Page 57 of Verses

He let out a gruff of air before releasing his grip. Then he picked up the Coke can off the table, crunched it in his fist, and threw it at the sink where it hit the edge before clattering on the worn linoleum. “I get why people become alcoholics.”

“What the—”

“Just shut the fuck up, you noisy cunt.” As he stomped across the tiny space and into his bedroom, I expected him to slam the door. Instead, he came back out almost immediately, pulling on his black leather jacket.

I started to say something—but it would have been an apology that he didn’t deserve.

Why had I thought breaking up would solve all that was wrong between us? And would there ever be a way to find some sort of peace?

Just because westopped talking to each other didn’t mean anything had been resolved between me and Kyle. In fact, it felt like the longer we went without speaking, the worse it got.

To me, it felt like a ticking time bomb…like the longer we went, the more volatile our words would be when we finally spoke.

But I wasn’t going to say a damn word. Anything I would say might only serve to ignite an out-of-control blaze in Kyle. Besides, I didn’t feel like I needed to apologize. There was nothing wrong with wanting to live in a clean home, even if it was a shitty little apartment.

I didn’t expect an apology, either. I knew Kyle had a lot of mental baggage and he had to work through that on his own—but he would have to be the one to say something, because Iwasn’t about to. I was done trying to repair the bridge between us on my end when he kept setting fire to it on his side.

Even at practices, we spoke to all our band members without addressing each other directly.

We were getting pretty good at it.

But I was apparently getting on his nerves, just by virtue of existing.

We’d been practicing pretty hard one night, but we were only halfway through, feeling like we’d gotten as good as we could get at our rendition of Rage Against the Machine’s “Testify.” Until the past week, I wouldn’t have thought I’d enjoy singing one of their songs, but I’d grown to really love that one.

After our fourth time through the song without stopping, Pedro said, “Hey, guys, can we take a break?”

Wolf said, “I think we’re pretty solid on this song. A break sounds good. When we come back, we can go through the setlist.”

Pedro said, “Dude, I gotta tell ya. I’m getting pretty tired of the damned setlist. I know we’re throwing in other songs, but—”

“Anybody else feeling the same way?”

I probably should have kept my mouth shut—but I was a member of this band, too, and my opinion was just as valuable as anyone else’s. “I don’t know. I just try to think of it as if we were playing a show. I mean,” I added, waving a hand toward the bar area where we had several people in our growing audience, “we kind of are.”

“She’s not wrong,” Wolf said as if to counter Pedro.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

“Maybe you could play around withhowyou play each song,” I offered.

“That won’t work.”

“Great idea, Hayley,” Kyle said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that felt almost venomous. “Since you know so fuckingmuch about playing stringed instruments, please do keep giving us suggestions.”

My temper went from zero to sixty faster than a stock car. “I don’t think I’m—”

“Hayley’s the fuckin’ expert.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Oh, and careful during break, guys. If you leave an empty can lying around, she’ll crucify you.”

“What the hell? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’m tired of you pretending like you’re better than the rest of us.”

“I never—”

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