Losing Track (24 page)

No scare tactic, no amount of pain, no quantity of remorse, can force someone straight. If anything, those are only more reasons to get high; drown out the fear and the guilt. One last time…then I’ll deal with tomorrow. A classic user mantra.

It was the one I recited to myself, over and over, then again the night Hunter died. I was singing that tune as I put the needle to my arm, fucked that girl hard, high as a kite, while he was taking his last breath.

Frustrated, I dig out the cigarette pack from my jean pocket, thump out a cigarette and fire it up. I inhale a deep drag and lean against my bike. I haven’t smoked in months. But I keep them close, just in case. And this is a stressful, just-in-case kind of moment.

Streetlamps light the asphalt parking lot a surreal gray. Cars coasting along the A-1 fill the void of sound with a distant zip and hum.

I’m contemplating jumping on my bike and hauling ass, getting out of Mel’s way, when a
bang
shatters the deceptive quiet. Cigarette butt between my lips, I swing my head toward the sound.

The front door of the bar slams against the outside wall as Melody storms out, yanking away from Jesse. He’s trying to pull her back inside, but she rips free of his hold and through the doorway. She loses balance with the forward momentum and stumbles to her hands and knees on the sidewalk.

I toss my cigarette, already marching toward her.

Jesse pushes the door closed, then kneels beside Mel.

The door swings open again, and Tank sticks his head out. He says something to Jesse. “It’s okay,” Jesse assures him, waving him back inside. “I’ll take care of her. Just a rough night.”

As I get closer, Tank eyes me with a squinted gaze, then another member of the MC pops up beside him. Jesse glances at me quickly before nodding to his friends, and they disappear back into the bar.

Jesse moves his head closer to Mel’s and whispers in her ear. She shakes her head. “It’s over. It’s never going to be the same. All this…” She motions sloppily around. “We can’t have it back, Jess. Over. Gone. Oblivion.”

Her words are tumbling out with her sobs. Shit. She’s really messed up. How long was she gone? Five…ten…fifteen minutes? While I was out here pouting. I curse under my breath as I kneel beside her. I never should have left her.

“Mel, let’s go.” I quickly check one of her hands, noting the scratches, brush off the loose debris and concrete rubble, and pull her arm around my waist. I tuck a hand under her other arm and begin to lift.

“What the fuck?” Jesse’s on his feet and staring me down. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

I’m one short second away from losing all self-control. I get Melody to her feet, her weak body leaning into mine. Her head sways awkwardly on her shoulders. If this guy sucker punches me with her in my arms, it’s the last action he’ll do tonight before I end him.

Looking into his dark, glassy eyes, I say, “She’s done, man. I’m just taking her to her apartment. I think she needs to sleep it off—pick up with you when her head’s on straight, right?”

His brow furrows, hands fisted, arms flexed. “I’m telling you, this does not concern you. You’re just one of many and I’ve been here, will be here, when you’re a speck in the rearview mirror.” He wiggles his fingers in front of his face, smiling, eyes ablaze.

And I realize he’s fucked up. I mean, not coherent, talking way out there fucked up. Meth, maybe. Or MDMA. Fear seizes my chest as I pull Mel closer to my side.

“What did you give her?” I demand.

“She needed to forget this shit for a while. I just needed her to hear me…” He runs a hand through his slick hair. “Just to listen. Mel.” He weaves his head, trying to gain her attention. “Tell him how we are together. How we reach that plateau, baby.”

Mel struggles to right her head and look at Jesse. “How we
were
,” she slurs. Then shakes her head. “It’s all shit without Dar. You know that.”

Jessie’s head jerks back like he’s been slapped. “I loved Darla. You know that what happened…it was an accident, Mel. You have no idea how shitty I fucking feel, baby.”

The picture about what happened to land Melody in rehab is starting to become clearer. But I’m not sure I want the whole story. My stomach is sinking with each admission between these two, and a wave of sickness crashes over me. Like shitty history repeating itself.

“I told you no,” Mel mumbles. She’s staring at the ground, her gaze unfocused. “I told you
no
. If you would’ve listened, then that night wouldn’t have happened.” She shakes her head again. “No, if I wouldn’t have even been with you, it wouldn’t have happened. Dominoes. Dominoes.”

As she continues to mutter to herself, I’m eyeing Jesse with a new kind of hatred. “What the fuck is she talking about?”

That snaps Mel out of her trance, and she turns her head toward me, waving her hand. “Wait. It’s not like that—”

But I’m asking Jesse again. “What is she saying?”

Regaining his composure, Jesse rolls his shoulders. Cocks his chin. “It’s none of your business.” He reaches for Mel, grasping her arm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on.”

She pulls away, closer into me. “I’m not that fucked up! I know what happened that night, and so do you.” Though she’s wavering, she focuses a hard glare on Jesse that makes him back up a step.

My blood is lava. Anger is rippling through my veins, heating my insides, boiling over. If not for the half-lucid girl in my arms, I’d already be throwing down on Jesse. I can read between the lines—what Mel is trying to voice. And as that knowledge splits the seams of my brain, I’m moving her toward the sidewalk.

I try to set her down, but she places a hand on my chest. Looks up into my eyes. “Let’s just go.”

