Groaning, I drop face-down onto the couch, wallowing in my misery. “I’m never drinking or doing drugs again,” I grumble into the cushions. “Or eating a damn peach.”
Not like Iwantedto use anything. I accidentally grabbed the wrong shot, I remember that much. I think I can never eat a damn peach again in mylife. The rest of the night’s a blur. Some people use that stuff to take the edge off, have been this entire tour. It’s not the first time I’ve been near it since we hit the road.
But I’m not a user and I stayed clear of that shit.
Not that any of that matters right now, because my stomach is rumbling, and I need food and more fucking water.
“I’ve heard that before, being on rock tours and all,” Jodie mumbles, not even looking up. like she reallyisused to this. Then she glances my way and grimaces. “Jesus, Jace. You look just as fresh as the wilted salad I forgot in the fridge last week.”
I drag my face sideways into the cushion so I can send her an evil glare from the depths of hell. She’s picking at a bowl, and I hope for her it’s the damn salad. She’s giving me a soft smile full of pity, though. “Missy told me about last night, and I’m glad that it all turned out fairly okay. She handled it well. But how are you feeling?”
“Fuck off,” is all I manage to get out of my mouth. I know it’s not fair to her. I know she only wants to help and check upon me, but I justcan’tcope right now. Not with this insistent fucking hangover from hell.
So that’s all I say for the next hours.
I popped some Advil, flopped back down, and spend the rest of the trip groaning and bitching to whoever will listen, since I refuse to crawl back to my bunk. I need fresh sheets first, don’t wanna know what Ava and Asher did there. They’re kinky fucks. I’ll probably need a priest. Maybe an exorcism.
I called Tyler, assured him that I was fine, complained to him,thankedhim for the wonderful show, before drifting in and out of consciousness, holed up in the couch’s corner under one of Ava’s fluffy-ass blankets. It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the demon-sex den down the hall.
When the bus finally parks at the venue in San Francisco, I force myself upright, rubbing at my face and my head, which, like a damn miracle, is finally pounding a littleless.
Still, I fuckinghatethis bus right now. Hate this tour. I know I should be angrier than I am right now about the drugs, or upset, but I just don’t have the energy. There weresomany drugs at that party and I should’ve paid better attention. Christ, we all know you shouldn’t touch the orange ones, unless you want to have afunnight.
And fuck me, did I have a fun night.
Thanks to Missy, Bowie, and Ava, everything turned out fine, I’m so fucking grateful for that. But right now, all I care about is getting back to myself, and surviving the second-to-last show of the tour in a bit.
Ugh. I need Tyler.
At least it’s an early show, so it should be over around eight, and then I can fucking go to bed.
And when I wake up? Then we go to LA, and after LA, I’m goinghome.
Back to Summerset University, to live with my babe and his roommates for the next couple of months. Lamar’s mom owns the house, and she was kind enough to let me stay.
I should probably send her fucking flowers or something. Or a fruit basket. Maybe both.
I’m still half-sunk into the couch, staring at the window and still cursing peaches, when I hear soft footsteps.
Missy appears beside me, already in her stage outfit. She sits down on the edge of the couch and holds out a fresh bottle of water, a banana, and some more Advil.
“Thought you might need this,” she says. “We need to go soon…”
I take the pills and water with a grateful grunt but skip the banana, reaching instead for a half-crushed bag of sour cream and onion chips from the mess on the salon table. My stomach’sreallyfucking rumbling now, and I need greasy shit.
Missy rolls her eyes on a sigh.
“Why do you always eat like you’re a kid whose parents are away for the night?”
“Because I like it. Thanks anyway,” I mutter, popping the Advil and chasing it down with a big gulp of water.
“You’re welcome, baby boy.” She pats my knee as I swallow the pills. “Are you really doing okay? We need to be on stage in an hour.”
I shrug as I tear open the chips. “I can handle it. I’ve felt worse.”
“Okay, glad to hear that.”
I groan through a mouthful of chips, and some crumbs fall out. “God, this issogood.”
