I dressed in a way that would please the gods of rock n’ roll: zebra print pants, metal-studded leather boots, and enough eye shadow to impress a Goth teenager. Looking this way gave me confidence, as it was a way to assume a personality that mixed the parts of me I liked and parts of other people I admired. I had dressed more flamboyantly in high school, back when I’d been an A-class bitch instead of just a wannabe. Rehab and the psychiatric ward had a way of humbling the shit out of you, and I hadn’t been a Queen Bee since. But tonight I felt a bit like one anyway.
The venue was packed and the crowd was enthusiastic, the kind of mob you could lose yourself in. By the time the set was over, I’d drank a few beers and sweated through my thin cotton tank top, leaving me tipsy, exhausted, and happy. I shoved my way through the groups of people that loitered by the back door and texted Peaches. Minutes later, he showed up to let me into the back room where the band was hanging out. It was a nicer set up than I’d imagined, with a large circular booth and a table littered with beers, half-eaten appetizers, and ashtrays. Oliver had already convinced someone to sit in his lap, and she seemed to be enjoying the proximity.
“Hey, Justin,” Griffin greeted with a lazy wave. That was about all the acknowledgement I got.
Peaches steered me toward a snack table behind the booth, offering me a beer and a plate so that I could load up with potato chips and Cheetos. It was not classy or expensive fare, but Pugnacious was not the Rolling Stones. They got better treatment than most garage bands could ever hope for, but they had a ways to go until a bartender was making them martinis on the house.
“You are so incredible,” I told him, not to be a fangirl but because it was true. “You write most of the songs, right?”
“Well, Zared and I work together, usually. Oliver and Griffin are mostly useless in that department.”
“You and I should jam sometime. You play guitar?”
“Well enough, I guess. Nowhere near as well as I drum, but I’m good enough to pluck out a tune.” Peaches took a sip from his beer. “You sing, right?”
“I can play and sing.” I leaned up against the table, my arm brushing his. “Freddie Mercury was—and still is—my idol. I literally know the names of all his cats. ‘Obsessed’ is putting it lightly.”
Peaches laughed. “You could do worse.”
“I would perform all his songs to my mother when I was little. Even Get Down, Make Love. Cuz, you know, that’s very appropriate for a ten-year-old.”
“That’s adorable. I’d love to hear it.”
“I can’t compare to Freddie, but I’m adequate. I went on this date with this weird guy once and after he told me he didn’t know who Freddie Mercury was, I literally left two minutes later.”
“Who doesn’t know who Freddie Mercury is?”
“I know, right?! That’s like not knowing who Elvis is!”
“You wanna sit down?” Peaches asked, jerking his head toward a couch that sat abandoned against the wall across from the other band members.
I nodded, and we proceeded to get comfortable on a sagging pleather couch that smelled strongly of cigarettes and cologne. Peaches posture and expression were leagues more charged than they had been last time we’d seen each other, probably because Peaches was still riding a high from the performance. Even on his mopey days I struggled to control my attraction to him, but when he was like this… lordy. Passionate men were hard to resist, especially when he kept reaching out to touch me. His touches weren’t particularly sexual, but as a person who thrived on skin-to-skin contact, I was practically panting. Maybe it was my fourth beer of the night or just plain old horniness, but I soon had my legs thrown over his and a hand resting against the nape of his neck, warm underneath his loose, long hair. I was waiting for someone to tell us to get a room, but the others were busy with their own visiting fans and friends, all of whom Hector was allowing into the room without much discretion.
I was trying to decide whether or not to kiss Peaches, audience be damned, when he looked over my shoulder and went so tense I thought he’d been shot. I didn’t even have time to turn and look at the source before Peaches practically threw me off of him in an effort to stand up. Then he was shoving through the crowd, seemingly in pursuit of someone else.
What the fuck.
Maybe he just had to piss. Maybe he was more drunk than I thought and needed to find a place to throw up. But most likely he was running after someone, and I could only think of one person who would inspire a reaction so violent.
I was shocked by my own calm as I set down my beer, tossed out my paper plate, and walked in the direction Peaches had disappeared. I shoved away some guys that reeked of weed in order to get to the back door, which led out to a small wooden landing and a staircase that descended to the parking lot below. I saw Peaches standing a few paces away from and talking to someone familiar, someone I’d hope to never see again.
I slipped a brick sitting by a porch post between the door and the frame so that I wouldn’t be locked out and then headed down the staircase. No one was shouting, but their conversation seemed heated. Eddie looked angry and Peaches desperate, and I told myself there was nothing to be gained from approaching this whole mess and fucking it up worse. But my feet kept moving, my boots clicking loud enough to announce my approach. Eddie finally turned to me, and I watched in horror as recognition crossed his features.
