Page 26 of A Tragic Melody

“No.”

“Right. Must be hard to keep an appetite when the only thing you put in your body is substances.”

“Wouldn’t you know?”

“I do know. You realize that, right? I know exactly how it goes. Probably better than anyone.”

“You did heroin. I don’t dabble that deep.”

“Yet.” I’d still love to know how she knows about that, but that secret will probably die with her. I should deny it, but I feel like there’s no point.

“I have a line.” She tucks her long hair behind her ears. “One I haven’t crossed yet.”

“Yet,” I repeat with a smile. “Takes one very bad day to make you willing to cross that line. One awful, tragic day, when you just want to feel nothing.”

“What day was that for you?” she asks in a low voice.

“Burying my family.”

She nods. “That must have been hard.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “I can’t imagine, but then again, you met my mother. It wouldn’t be that awful to bury her.”

“Yeah. Come watch me eat.”

“Why should I? You’ve been nothing but mean to me this whole time. Now suddenly you care? Does it have something to do with how awful my mother is? Because if that’s the only reason you care, save it. I don’t want your kindness because of her.”

“Maybe we could bury the hatchet. Be friends.”

A small smile spreads across her face as her smokey eyes light up.

“Okay, Wyatt. We can be friends.” She pushes herself up. “But just friends.”

“Just friends,” I agree.

“I have to warn you though,” she says, following me to the door of the venue, “being friends with me isn’t easy.”

“You don’t say?” I glance back. “Couldn’t tell with all the friends you have around you.”

She laughs. “You are so mean. How does anyone stand you?”

“You’ll learn to get used to it.”

She skips out into the afternoon light, spinning in a small circle, and I realize I am so fucked. Once she lets me in, I’m not sure I will be able to leave. She might be capable of getting me to care more than I should. Because caring about Tuesday might be a heavier burden than I can handle.

I’m not sure I’m capable of saving myself, let alone her. And if I can’t, this won’t end well for either of us.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I don’t want Wyatt’s pity. I hate pity. It’s a terrible feeling, but when he walks back in and offers me his friendship, I can’t say no.

They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, so until I figure out which one Wyatt is, I’m keeping him real close. He thinks he has the upper hand now. Got a little look inside of my tragic backstory, and now he thinks I need his comfort.

I stopped needing comfort when I was five. My mother doesn’t have a comforting bone in her body. Once I found that out, I learned to live without comfort. It means nothing to me. I’ve been fine without it my whole life, I’ll continue to be okay without it.

I can’t let Wyatt know that, though. He has to think I need him. So I let him take me to a diner down the street from the venue. I slide into the booth across from him and play along like I’m so excited to have a friend.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I glance over the menu. Letting him watch me as the waitress waits patiently for me to order. I settle on a bowl of fruit and a glass of water. Her annoyance is high, but she nods and wanders away.

“What are you on?” he asks. Leave it to him to cut right to it. I drum my fingers on the table, chewing on my lip again. “Not going to answer that?” He raises an eyebrow.