Unbound (the TORQUED trilogy Book 3) Page 7

  Inside her room, I sniff and look around. Kate’s different from Sophie in so many ways. Even her room. While Sophie’s room is white, Kate has plush reds and black curtains, a direct reflection of her slutty behavior. Which is why I’m here. She’ll let me fuck her.

  I push her up against her bed because if I don’t act now, I won’t do it at all. I’ll chicken out like the scared motherfucker I am right now. My eyes burn and my heart feels like there’s a fucking hole in it so deep nothing will ever fill the void. It’s endless, like space and time, no end in sight.

  My kiss is smothering, no control, only movements and actions she can’t quite keep up with until she does and takes over.

  Kate’s arms slip over my shoulders, under my hoodie and then she’s removing my shirt, straddling me. I work on my buckle, then lift her nightgown over her shoulders. It happens quickly, so fast I don’t even remember where I’m at or what I’m doing because when I blink, I’m on top of her, between her legs. I stroke myself, knuckles brushing her thigh and if I move, if I go forward from here, I’m nothing but a piece of shit. I know that.

  “I can’t…,” I mumble, disappointment rolling through her with a slow shake of her head.

  “Well, if you’re not here to fuck me, then why are you here?”

  I don’t answer.

  I don’t know.

  I’M IN MY room, I think, though I don’t know what time it is. Blinking, I lay awake and stare at the ceiling trying to recall the day, or even for the briefest moments, where I am. Familiarity greets me, my ceiling, the same ceiling spinning the night before.

  Moving around in the bed, I realize I’m lying on sheet music. It’s a crumbled-up song but on it is a number written in lipstick. Must be that chick from last night. I wad it up and toss it on the floor. I don’t plan on ever calling her.

  Raising my hands up, I cover my face and breathe out a slow, steady breath. My stomach tightens, hunger pains coiling deep within. It’s been days since I’ve had real food.

  What time is it?

  My bedroom door swings open, the handle hitting the wall and Linc comes barging in. He throws a pillow that’s on the ground at me. Peering over at him, I notice he’s dressed and ready, his jet-black hair artfully slicked back. “Rawley dude, what the fuck? It’s fuckin’ seven and you’re not even ready to go yet.”

  I stare at him trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about when it hits me that we’ve got a gig tonight and because of me, we’re running late. As usual.

  Linc doesn’t do late. He’s chill about any other crap I may pull, but being late is where he’s draws the line. It turns him into a crazy person, and I’m in no mood to deal with that.

  “Yeah, okay, sorry. Give me just a minute and I’ll be ready to go.”

  He points at me. “You’ve got exactly one minute, Rawley, or I’m going to come back in here and kick your sorry ass all the way to the bar.”

  As soon as he turns to leave, I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Scrubbing my hands over my face trying to wake up, I stop, staring at the last line of coke left on my nightstand.

  I know I shouldn’t…. It’s killing you.

  I try not to feel anything, let alone pain, but despite my attempts, numbness doesn’t even offer relief anymore.

  LIGHTS HIT MY face, so bright I have to close my eyes. My body hurts, every muscle contracting as though standing in one place is an effort, a will that’s taking everything I have. I try to remember where I am, focusing on muffled voices and the steady thump of a blaring base in my ears. It’s pounding, heavy, insistent and I realize, it’s my heart beating, not the music.

  A snare drum taps out a measured beat, people shout my name in front of me, my bandmates stare at me, waiting for me to do something, remember the lyrics.

  Linc shakes his head, clicking his drum sticks together to the beat, jaw flexing. He’s disgusted with me. I’m disgusted with myself.

  Get your shit together!

  Beck sings the first few lines, unplanned, improvising for my hesitation. He steps up, always having my back and into the spotlight when all I need is the shadow. When he backs up, I manage to get out a few lines.

  You’ve poisoned my blood

  Fucked to think I could live like this

  That I could actually forget you

  My stomach rolls, a wave of nausea hitting me, my throat tightens again as I try to recall the next verse to the song. Somewhere inside myself, I know I should know this, I wrote it, but my mind fades into a noise I can’t decipher. “Goddamn it….”

