No. He's not saying these words. No. I take a step backwards. Another.
I hit the wall. "You're calling this off to fuck a stranger?"
"No, kid. That's not—"
"Don't call me that."
"This is going to hurt more if we have sex," he says. "This is what's best for you. For both of us."
"Fuck you. If this is what you want, fine, but I decide what's best for me."
"Willow."
"Why are you running away from this?" I ask. "Tell me. Please. If it's me, if you don't want someone like me, I understand."
"It's not you."
"Then what is it?"
He says nothing.
"Okay. Fine. I understand." I swallow hard. Anything to keep from crying. "Good luck at the show. Hope you enjoy fucking some random woman tomorrow. Hope it's really special."
"I'm not going to—"
"No. Do. I want you to enjoy your fucking piercing. We're nothing. You're a free agent. Free to fuck anybody you want."
I turn and rush to the women's bathroom. He says something, but it's notYou're right. I'm an idiot for running away from this. Let me press you against the wall and make it up to you. In fact, I'm going to skip the show. What does a rock song need drums for, anyway? I'd much rather bang you.
