Page 76 of Saving Pookie

"Maybe..." I choke out and collect my breath. "Maybe we should start being honest." I nod, giving myself the courage to say what needs to be said, but I know my mom's watching in the audience. I can't even bear to look in her direction for fear of being met with disappointment. I know I can't tell the full truth. Society is too harsh on recreational use. You get caught high one time in your life, and all of a sudden, you're painted an addict. "That night, I did⁠—"

"You don't need to explain yourself," Mr. Pink growls. He turns to Matty with a scowl. "Move onto the next question."

"I think the audience wants to hear his answer," Matty shoots back.

"I said move on," Mr. Pink rips the cue card out of Matty's hand and tears it in half.

"You're the boss," Matty says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He grabs another cue card but doesn't even look at it. That's how I know it's about to be another attack on my character. It's fucking planned. "There's been a lot of discussion about your friendship with Pookie. Let's take a look."

A montage of clips plays:

Unseen footage from a hidden camera as Pookie dances on me in the dressing room.

Pookie crawling across the circle during the game of spin the bottle and kissing me.

Both of us dancing on the bar, when Pookie bends over to pull his jeans over his ass, I stare at him for a little too long with a sly grin.

Footage of Pookie and I exiting the bathroom at Mr. Pink's, the camera zooming in on what looks to be cum on my boots.

Talon's voice carries over the rest of the footage, "When we set out to film this show, we were dedicated to an honest portrayal of the Pink Stallions. What we found, though, was that the participants weren't willing to share their real lives."

And then, the final nail in the coffin to the life I wasn't ready to let go. A pitch black screen, but me and Pookie's conversation aired out for the world to hear.

"You deserve something more than this,"I say."Something more than being fucked in backrooms because we can't be seen on the dancefloor."

To which, Pookie responds, "I like being fucked in darkrooms."

"Not the point," I grumble. "I'm scared I won't ever be ready to say it myself, and I'm scared you'll get tired of waiting and you'll find some other sexy himbo to fuck you in darkrooms."

The clip ends.

The lights turn back on.

Complete fucking silence.

Mr. Pink shares an empathetic glare.

And Matty, piece of shit Matty... He smirks as he leans back in his chair, gripping the arms of it as if he's some goddamn king. "How long have you been fucking?"

"Enough!" Mr. Pink roars, jumping to his feet, cutting his hands through the air. "I'm putting an end to this right fucking now."

Matty waves his hand against his throat and someone in the production crew yells out to cut, and we'll be back in three minutes.

Talon rushes on stage, prying a bulky set of headphones over his neck as he approaches Mr. Pink. "We still have four more segments."

Mr. Pink laughs in his face. "You have four seconds to get the fuck out of my face."

Talon remains fixed in place. "I think you just need to go get a breath of fresh air and cool it."

"Is that right?" A violent chuckle erupts from Mr. Pink's throat. He grabs Talon by the throat and pins him against the bar counter. "You are never to step foot in my bar again. Do you hear me?"

Talon makes some kind of motion with his head, and Mr. Pink releases him before crushing his windpipe. Talon massages his throat as he exits left.

Mr. Pink tosses his mic on the floor and gathers in the center of the staged filming area to address the group. "This is not the show I wanted to make. What you've done to these kids is disgusting. Everyone involved with Flaunt Media has twenty minutes to pack up their shit and get the hell out of my bar." He addresses the audience. "Thank you for coming, and I apologize for the abrupt ending. I don't enjoy losing my temper, but all these people on this stage, they're my family. And I'll protect them at all costs. I hope you can all understand."

I sit motionless, listening to Mr. Pink's speech but not quite sure I'm processing it. Pookie scoots closer to me, rubbing a hand over my back. My first instinct is to pull away because I've been conditioned to do just that. Now, I suppose it doesn't matter. To my right, Dixon stands up only to be replaced by a shadow with a familiar scent—Seabreeze Kisses.

My gaze instantly finds its way to my mother, now sitting on the couch. Bleach-blonde hair and tanned skin, a warm presence. "I..." I search for the words. "I'm sorry."