Taking a deep breath, I pick it up and look at it again.
WE WILL PLAY AGAIN, LIKE OLD TIMES.
I then look at the other note I got the other day, which is the one which replays in my head.
Don’t say a word about why!
My stomach turns; this is the fourth one I’ve had. I know who it is it’s - Leo. He’s playing mind games with me, but it won’t work. He’s not winning again, not happening.
I throw the paper on the passenger seat again, I want to scream, to cry, to punch something. Something to help take out this anger I have building up inside me. My day didn’t start on the best note, and it just seems to be getting worse as the day is going on, and its only mid-day.
I reach for my glove box and pull out the small first-aid kit, well it’s not really a first kit, it’s a small bag with a few band aids in there, and a bandage which I’m hoping is enough to sort the mess my palm is in.
I start to change the bandage on my hand, gritting my teeth as the gauze sticks. I yank a little too hard. I ripped my wound and it started bleeding this morning.
“Dammit.” I close my eyes as the pain moves through my body. Right now, I hate my life, and I want to curl up into a ball and cry.
I hear a knock on the window, the passenger side, but I choose to ignore it, hoping the person thinks I’m sleeping and will leave me alone, but it’s not my lucky day as another knock comes.
Opening my eyes I turn slowly to the window. My brows knot together. Miles? I stare at him through the glass. And before I can stop him, and without asking for permission, he opens the door and slides inside like he belongs there. We both know this is the last place he wants to be.
As he sits he picks up the note, and before he can get a better look at it, I quickly take it from him. But I have a feeling I’m too late, and he has seen it.
“Let me change it,” he nods at my hand.
“It’s fine. I can do it,” I reply before he can say anything else. I’m not one hundred percent sure if he'd be nice about it, or if he’d hurt me just to make me feel pain.
Miles gives me a dry laugh. “I know Hayden can stitch up anyone better than some ER doctors, so how’d it starts bleeding again?”
I stare at Miles wondering how Hayden knows how to stitch people up, he never wanted to be a doctor. I don’t answer him. I don't want to explain the note, or the anxiety crawling under my skin since I woke up this morning, and my mom having a bad day.
“Give me your hand.” I hesitate and glance over at Hayden, who is still outside, talking with Mason and the others, but watching me.
Miles takes my silence as permission to take my hand into his. I look down at him looking over my hand and shaking his head. “What the hell did you do to it?” Again, I don’t answer him, Miles looks through my bag and laughs. “This is all you have?” Again, I say nothing and I watch him cleaning it and then bandaging it up.
“How’s he doing?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
Miles continues working on my hand, which tells me he won’t say anything, but then I hear him, “He’s surviving. That’s all I can say.”
“I never meant to hurt him,” I reply.
He finally looks at me, his eyes aren’t kind, but not wanting to kill me either, their blank, almost like he doesn’t care what I have to say.
“You did. And when you find out what happened to him in there, you’ll understand why we don’t like you.”
I sit there, Miles' words cutting deep. I try to say something to break the tension, but nothing is coming out of my mouth, or I’m trying to find the words to say to him.
“Miles, I can’t change anything. But I need you to know, I love him. I never stopped. Sorry isn’t enough?—”
“No, it’s not.” He finishes the bandage around my hand and gives me one last hard look, then steps out of the car, without another word.
I’m never going to be able to fix what I broke, even though it’s all I want to do.
The club lights flicker, like they do every night. The pulse of bass vibrates through the floor beneath my feet as I step in through the staff entrance ten minutes early. I told myself it was because I like being on time, but really, I need to talk to Mr. Cain.
My head hadn’t stopped spinning since last night, since finding out who he is I’ve been too scared to come into work.
It’s another packed night, the crowd is already pressing against the railings, drinks in hand, laughter echoing off the walls. Somehow, despite the chaos, I feel like I belong here. There’s something safe about the repetition, the routine. This place gives me a reason to forget for a few hours every night. No one here knows me as anything other than Olivia, the girl behind the bar with a halfway decent pour and a smile which is masked more than anyone could guess.
