Page 29 of Her Dark Angel

NASH

Present—1989.

Asharp knock at the door wakes me from the nightmare about my mother. Thank God. I roll onto my back and groan, rubbing at my sore eyes, the fading images of the posters in my old room blurring to black spots. The light shining in through the curtains makes me beyond angry, but I was the idiot who left them open, so that’s on me.

The knocking continues, so I force myself to sit upright in bed. “If you don’t fucking stop knocking, I swear to God…”

“Nash, there is someone here to see you.”

I frown at Johnny’s words. Someone is here to see me? Glancing over at the square alarm radio on the bedside table, it reads 4:35 in the afternoon.

Fuck. Did I sleep the entire day away? That’ll teach me not to drink almost an entire bottle of Jack and snort so much blow that I pass the fuck out for nearly twelve hours. The last thing I remember is Johnny calling up some girls to stop by for the party he wanted to throw. Other than that, my memory is a hazy blur.

I drop my head into my hands and groan. “Fuck. My head is killing me.” Rubbing at my temples, I call out to Johnny, “Who is it?”

A pause.

“The pretty blonde girl who stopped by the other week to see you.”

My head snaps up at his words. The little devil is here to see me? After the way I snapped at her at the award show a couple of days ago, I’m surprised she even wants to see me again. I was a dick, that’s for sure, but at least now she’ll know not to ask about my deadbeat parents. I had to make it clear they were off-limits before we got too deep into the contract.

Flinging the black sheets off me, I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and cradle my head in my hands. “Okay. Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”

Johnny’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, and a tired sigh escapes my lips. My limbs are heavy as exhaustion consumes my body. It’s a feeling I have grown quite accustomed to over the years. However, it doesn’t get any easier as the days pass.

Having nightmares every night about my childhood certainly doesn’t help either.

With a sigh, I get to my feet and realize I’m completely naked. God, what the hell happened before I fell asleep?

Walking into my closet, I grab a pair of black sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt. My eyes drift toward the scruffy brown bear sitting on the shelf above my hung clothes, its black beady eyes staring down at me, taunting me with the memories I wish to forget. It’s seen just as much shit as I have.

I don’t know why I haven’t thrown the fucking thing in the trash after all these years. Maybe because it’s the one thing I have from my childhood that brought me any comfort or happiness. My mom gifted it to me on my sixth birthday with a smile on her face and love in her eyes. I took the damn thing with me everywhere, to the point he needed to be washed weekly and have his eyes sewn back on every other month.

Even now, as I stand here staring at the fucking bear, memories of taking it to the local park with my mother flash in my mind, reminding me of a time when she did love me. She would laugh and run around the playground with me, going along with whatever made up world I had created in that moment.

But something flipped inside of her. A woman once filled with love and care for me turned into someone who couldn’t stand to look at me. She had so much hatred in her heart that I saw it reflected in her eyes every day.

As much as I want to throw it in the trash, never to be seen again, I can’t.

With a sigh, I slip the shirt over my head and pad down the quiet hallway. As I pass the guest bedroom beside the staircase, I peer in to see a naked woman and man I don’t recognize lying on either side of Hudson, cradled against his side. A thin white sheet covers their lower halves, thank fuck. All three of them are in a deep sleep, not noticing my presence at all. I groan and continue walking. Seeing my bandmate with naked people in my house is not an unusual occurrence for me.

Johnny is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. He points to the living room. “I left her on the couch while she waited.”

I nod and slap a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. Can you make me a coffee, please? And bring me two Tylenol. My head is fucking killing me.”

Johnny smiles. “Your usual? Coming right up.” He turns and walks down the hallway to the kitchen.

Inhaling sharply, I walk toward the living room. A large black leather couch occupies the vast space. Black and white artworks cover the walls and on the far wall adjacent to the television is my record player and a shelf filled with all the records I have collected over the years.

As I approach the room, I spot a head of blonde hair sitting on the couch. Her head is turned toward the record player, likely admiring the vast collection I own. I lean my shoulder against the door frame and clear my throat. “Like what you see?”

A surprised gasp leaves her lips, and she spins on the couch to look at me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.” I push off the wall and walk further into the room. Ocean eyes follow my movements until I stop by the foot of the couch.

She points to the records. “Is that your collection?”

I nod. “I’ve had some of those records since I was at least eight or nine. I can’t remember. I’ve been collecting for years.”

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