Page 81 of A Tragic Melody

I wipe at my chin, then wipe at the blanket. It’s tinted with blood, but I’m not concerned in the slightest.

“You continue to impress me.” Tuesday laughs, grabbing her panties. “I didn’t think you would do it. Least of all like that, but you did. And it was amazing.” She slides her panties on. “Thank you.” She grins, pulling back the curtain of the bunk. “Maybe one day you’ll let me return the favor.”

“Not likely,” I groan, pulling the curtain shut the moment she is gone.

My bunk smells like her now. I drop on my back, grabbing the edge of my shirt and using it to wipe at my face. Luckily it’s black, so if there is any blood, it won’t show.

Every nerve in my body dances with excitement. I shouldn’t have done that. That was reckless, stupid, suicidal, but fuck, the girl is driving me crazy.

I was going to destroy her when the tour started. Ruin her career before she could do the same to me. But now I’ve accepted defeat, and apparently, I plan on enjoying the destruction.

I need to get my shit together before I do something I can’t come back from. Like drugs. Or fucking her.

When I finally drag myself out of my bunk, I squeeze into the tiny bathroom, pissing and washing my face. After I change into jeans, a T-shirt, and throw on a hoodie. I pick up my guitar and sit on the couch.

Kellen and David are playing some video game, Quinn is still sleeping, and Tuesday is nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

I let my fingers move over the strings. My knuckles hurt, as do my fingertips, but if I don’t do something to pass the time, I’ll drink every drop of alcohol on this bus to drown out the taste of her.

Even mixed with the slight ting of copper, her pussy tasted good. Better than any cocktail or drug I’ve ever had. I’d say it would be a healthy vice if it wasn’t attached to the woman who will be my downfall.

“I heard you punched Michael,” Kellen says over his shoulder. “Is that true?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Dude deserves it.” David laughs. “Kicking you out of the band is going to be the worst mistake of his life. Everyone is talking about how bad they sound now.”

I don’t reply to that, just continue to strum through a few songs.

Tuesday comes skipping out wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Her hair is tied up in a bun on top of her head, and something about seeing her dressed down makes my cock flex. She is going to be the death of me.

She plops down on the couch next to me, her eyes wide and wild. Clearly she is only out of pain pills, not her other drugs.

“What are you playing?” she asks.

“Guitar.”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. “What song?”

“Guess.”

She goes silent for a moment, pressing her lips together as I continue to play.

“Heaven Knows I’m Miserable,” she says. “By The Smiths.”

“Correct.”

“That’s a horrible song.” She leans back. “Too sad. Play something upbeat.”

“No thanks.”

She glares at me. “Please?”

“No. I’m not in the mood.”

“You most certainly are in a mood.” She laughs.

I sigh, switching to another song. It’s upbeat, but just as on point.