  The room spins. I stare out at the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder fans, music reverberating inside of them and waiting on me to deliver what they came for.

  My throat tightens and I know what’s coming. Time means nothing, minutes pass in an endless loop as I wait for the feeling to pass.

  It doesn’t.

  It gets worse.

  And I think… no, I want to die.

  Dropping the microphone on stage, it pops, loud, sending a shrill through the crowd. I have just enough time to make it off the stage before I heave and vomit in the hallway. Knowing that’s not the end of it, it’s rising back up and I drag myself toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

  Hovering over a grimy urine soaked toilet, I clench my eyes shut, the acid in my throat burning. My empty stomach heaves and I spit blood and bile out, digging my grip into the edge of the toilet. My whole body seems to constrict and I’m spitting again. Pressing my forehead to cool porcelain, a chill rushes through me and I’m shaking, shudders ripping.

  Footsteps beside me, heavy ones, draw my attention to the left. It’s Dylan, I think. I don’t fucking care at this point. I want to die. I want to be left alone to fucking die.

  “What the fuck?” he mutters. I know that tone; he’s disappointed.

  What the fuck? Yeah, what the fuck is right.

  I don’t look up. I’m hoping he gets the hint and leaves me alone. I don’t want to be bothered by anyone. My pulse pounds in my temple and I move to prop myself up against the wall. Everything’s tilting and I try not to think about where I’m at and how dirty this floor is because I don’t give a fuck. I want this spinning to stop. I want the world to stop.

  I jump when the door slams open, crashing into the tile wall. Peering up with one eye barely open, it’s Beck and Linc. I don’t have the energy for this, but I can tell they’re pissed.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Rawley? We had to cancel the fucking show because of you. Jesus, why can’t you get your shit together? You’re such a fucking loser,” Beck mumbles the last part, but I hear him. I do.

  Blood boils in my veins. Did I hear him right?

  Yeah, I did.

  I turn my head and spit again, my forehead pressing into my arm I have slung over the toilet. “Just get the fuck out. I don’t care. Leave me alone.” Anger burns through me, red to white, snow falling on the flames of deception I can’t let go of. I press my fists against the side of my head and my forehead to my knees. I want to laugh at what I’m hearing from him. I let my breath go, searching for another but gasping instead.

  Beck kicks my leg. “You should give a shit, you little piece of crap! Just because you get up there and people chant your name doesn’t make you fucking God, you pussy. News flash, Rawley, the world doesn’t revolve around you! Half the fucking time I’m singing the damn songs because you keep forgetting the lyrics, and they’re your fucking songs!”

  I shake my head because there’s no way I’m hearing this shit right. I look to Linc to try and make sense of the tantrum that Beck is throwing at me.

  Linc must know what I’m asking by just the look on my face because he shakes his head and settles his gaze, looking me directly in the eye, scratching down his thick beard. “Beck’s right, man. Shit’s gettin’ old pretty fuckin’ quick.”

  I breathe out heavily with no relief and lean my head back against the wall, bending my knees to drape my arms over my legs. “Fuck you b
oth! If that’s the way you feel, then get the fuck out and leave me alone!” If I had any energy, I’d push them both out, but I’m not sure I can even stand let alone push someone. And they’re not leaving, which makes me think I should be the one to leave.

  So I try. Struggling to my feet, I lean against the graffiti-covered wall to keep myself from crumbling back down.

  Once I feel as steady as I’m going to get, I take a step forward to leave when I look at the mirror above the sink. I catch a last glimpse of Beck and Linc as they walk away, shaking their heads in disappointment.

  Focusing on the mirror, the reflection staring back at me, my stomach rolls again. I force down the bile threatening to bring me to my knees. Fury builds inside me and my fists tighten against the cool metal sink. I absolutely despise the person staring back at me. I hate him for what he’s done to me and everyone else. This no good piece of shit dependent on chemicals to get through the day.

