Page 9 of The Comedown

I smile even wider, finally making something on her move—her eyes. They fall to my neck—the same part I woke up rubbing randomly—before bouncing back up to my eyes, narrowed to slits.

Ugh, she’s still pissy. Women are so difficult. This would’ve already been forgotten about if Collette was a dude.

Although, it definitely wouldn’t have been as entertaining. Or sexy.

The urge to touch her wins out and I flatten a palm to her middle, guiding her to the side so I can get by, but as soon as my skin meets hers, it’s like an introduction for the fucking ages, and I’m the one fighting my body’s natural reaction by going as still as she just was. I swear there are fireworks filling the sky with a harpist in the corner and everything. I try to block it out though because all I want to focus on is the feel of Collette right now.

The fucking feel of her.

She’s soft and smooth and warm. So fucking warm.

Goddamn, I never want to let go.

But I do.

Technically, she does it for me by shoving my hand off first, but the point is I was planning on letting go…eventually.

“Stay the fuck off my bus,” she threatens to my back, and I lick my bottom lip with the underside of my tongue. Called it. She ain’t goin’ anywhere.

“Boss man, you’re bleeding,” Antonio reminds me on my way out, and I give him an obligatory nod.

I wake up to red, I bleed red, and now the next time I close my eyes, that’s all I’ll be picturing—Collette in a red crop top that cut right through my middle.

Red coats my vision, hemorrhaging out like this indecision.

All that ambition finally led me here, carved up by my own incisions.

Reaching for the top, had me bracing the fall.

Never seen it coming, now I’m caught in her palm.

Bleed me out quick ’cause I’ve been dyin’ to meet my inglorious end.

More lyrics fill my head, so I quicken my steps off Collette’s bus, then back to mine, going in search of something to write on.

I can already tell I won’t be getting any sleep tonight because I will be seeing more of Collette tomorrow, making me look forward to another day…for once.

Collette

Joint interviews are one of my least favorite parts of this job, mainly because they’re with people I barely know but have to pretend I go way back with and actually like. The only thing I hate more are the joint photo shoots that typically accompany them. Photo shoots by myself aren’t as bad, but the ones with other people…I’d rather bleach my asshole again.

Lucky me, I have both today. Not the anal bleaching—thank God that trend faded quicker than the area between my cheeks—but press as well as a shoot with none other than Julez, the man that boarded my bus in the middle of the night after calling me a has-been and passing out in front of me.

I talked to my lawyers for three hours yesterday, trying to find a way off this tour, with Julez and his…Slade, and I was going to do it. Come hell or high water, first thing today I was planning on quitting—something I never do anymore—but when I went to bed last night, instead of dreaming about walking away, my sleep was plagued with visions of Julez’s lifeless body lying facedown in the grass. Then, as if my nightmares weren’t satisfied with only being subliminal, Julez himself materialized next to my bunk, in peril yet again as my own knife dug into his back. And it felt almost…symbolic.

It sounds crazy. It probably is crazy.

I need more sleep.

But even I can’t deny that he was different than our first meeting. He was just as arrogant, but in a trying-too-hard way that was evident even in the dark. He was quieter, more methodical, and I found myself wanting to know what was going through his head.

So, now, here I am, getting ready to do an entire day of press with him in San Diego with bags under my eyes so big if I were flying, they’d charge me the extra baggage fee just to set foot on the plane.

Dressed in an oversized men’s white button-down and a pair of royal-blue five-inch heels, my assistant, Irelynn, helps me get the belt around my waist in place, tightening it enough to cinch but not cut off circulation. It’s a very thin line. With the top three buttons undone, I press a hand to my chest to bend down and kiss Holter’s dark brown hair. He’s quick to turn his phone screen away though, making me instantly suspicious.

“Who are you talking to?” I stop to ask.

“Nobody.”