Page 61 of A Tragic Melody

“Takes one to know one, sweetie,” I say, walking up to him. “And let me remind you—you couldn’t even make me come, so maybe blame that for why we didn’t work out.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and stroll away.

I hate men. I wish I could be like Wyatt and only be attracted to vulnerability and secrets. It would weed out a lot of bad people. Of course, my body is barely mine to begin with. I use it like a weapon, and in order to avoid any amount of damage, I have to sleep with horrible guys.

When it’s time for us to take the stage, I find myself more excited than I’ve been in months to go out there. It’s always a good feeling, but knowing Wyatt is joining me out there makes it even better.

I’m all smiles as Wyatt slides his guitar over his shoulders. His fingers stroke over the strings, his foot tapping a beat out.

“Excited?” I ask. The three lines of coke I did before walking up here makes my heart pound.

“Yeah.” He nods. “You?”

“You bet.” I push his shoulder, and he jerks back.

“How much have you done?”

“Not much.” I shrug. “I’m just excited.” I roll my eyes. “Can’t a girl be happy to play with the best guitarist in the world?”

“Your nose is bleeding,” he says.

“No it’s…” I stop, feeling the top of my lip. I pull back my fingers to see blood coating them. “Oh.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling down the sleeve of his undershirt. “Tilt your head back.”

“You’ll ruin my makeup,” I argue, but do as he says. He moves closer.

“No one will notice, but they will notice your nose bleeding. Do you think Hendricks wants the world to know you’re doing coke?”

He presses his sleeve to my nose while pinching the bridge with his other hand.

“Ready?” Paulie the stage manager asks us.

“Need a minute,” Wyatt replies.

“What the fuck?” Paulie snaps.

“Just stall for a fucking minute,” Wyatt snaps back. “Quinn, can you grab some ice and napkins?”

“Sure,” he says.

“Is it bad?” I ask.

“No. You need to start cutting your shit up better.” He pulls his sleeve back for a moment, before pressing it back to my nose. “And wet your nose in between. It helps keep this from happening.”

“I thought you used a needle.”

“Had to start somewhere,” he says simply. His hand abandons the bridge of my nose for a moment. “Thanks,” he says over his shoulder, and the next thing I know, something cold is pressing against the bridge of my nose.

“Hey!” I yell.

“I’m trying to help.”

“Ready now?” Paulie asks.

“Does it look like we are fucking ready?” Wyatt says.

“You might need to cut a song,” Paulie advises.

“No,” I mutter.