I grind my back teeth. My jaw aches from the pressure. Try to suppress the explosion getting ready to erupt, the rage triggering the need to connect flesh with flesh, inflict pain—feel pain. To make the noise stop.

My gaze steady on hers, I bite it back. She needs to get somewhere safe to come down.
Focus on her
. I turn us toward my bike and start walking.

“What the fuck,” Jesse says. “Really? All right, Mel. Christ, I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

Melody’s still stumbling alongside me, ignoring Jesse’s admission. I’m bottling my rage best I can.

“This is bullshit,” he shouts. “Fine. Go off and fuck him. Just another douchebag I have to wait out until you’re through with, huh?”

I feel Melody tense in my arms. I keep us moving.

“Maybe I should’ve fucked Darla that night!” Jesse says.

And Mel hurls around, breaking free of my arms. Her face is pinched and red, and I just grasp her around the waist, stopping her attack. But her words try to assault anyway. She’s seething threats and insults, but they’re muffled below her fight.

I groan, and before she says or does something she’ll regret, I step in for her and take the lead.

Her last recognizable words: “Oh, shit,” before I’m on top of Jesse. Dropping fists.

Melody

Shiny metallic, tangy and wet

“OH, SHIT.”

My knees are wobbly, my legs liquid. I try to reach for Boone as he quickly deposits me on the pavement, my butt hitting the ground hard on my own account, but he’s taking off toward Jesse before I can get a firm grasp.

The streetlamps streak across my vision, multicolored tracers leaving a blur of trails. I swat at the air, trying to move them out of my line of sight. I can’t let this happen; Boone and Jesse fighting. It’s my fight, not Boone’s.

But I’m suspended, unable to move. My stomach bottoms out as I hear the sick crunch of fist meeting face.

I shake my head. More tracers. Crawling on my hands and knees, I focus on Boone’s black boots stomping the ground, follow his lead. Slowly. I can tell the gravel is grinding into my knees, my palms, but it’s such a distant sensation, like it’s happening to someone else. I’m feeling their residual pain.

Two bodies connect. A
thud
, a
smack
. The figures are two dark objects colliding. I squint. Boone has Jesse by the vest collar. He’s backing him up against the brick building. Shouting.

Jesse asked Tank to “let him handle it”—but Tank could change his mind any second. The MC tearing into Boone to protect their own. My anxiety ramps.

We need to leave.

Working my voice up through my chest, I hear a low buzz in my vocal chords. Then, “Stop!” I think it’s loud enough. And suddenly the nausea pulls me under.

I roll onto my side, tears sliding down my cheeks. I haven’t done crank in ages. Like a year or more. I can’t remember ever feeling this horrible. But I wasn’t ever this drunk when I did, and I was always happy…before. You can’t do this shit when you’re already off. When you’re thinking too much about bad shit. It fucks with you.

Jesse offered the hit; one small line. And I put my head to the bathroom counter and snorted. Like old times—just to try to find that connection with him; that blissful moment when Dar was still alive, and we were all together. But it went wrong. Jesse groping me, wanting to be with me, trying to move past that one second when everything changed. Make me forget. It won’t work, though. Ever. Him losing himself in me won’t erase
her
.

“Mel.”

The voice is a distorted echoing of sounds. But it’s my name. I blink my eyes open. Center my doubling vision on Boone’s concern-etched face.

“I’m ready,” I mumble, hoping he understands. I want to leave. Get him away from here. Just get out of here and into my bed. Funny, that I have a bed I call mine. My head starts to drift, other thoughts clouding and fuzzy, as Boone picks me up. His arms cradle me to his chest.

Inching my chin upward, I lay it on his shoulder and peek back at Jesse. He’s sitting on the sidewalk, his hands fisted in his hair, head aimed down between his parted knees. The ache takes over my whole body, stemming from my chest and radiating out to every limb. A blind ache, disorienting.

I know, I know. Damn, do I know, that what happened to Dar that night—it wasn’t his fault. But this fucking pain has to have an outlet. Jesse triggered all the rage when he touched me, like nothing had changed between us. But
everything
has changed.

It won’t ever be the same.

By the time Boone’s bobber rumbles into my apartment parking lot, the crank has dropped. It’s no longer the early sketchy phase, where I want to tear at my hair, scratch at my skin. Usually, that part doesn’t last long, because I know the deal, it passes quickly. The anticipation for the ultimate high makes it just the build-up to the next phase.

But I know in my muddled brain that the sheer amount of alcohol I consumed first did not mix well, and that first half hour was like something out of a bad trip. Now, alcohol burning out of my system, the line of crank traveling through my bloodstream, the euphoria is finally taking effect.

There’s a tiny niggle of guilt, some worry, that I’m going to pop on my next drug test. That I could be sent back to Stoney, or worse. But I push that thought so far back in my mind, it’s only a tiny, annoying whisper. I don’t want to think about it now—to waste this fleeting moment of happiness.

Boone lowers the kickstand and sets his bike on its side, then runs his hands along my arms. He made me sit in front of him, like a freaking kid. Because he didn’t think I could manage on my own. Like really, I’ve never ridden on a bike fucked up before. This is not my first rodeo. But whatever. If it got me to my apartment where I could relax, so be it.