Page 22 of A Tragic Melody

“Would you fuck me?”

“I just said you were like my sister, for God’s sake.”

“Like your sister, but I’m not your sister. So would you fuck me?”

“No.”

“Why not?” I stick out my bottom lip in a playful pout.

“I just wouldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Even if I asked you very nicely? Begged?”

“Tuesday. You are fucking insane.” He sighs, getting up and walking towards the bus door. “I’ll see you around.”

When he leaves, I sigh, leaning my head back. Making Quinn uncomfortable is so easy sometimes, but I wish he would just tell me what he really thinks for once. He takes very good care of me, but he won’t ever be honest with me.

I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a crush on me or like me like that, but he does care about me. He just doesn’t have the guts to tell me to knock it off with the drugs. Not that I would listen, but still, it would be something for him to express his opinion of my drug use out loud. Instead, he takes to holding my hair back as I puke, carrying me back to the bus, and pulling guys off me when I’m unable to remember them even trying to fuck me.

He probably knows his words would do little to get me to stop, but it would be nice to hear someone say it. Wyatt has gotten close, but he hasn’t come right out and told me I have a problem. I doubt he cares if I die or not. My death would only open doors for him, so he might even welcome it if I overdosed and died.

I do another line before packing up my drugs. I have a little makeup bag where I store all my drugs. Right now, it’s pretty full. I have a lot of coke and far too many different pills in it. I keep a small amount on me, but I tuck the bag under the pillow on my bunk before heading back inside.

Once I enter, I start off towards my dressing room before my eyes flicker toward Wyatt. It takes me a mere second to recognize the woman who sits in front of him. I don’t even need to see her face to know who she is.

My feet move on their own, taking me over there before I even notice. My blood boils, and the coke does little to help keep my emotions in check.

“Mother.” My voice comes out higher than I want it to as I stand between the two couches where they both sit.

“Tuesday,” she says, looking over at me. “It’s rude to interrupt. I raised you better than that. Apologize to Wyatt.” She flashes him a smile.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt says. His eyes are focused on my mother. I swore I’d never be jealous of another girl, but when he picks looking at my mother over me, all I feel is jealousy. “Tuesday is used to being rude to me.” He laughs.

“I…” I pause. I don’t even know what to say to that, so I focus on my mother. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course. It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a while?” I repeat her words as I try to remember the last time I saw her.

Two weeks after getting signed, she slapped me and told me she would ruin me. Cutting her out of the arrangement wasn’t my call, and for a moment, I considered trying to undo it. But the truth was I thought it might be nice not to be under her thumb.

But I only ended up being controlled by someone else.

And nothing would ever be enough for her to stop hurting me.

Since then, I saw her one other time. Almost two years ago when she blackmailed me. Hendricks had to pay her a lot of money to keep her from releasing all the photos she had of me with different people.

“Yes,” she replies coolly. “Forgive my daughter, Wyatt. She has always been a little dense.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Wyatt says, his voice calm and relaxed. “I think she is a lot smarter than anyone gives her credit for.”

“Ha.” My mother laughs. “I can only hope that is the case. Tuesday, sit. If you’re going to interrupt our conversation, you might as well join us.”

I want to scream. I could have her forcibly removed from the building, but instead I find myself taking a seat beside her. I turn so I can see her, but I watch Wyatt from the corner of my eye, as well.

This is terrifying for me—my enemies gathering together is not good. Hendricks told me to stay out of trouble, and now I sit right next to two of the biggest sources of trouble to exist in my life.

“So, a little birdy told me Wyatt was almost your guitarist,” she says, letting her hand rest on my leg.