Page 123 of The Rogues

A dark laugh tumbles out of her lips. “Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right? Which means you can go fuck your slimy rock star and his pack, and leave me the fuck alone.”

Her words hit their mark, but it’s not the thing that hurts the most. It’s the fact that she’s been falling back into that pit just like our last tour. She is sinking deeper and deeper, and I was too busy with my own shit to prevent it.

Still, the self-loathing of that never comes, because I have done more for this girl than anyone, and yet she still has the gall to throw my relationship under the bus to the press, to get control of the narrative when she had no fucking right.

“I can’t believe you right now. This has royally fucked things up.”

She ignores me, instead focusing on picking lint off of her pajama pants.

“What the hell do you want me to do, Cleo?” I question in exasperation. “Like, seriously. If you think I’m some monster and I did this to specifically hurt you, what would you like me to do to fix it?”

“Break up with them.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

I must not have heard her right, because there’s no way she just asked me to⁠—

“Break up with them,” she repeats.

“Cleo.” My eyes are bugged so far out of my head, I think they may pop out. “They’re my scent matches.”

“And they HATE me!” she roars, her skin turning red. “Since the moment I showed up and fulfilled our label’s request, that alpha has looked at me like I am scum beneath his shoe. And if you’re my best friend, you won’t make me suffer through this. You won’t make him a part of our lives forever.”

There’s nothing I can say or do except stare at her, utterly speechless for the first time since we met. Is this even the same person I shared secrets with at twelve years old? She looks like my best friend, but she doesn’t sound like her. Not one bit.

“No,” I say softly, the word quiet and defeated. The fire has extinguished and all that’s left is inconceivable disappointment. I can’t fight with her about this anymore, not when she wants to take everything good from me just so she doesn’t have to sit with the uncomfortable reality of it.

“Fine. Then you made your choice.” She nods, pulling out a flask that was hiding behind one of the decorative pillows. “You can let yourself out.”

She takes a hearty gulp, and the wedge between us breaks even further. “There didn’t have to be a choice, Cleo.”

“Yes, there did.”

I cross my arms, feeling tempted to leave as she asked, run away from this, but I can’t. My feet are frozen in place, sinking deeper into the hotel floor beneath me. “I thought… I thought we could conquer anything, Clee.”

Something flickers over her face, but it’s gone before I can desperately grab hold of it. “You’ve always thought that. Your savior complex is a powerful force, Jo.” She hiccups, her eyes growing heavy.

“I don’t want to save everyone, just you!” I scream at her. “You are falling apart, Cleo. With all the drugs and the drinking. You need serious help, and I don’t know how to provide it for you. If you could just talk to me about⁠—”

“I don’t want to be saved,” she cuts me off, speaking matter-of-factly. “Please stop trying.”

Tears well up, my chin quivering. I can’t fathom this person in front of me, how different she is from my best friend. She looks so wilted, so unlike her strong self, that it breaks my heart. I take a step forward. “Cleo⁠—”

“No,” she snaps at me, the word laced with an omega force. “Stop it. I don’t want you around me. I want you to go away. From this moment on”—she points a weak finger, her features hardened—“we aren’t anything but coworkers. We perform together, we go to events together, but we are not friends. Do you understand me?”

I flinch. “What?”

She grits her teeth and picks up a glass bowl from the coffee table, some decoration planted there from the hotel, and throws it at the wall. It shatters in a million pieces, and I sidestep to avoid getting hit by the shards. “Go. Away!”

My body obeys the command, immediately locking up and forcing itself from the room. I barely contain the sob coming up my throat. My last glance of Cleo is her pulling a bottle to her lips and chugging it down in one go as my body moves on its own.

Because now I know, she is lost. I may have had the chance to lead her back, lighten the burden, but for some reason, she wants to carry it. She needs this, needs the hurt.

As I leave the room, I finally let the tears fall, clutching my stomach as it aches. My best friend is still in there, still understands me, but I’m not the one meant to pull her out.

This is officially above my level of expertise. She needs serious help, and it can’t come from me.

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