  Without thinking, my fist slams with the mirror. I nearly collapse and have to brace on the counter to keep from falling. My hands immediately protest and slip against the pieces of broken glass that tear through my skin. Uncontrollable shakes take over and I know I don’t have much time before it I give out completely. I’ve pushed it too far. Asked too much. And in this moment, this one staring at my reflection through cracked shards of glass, I realize that I am truly alone.

  And do you want to know what sucks the most? This piece of shit staring back at me, I can’t count on him either.

  MY EYES ARE heavy. It’s like trying to open the gates of hell. It’s what I feel like. Hell. Unfortunately, it’s become my normal. I blink several times attempting to clear this disorientation, but nothing helps. I’m confused about last night and tired, the urge to drift back to sleep is there, but my head pounds, drumbeats resonating inside my skull.

  Rolling over, I curl into myself, legs sliding over cool sheets. My ribs are sore, like maybe I slept on the floor last night and somehow made it to the bed. It hurts lying like that so I turn over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling trying to remember anything from last night. Pain travels through me, pain in my blood stream and I’m waiting… praying it stops.

  I don’t want to admit it, I really don’t, but I know there’s some truth to the pieces I can string together from last night. The bar, the show, and Beck finally telling me how he really feels about me.

  What’s ironic is everyone thinks I drink myself into oblivion and get wasted on drugs because I’m selfish and only thinking of myself. They couldn’t be more wrong. Believe me, I’m the last person I’m thinking of. It’s her that does this to me.

  HER.

  She competes with no one and nothing competes with her.

  Like my pounding headache, I’d give anything not to think of her, and that’s my problem. She’s a compulsion I can’t shake. Squeezing my eyes shut, I see pretty blonde curls and the tremble of my hands and her face glowing under a neon sign the night I told her I loved her for the first time.

  I can’t take this anymore. Let me go!

  Why can’t she? Why hundreds of miles away can’t my heart just let go?

  Bringing my hands up to my face, I cover my eyes trying to ignore the rhythm in my head I can’t make out. My body struggles to move, protests. It screams with shallow beats from the way I’ve destroyed it. It’s finally fighting back. I force myself to remember the way it felt to see my boys, my brothers, looking down at me with disgust and shame.

  As I lie here in silence, I can hear murmuring coming from outside my room. I assume it’s Beck and Linc, but I don’t have the energy to really give a shit.

  My door creaks open, hits the drywall with a thud. My boys, arms crossed over their chests, with the same look they wore last night. One of complete disgust.

  I’m not in the mood to deal with anymore lectures about what a loser I am. “Go away.” Groaning, I cover my face with a pillow.

  “Rawley, get the fuck up. We need to talk.” The tone in Beck’s voice tells me he’s in the same mood as he was last night.

  Prying the pillow from my face, I stare at him. Or try to. It seems there’s three of him. “Get out.”

  “No, I won’t get out. After the shit you pulled last night, you don’t have a choice, Rawley. Get your ass out of that goddamn bed and get out here. We need to talk, and we’re going to do it now.”

  “Talk about what?”

  He doesn’t answer me and walks out leaving Linc by the door. I shift my eyes in his direction, despite not being able to make his face out.

  Fed up, he sighs. “Man… just get dressed and get out here.”

  It’s like I’m back at home and my mom is yelling at me for parking on the grass when I come home wasted or after leaving the kitchen a mess. I don’t need lectures from these guys, but it seems in the last few months everyone wants to tell me how to live my life.

  Grudgingly, I heave myself up. My stomach immediately lurches at the motion. I squint against the dizziness and the light coming into the room and take a few deep breaths to calm my revolting gut. Standing, I grab a pair of shorts off the floor and pull them on. Reaching for my cigarettes on the nightstand, I make my way out.

  When I’m in the living room, Beck’s on the chair and Linc’s standing near the window leaning against the window sill with his arms crossed. I can immediately tell this was Beck’s idea and Linc might agree, but he’s mostly going along with it. Beck’s usually the leader between the two of them.

