Page 21 of A Tragic Melody

If I comfort her, if I show her compassion, she will bring me down with her.

Sometimes you have to be the bad guy. Sometimes villains have a good reason for being villains.

And I have a pretty good reason for being a villain right now—it’s called survival. It’s called glory.

So, I just turn and walk away.

The weight of my words weighs heavy on me, though. I find myself wishing I could call my mom. She would be disappointed in me for being so mean. Lecture me on how I should be helping Tuesday instead of trying to ruin her. I can hear her now, telling me that I could find a way for us to both stay in the spotlight. Or tell me that the spotlight isn’t worth my morals.

But she isn’t here to talk to. I don’t have her to give me advice or to lecture me anymore. That fact hurts. Hurts more than my words could ever hurt Tuesday. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. I’m not sure she ever has in her whole life.

So even though I know my parents wouldn’t be happy with how I’m acting, I know I can’t stop. I need to get to the top and stay there, or all this has been for nothing. So that means Tuesday needs to get out of my way. By any means necessary.

CHAPTER TEN

That could’ve gone better. A lot better.

Wyatt is not nearly as easy to manipulate as I thought he would be. Maybe I’ve met my match, because as I knelt there and cried—real tears, even—he seemed unbothered. He just walked away.

I did genuinely feel bad for what I said. I had no clue his family was dead. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have brought them up. That’s a little too mean, even for me. I’d give anything to watch my mother burst into flames and burn to ash, but I don’t wish that on anyone else.

His voice let me know it hurt, too. That he feels their loss deep in his bones, which made me feel horrible. Which is why I kissed him. I wanted to comfort him in the only way I knew how—with my body. He didn’t seem to enjoy that. He barely reacted at all, which just made everything worse.

I meant it when I told him I hate myself. Staring at the tiny cuts on my wrists, knowing they won’t leave a scar and be gone in a few days, I feel disgusted with myself.

The three lines of coke I just did do little to numb the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I’m nothing more than a worthless whore. I’ve let myself be used by so many people. It’s sad. I may hurt people, but what’s worse is all the people I’ve let hurt me.

He called me evil, and I try to be, really I do. Got very close to it there with him, but deep down is just a pathetic girl who is trying to control the tragic world she’s been thrown into. It hurts. I feel like I’m getting eaten alive and unable to stop it.

The little amount of control I have is bringing about the destruction of crappy bands with horrible jerks in them. Even then, the damage is tiny. It’s not like any of the bands I’ve gotten removed from the picture were going far. Wyatt’s destruction would be my greatest feat, but I’m struggling to get that done.

The odds are never going to be in my favor. I have no say in the matter. I get to sing so long as I please the man who discovered me, as long as people find me sexy and entertaining. No one values me. It’s an awful feeling to have when you are about to play a hometown show.

I normally don’t care about hometown shows. Cleveland, Ohio isn’t exactly my hometown. I was born here, but grew up in a small town two hours away. But it’s the closest city I’ll ever play to a hometown, so I consider it a hometown show.

Plus, I know just like every time before, I’ll look into the crowd and see people I recognize. I’ll never acknowledge them, but it’s still nice to be looking down at them from the stage most of them thought I’d never make it to.

Still, I can’t shake what Wyatt said from my head. Can’t push it from my thoughts. Not even with the pile of drugs and bottle of alcohol in front of me.

I seriously consider stabbing myself in the gut to try to relieve some of the tension in my body, but with Quinn watching me, all that would get me is a trip to a mental hospital.

“Take it easy,” Quinn says as I bend over to do another line. I’m hoping this one turns off my brain. “You don’t want another nosebleed.”

“God,” I groan, inhaling. “You worry too fucking much.”

“You don’t worry enough.”

I grin, leaning back. “Quinn, do you find me attractive?”

“Seriously, Tuesday. What the fuck are you talking about? Everyone does, and you know it.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re like my sister,” he replies instead.

“Do you or do you not find me attractive?”

“You’re attractive,” he replies with a groan.