“You,” he said when I stopped at Peaches’s side. “You were at the bar.”
“What?” Peaches asked, looking between Eddie and me.
“Who are you?” Eddie asked, closing a few steps of distance between us. Peaches looked ready to step between us, but I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I felt that familiar adrenaline rush into my veins, ready for a fight. Should it get physical, I’d obviously lose, since Eddie had at least fifty pounds on me, if not more. But I bet he’d never gotten into a fight in his life, and I’d gotten in far too many for someone of my size.
“Justin,” I told him. “You’re Eddie.”
“You were at the bar.” Eddie’s eyes narrowed, and that smiley, dimpled man I’d first met was nowhere in sight. I took some pleasure in the fact that he didn’t look his best, but Eddie’s worst was probably a few wrinkles in his shirt and one day of scruff along his jawline. “Were you stalking me?”
“Wait, you went to The Smoke?” Peaches asked me in confusion.
“I visited once. Oliver told me about it.” I did feel dumb about that, though I wouldn’t let Eddie know.
“Why would he do that?” Peaches asked.
“Because I asked.”
“So you went to… what? Gloat?” Eddie asked.
“I just wanted a fucking beer, geezus. Calm your tits.”
That probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but I always said the worst things when I was pissed. I turned into a defensive trapped animal, ripping into flesh without stopping to wonder who the hell I was trying to hurt or why.
“Is he your boyfriend now?” Eddie asked Peaches. Peaches opened his mouth, but he looked so pathetic—cowering, stuttering around his reply, unable to stand up for himself. I couldn’t let Eddie feel empowered, couldn’t let him think he’d win. Peaches didn’t deserve his jealous bullshit.
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”
“Excuse me?” Eddie’s mouth had fallen open, shocked and angered.
“Why are you here? You and Peaches aren’t dating anymore. So why come? So you could guilt him for moving on? What the fuck is your issue?”
“Don’t shout at me,” Eddie chided, like my goddamn mother. It was no wonder; Oliver had mentioned that Eddie took on that role, bossing people around and acting like he knew best. As if that’s what Peaches needed in his life. “I don’t even know you.”
“Let’s keep it that way. Why don’t you go the fuck home already?”
Eddie stared at me, which wasn’t the reaction I was going for. I’d been expecting more shouting and maybe some shoving, but instead Eddie turned to Peaches, who was still speechless and frozen.
“I just came by to see the band,” Eddie said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Oh, please,” I sneered.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Eddie snapped.
“I can hear you, so you might as well be.”
Eddie sighed in aggravation, as if I were more annoying than I was threatening, which pissed me off even more.
“I didn’t come here to be attacked by your… whoever this person is to you.” Eddie drew himself to his full height, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I even stopped by. Goodnight, Peaches.”
“Essie—”
Eddie marched past both of us, rounding the corner of the building and vanishing from sight.
“What a prick,” I muttered, turning to Peaches. “What the hell was that all about?”
Instead of responding, Peaches ran off, presumably after Eddie, leaving me bewildered and stewing in the leftovers of my own rage. Did he just… did he just leave me for his ex? After I’d just defended his fucking ass?
Thank God my legs started working before my brain did, because if the pain hit me before I’d climbed the stairs, I wouldn’t have been able to navigate them. I shoved away the same potheads before stopping by the booth where Pugnacious sat chain-smoking and drinking.
“If Peaches comes back, tell him I went home,” I said, my voice sounding hollow and toneless.
“Huh?” Oliver asked me, looking away from the tits of some bottle blond he was ogling.
I didn’t repeat myself. I just headed for the exit. Only once I was in my car and peeling out of the parking lot did the full wave of rage and agony hit me. Peaches just… left me. No apology, no look, nothing. Eddie left, and so Peaches ran after him, abandoning me in the process. Because what was I worth to him, anyway? Apparently not as much as his ex, who could just show up out of nowhere and command his loyalty like he still owned it.
Fuck both of them. Fuck Eddie and his perfect body and fuck Peaches for trailing me along and pretending to like me when all he gave a shit about was someone he had decided to dump. So fucking typical. Peaches wouldn’t be the first man who liked me because I was convenient. How many men had cheated on me? Enough to make me believe that it wasn’t a coincidence.
When I got home, I started pouring shots of whiskey and downing them until the pain flattened out and turned into exhaustion. I could handle exhaustion. I could handle sadness. As long as it didn’t hurt, I could survive it.
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