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I swallowed down that thought, feeling like a villain for even thinking such mean things. She had a great body, even if it was created from an eating disorder. Petite and slender, and silently mocked by my own insecurities.
I didn’t have the same build. I was a little taller, a little fuller in places.
She was like Rhylie, delicate A-list material, with a flat stomach and pert little boobs. I crossed my arms, hiding my bigger chest and all my insecurities that stemmed from having an F-cup.
I couldn’t hate her for being perfect. I couldn’t hate her just because Remi didn’t, either. Until a minute ago, I actually liked the person I thought she’d be. I’d enjoyed her music from time to time, too, but I never wanted to listen to her again because she’d invoke feelings about myself that weren’t allowed in my little bubble that kept me happily floating through life.
I wouldn’t let her make me hate myself.
She was still screaming obscenities about me that I chose to drown out by letting my favorite song play in my head when Remi led her down the steps of the trailer, not letting her go until she was pulling herself away from him and switching the direction of her anger.
It was on him now, along with a dozen punches from tiny fists as they blasted his heaving chest.
I drifted towards the couch, feeling a little weighed down. Venetian blinds obstructed the view of Remi and Sen, but I could still see her arms flying into the air, her spit, too, glistening as it mingled with a backdrop of stars as she screamed something about screwing losers—me—and drugs that Remi shouldn’t be on.
I sat down, and comfort surrounded me. I let out a puff of breath, and the cushions below me did the same.
“Oh, my god,” I mouthed, forgetting Sen’s pain beyond the window and forgetting all the hurt she’d caused me as I bounced slightly on the softest couch in the world.
Pink-painted nails caught on satin pillows as I moved them into a more comfortable position on the couch. My bare legs stuck to the white leather. I peeled them away, adjusting in my seat as Remi entered and collapsed against the door.
I took another glance through the window and saw that Sen was gone.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s gone back to her place.” Remi’s eyes were heavy with stress and lingering on my face, not the overly exposed thigh I revealed while stretching over for that one last glance. “Security escorted her, and I told them to keep her away from me.”
“Is she okay?” I shouldn’t have cared, but it was hard for me to see people hurting, even if they deserved it. That was my flaw.
“She’s drunk, rude, and out of line, but I’m sure she’ll be fine. Don’t let her get into your head.”
Remi didn’t wait for my reply, disappearing down the hall and beyond a closet door.
He took his time, fascinated by something lurking inside that was hidden from my view by the cherry-oak door. The two drinks I’d had all night, those alcoholic concoctions that were much stronger than they looked—courtesy of Daniel—had me laughing over the idea that it probably wasn’t Narnia.
I dropped Remi’s jacket from my shoulders and kicked off my shoes, making myself comfortable with my feet beneath my bum.
“What’s so funny?” Remi wondered aloud.
“If you get any deeper into that closet, you’ll be pulled inside by a lion or a witch.”
His body twitched, but he didn’t vocalize a laugh. Maybe he hadn’t seen the movie or had never had someone read the book to him as a child.
“You’re a bright soul.” His words were confusing to me and tinted with melancholy.
My mind raced through his songs, trying to decipher if that was some kind of cryptic lyric.
“What I mean is, you’re happy.” He clicked the closet door shut and moved closer. He munched on soft candies, all brightly colored and tasty-looking. I wanted some, but first, I had to spit out the horrible question in my head.
“Sen Chastity said something about drugs.” My eyes dipped to my lap, and I suddenly felt like I was stepping out of line for asking this question. “Do you take them?”
He plopped down next to me, the cushions bouncing me up and almost into his lap. My hand landed between his legs, and he jumped, probably fearing the pain that didn’t come.
I straightened but stayed close to his body. His arm draped along the back of the couch, but he didn’t touch me.
And that made me unsure of my next move.
“I take a little coke before the bigger gigs,” he admitted, shrugging like it meant nothing.
“It’s bad for you.”
