mind conjures up the girl’s face from that day, a blur of piercings and dark eyeliner while she’s hauling equipment and barking orders. She’s maybe a few years older than me.
"Right, of course," I say, forcing a smile. "It's good to see you again."
Nell takes a long drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the darkness. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be with the guys?" She jerks her head at the band’s tour bus standing side by side with the crew one.
I know better than anyone that gossip in this industry spreads way too fast and has a tendency to become something it’s not, but I’m not sure anything I say to justify Jett’s behavior will be of much help. Being with him is like holding a breathunderwater, I realize. "I...don't feel like going back to the bus tonight."
"You and your man had a fight or something?" Nell asks.
"Something like that."
"He's on a bender again, huh?"
