Page 27 of Broken Instrument

“Have you seen Bud?”

“Bud?” He laughs again. “You mean your drug buddy?”

“Says the guy who introduced us,” I remind him. “When was the last time you saw him?”

He hesitates. Probably to piss me off, and I hate how it’s working.

“Can’t recall,” he answers a few seconds later, his tone dismissive.

A headache threatens to crack my skull in two as I pinch the bridge of my nose and rest my head against the steering wheel. “Can you give me a ballpark estimate?”

“No can do, baby brother.”

“He said he was quitting––”

“They all say they’re quitting.” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Speaking of which, you sound stressed. I can give you some molly if you’re––”

I end the call and chuck my phone onto the passenger seat, my chest heaving. I drive home like a bat out of hell, desperate for a fix while knowing the only one I’ll be able to hit is currently swimming inside my brain.

I need my guitar.

And the pack of M&M’s I have stashed in the kitchen.

* * *

It’s been hours. Hours since Pixie got into the chocolate. Hours since I agreed to play in front of people again, even though I’ve refused to touch any piece of musical equipment since I woke up in a hospital from overdosing. Hours since I hung up the phone with my dealer. Hours since I’ve been sitting with my ass on the ground, my back pressed into the side of the bed, and my eyes glued to the black guitar case taunting me from the open closet door.

It feels like it’s been a fucking lifetime.

I rub my hands against my jeans, puffing out my cheeks while trying not to lose my shit. Things had been getting better with Pix around. I guess I’d been so distracted by taking care of something else, I forgot I still didn’t know how to take care of myself. Or maybe I’m giving myself too much credit. Maybe Pixie was taking care of me all along.

Or maybe it’s the idea of Hadley getting even closer to me and everything I have to hide making me feel like I have bugs crawling beneath my skin.

I spoke with Marty for the first time in months. Maybe he’s the one I can blame for the messed-up imagery and cravings thrumming through my veins.

With another deep breath, I hang my head in my hands when my phone rings from my nightstand. Blindly, I reach for it and slide my thumb across the screen, answering the call without bothering to see who’s calling.

“Hello?” I grunt.

“Hey, Fen.” Sonny’s voice is familiar but weirdly foreign too. We haven’t spoken since the hospital. Since I told him to take my place as the face of Broken Vows. Since I almost wrecked his relationship with Dove.

Feels like forever.

“Uh, hey,” I reply. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed razor blades. I clear it and lean my head against the edge of the bed.

I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

“I heard you’re home. How are you, man?”

My calloused palm scrubs against my face as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Fine. You?”

“We’ve been good. Things are…good. Miss you, though.”

“Yeah.” I sigh and lift my chin toward the ceiling, ignoring the ache in my chest. “Miss you too.”

“Saw you got a dog.”

Confused, I cock my head and ask, “How? When?”

---