"I’ll just meet you at the parking lot." I don’t want anyone from Sonic Trash to see me leaving with Cruz. Who knows how Jett would react. I really don’t want another scene. It’s a small circle of people, smaller than some would think. Gossip spreads. Being crowned as a drama queen isn’t what I need right now.
Five minutes later, when I’m back inside, my suitcase is already open on the floor. I grabbed it from the band’s bus yesterday after Jett left with that skank. I fish through the clothes I packed, wondering if this is stupid, if I should just wait until the end of the tour before I actually allow myself a bit of freedom, before I tell Jett I’m done with his bullshit.
It's another four weeks, though. I’m not certain I can wait that long to break up. On the other hand, waiting would give me more time to figure out my living situation.
It’s not as easy as it seems in a city like LA. Rent is expensive. So is beauty school.
All this is going through my head as I strip the shirt off my back and pull on my fishnets and a long black tee that I securearound my waist with a worn leather belt. Boots next. My fingers touch the scissors and flowers on my arm as I stare into the mirror. I think I look hot.
Then I breathe out slowly and try not to remember the hurtful things Jett said, try to let it roll off my skin the way he does. It all floods back anyway. His face and then his back. His rage and then that other thing, the thing I hate more than the anger. The disregard.
I'm angry again. Furious even. To the point I'm shaking.
It wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last, just not with me. "Get out. Just go, then," I tell my reflection in the mirror, taking my makeup out of the bag. I work my lips back to cherry red. Scrub the black liner around my eyes until they look like they belong to me again.
When I’m done, I sit on the empty bunk and touch my hand to my cheek, let my breath slow and the morning quiet sink back into me.
I’m going to have one good day before I get on the flight back to LA.
I deserve it.
As agreed,Cruz is waiting for me by the artists' parking lot entrance. He’s leaning against a flashy red BMW, all smiles, and is wearing a black baseball cap, something I’ve never seen him do.
"Is that your disguise?" I point at the cap, then hand him his jacket.
He takes it and puts it on. "What? You don’t think it works?" He pulls the visor down, and his eyes almost disappear underneath it.
"The hair is a dead giveaway." He’s got the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen on a man. Long, silky, and taken care of, and it streams down his back like a shimmery curtain of midnight. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. I work with hair. I know.
We drive with the heat on, our bodies close while the rain patters softly on the windows. The inside of the car smells like old leather and something sweet, and it's holding us like a huge hug. My finger finds a loose thread in my fishnets and works it, pulling at it with a casual hand, not caring what unravels.
"Nice rental," I comment.
Cruz steps on the gas and shifts gears. The car jerks forward. "We got lucky."
"So you’re the kind of guy who likes driving fast?"
"Not always. Just when the situation allows."
"Where are we going?"
"Well, I thought we’d grab some breakfast first. There’s a lake nearby. We can hit that later."
"In this weather?"
"What’s wrong with it?" He glances at me very briefly, and I catch a flash of a smile from the corner of my eye. I find myself smiling too, like he’s infected me with his happiness over something so basic as seeing a body of water.
"You know what?" I say. "You’re right. Nothing wrong with it. It’s just a little bit of rain."
He reaches out for the radio and turns up the volume. Some German tune crackles through the speakers.
"The only German band I know is Rammstein," I admit.
"What about Tokyo Hotel or Scorpions?"
"Oh yeah. I don’t know how I forgot about them."
"If you want something a bit more hardcore, Kreator or Destruction. We’d always spin that shit in the backyard on a Saturday night. Sneak some beers from our parents. Or weed."