  We stand there, staring at each other, an invisible line of substance drawn between us.

  I’m not sure what to do so I sit down. Sitting back, I light the cigarette, taking deep hard drags. It’s really no surprise to me. I know where this conversation is heading. “What the hell is so important that you had to drag me out of bed to talk about it?”

  They turn their gazes from me to quickly look at each other. Linc gives Beck a small nod. The on-going indifference between us is unmistakable and increasing every day. I see it. So do they. I don’t want to see it, but it’s inevitable.

  “Look, Rawley.” Beck shakes his head, his jaw tight. “The shit you pulled last night, it’s got to stop. Your fuck ups are becoming more frequent and Linc and I… we’re tired of cleaning up your messes.”

  I stare out the window. It’s easier than looking at them. I can’t look directly at anyone these days. “Nobody asked you to clean up anything.”

  “No, you’re right.” Beck snorts, as if he knows my excuses and every fucking word about to come out of my mouth. “Nobody asked us, but that’s what we do. That’s what fucking boys do but no more. Your shit, it’s starting to effect all of us, not just you here. This is Torque. This is us. It’s where we have to draw the line.”

  I nod, but don’t look up. My heartbeat remains steady and I stay composed, for now, but it’s only a matter of seconds before that changes. “I had a bad night, I’m sorry.”

  Linc takes a step toward me but stops himself before he gets too close. He sweeps his hand through his black hair, which is longer than usual and brushes it to the side so it’s curling up at the ends. “That’s just it, Rawley, it’s not just one bad night, every night is a bad night, and it’s been like this for months.”

  “We followed you to Seattle because we thought getting away from Lebanon,” Beck adds, “from Sophie… we thought that’s what it would take for you to get your head out of your ass and focus on the band. You said you wanted this, but all you’ve done since we got here is drink, smoke, snort and fuck.” He’s disgusted with me, spent, and sighing at the sight of me. “Jesus, Rawley, I’ve know you since we were five, and I don’t even fucking recognize this bent motherfucker in front of me!”

  Vindictively, I smile and look up with that look on my face. The one they know. The one where I’m close to laying into them. Pulling the cigarette from my mouth, I hold it at bay. “Are you both going to just stand there and fucking criticize me or do you actually have a goddamn point to this?”

 
This is fucking stupid and they know it. We’ve been through shit together. I’m not even talking about the everyday shit where we were running from the cops because we pulled off small town mischief. I’m talking about the heavy life changing crap. The sobering shit like my father dying and Beck’s sister committing suicide in front of him when we were sixteen. We’ve been through it all, the good, the bad, the fucked up, and I always with the moto of I got your back no matter what. In a sense, everything our friendship’s built on is the ugly we don’t talk about because it’s unspoken. It’s I’ll be there, anytime anywhere, because you’re my boy.

  It’s unspoken until now. Now… it’s not wordless. But the thing is, it’s not meaningless. It never was. Only now, it’s accusing, consequential and fucking real.

  It’s never easy to know how people truly think of you, but in this case, it’s fucking insulting.

  Beck looks down and releases a deep breath. “I found your phone outside next to your drunk ass when we got home last night. When I picked it up, I saw a text from your mom. She wants you home for Red’s wedding in two weeks. I called her this morning to let her know you’d be there.”

  “Fuck you.” I laugh, placing the cigarette back between my parted grin. It’s all I can do. “You had no right to talk to my mom.”

  “No, fuck you, Rawley!” Beck stands, arms open and wide. I look right through him at the wall. “I had every right to call your mom. She loves you and she wants you to come home. Your brother is getting married. Were you really going to ignore her and skip Red’s wedding?”

  “Yes. Yes, I was really going to ignore her and skip Red’s wedding. He doesn’t want me there. Just because my mom wants me at the wedding doesn’t mean anyone else does.” Cold eyes sweep to his, a warning he should fucking listen to. “Mind your own damn business.”