Page 135 of My Lovely Tragedy
My heart thrashes as I shoot upward with a breathless gasp, head whipping around the unknown room. But as I take in the details in front of me—dark colored walls, a tall lamp in the corner, the door on the far right side of the room—I realize I’ve been in here before.
I’m still at the studio. Not at the cabin.
I’m not with Tobias because I’m alone now.
“Jesus Christ.” I drop my head into my hands and stare down at the floor below me. It’s brown with swirls in it, like a fucking marble or something. It’s fucking ugly, and I’m already dizzy trying to follow the patterns, but if I look up, if Imove,I’ll have to face whatever is on the other side of that door.
The questions and the endless fucking curiosities and thepeople.
God, I just want to be alone.
But that obviously is not going to happen now—or ever again probably, since I wastechnicallymissing. Not that the semantics matter. Not that what I want matters.
Might as well get it over with. Face the… music or whatever.
Forcing myself to my feet takes a valiant effort unbeknownst to me—and every step after.
By the time I’m pulling the door open, exhaustion has already leeched ninety percent of my energy. With a steadying hand on the wall, I push myself over the threshold and down the dark, narrow hall.
Voices trickle toward me, murmured and hushed but steadily growing louder and clearer with each step. I strain my ears as I round the corner to one of the studios, finding Cobain, Dexter, and Benji ensconced around each other with Jake, Helena, and Jana on the other side.
“Something’s wrong with him,” Benji says matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, something happened, definitely,” Jana adds. “He… wasn’t right when he walked in.”
“But maybe not? He seemed fine enough,” Dexter butts in, coming to my defense, like always. It makes me smile, in spite of absolutely everything. Some things never change.
I peek around the corner, loathing that I can feel my heart at the base of my throat.
I’m fucking nervous—about what they’ll say. How they’ll act.
“You know, B. That’s how he’s always been—a suffer in silence type.” I nearly scoff at the irony. “But this is different—and did you see those bruises on his neck?” Cobain’s voice raises at the end. The couch creaks as he moves around. Someone’s feet shuffle over the floor.
“Yeah, I think we all fucking did. They were kinda hard to miss, dude.”
“Well, fuck,sorry.I’m just saying?—”
“That’s not the point,” Benji cuts in, shoving to his feet to start pacing. He’s wearing his pensive face—that’s what we’ve always called it—as he taps his index finger along his bottom lip. And despite the situation, I fall back into the flutter of a vacant memory.
“What the hell are you looking at me like that for?” Benji pouts as he drops down beside me again. We’re no further ahead than we were two hours ago, which is just fine by me. You can’t rush these things, but Benji doesn’t seem to care.
I lean back, throwing my arm around his shoulders and yanking him against me. He grunts as his shoulder digs in, forced to curl over. “You know it’s pointless to keep trying, right? We’re both fucking drained. Cobain and Dex are passed out.” I nod in the direction of their sleeping forms on one of the beds in the suite. “So, let’s go to bed.”
“We’ve gotta have this done in?—”
“In a week. It’s one song, Ben. And if I know you—and I think I do—we’ll get it done probably tomorrow, honestly. So seriously, go to bed. It’ll be fine.”
“We can’t fuck up this deal, B.” His voice cracks, a fracture in his shield, and seeing that flash of vulnerability makes the guilt swell neck high.
“We won’t,” I assure him with a silent vow to myself to not fucking ruin this for them.
“You can’t know that.”
“I do. With you kicking all our asses, how could we?” I kick his shin, making his lips twitch. “But seriously, we’ve worked hard as fuck, and they know that. Which is why they’ve given us the chance. We won’t let anyone down.” The words taste like a fabrication, but I know Ben will never let us fall.
“Who the fuck was that Tobias guy, anyway? B told me he was with someone and that he’d be home soon and thennothing.”
The sound of his voice pulls me into their line of sight. I hate them saying his name. Hate the way it sounds coming from their mouths withcontempt.
