Page 65 of A Tragic Melody

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Never really thought about it.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, I guess when I got old enough to get them I was too busy trying to get the band going, then when I had some extra money to spend, I was wasting it on drugs instead. Now I’d rather avoid being around needles.”

I don’t know why I tell her these things, but the words just always fall out when I talk to her. It’s like she is the embodiment of truth serum. Especially as we’ve finally started to get along.

“I wanted one for a long time, but my mother said it would ruin me. Guys like their women unmarked, she would say. And Hendricks has forbidden me from getting any, too, so I get to spend the rest of my life tattoo-free.” She smiles.

“Does he have a lot of rules?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t keep track of them. Plus, most only come up after I’ve broken them, so I just end up having to atone for them. When I figured that out, I stopped trying to keep track of them. Mostly, once I break one, I judge based on his punishment if I should retain the lesson, so to speak.” Her eyes drop to the floor.

“Has he forbidden you from getting close to me?”

“He hasn’t said as much, but I can assume.” She looks up. “I mean, us getting along is encouraged, but there is a line…that we technically already crossed.”

“I crossed it. You did not.”

“I can make that up to you, if you’d like.”

“No. I think I can walk away alive for getting you off, but if you returned the favor and he found out, my head would be mounted on his living room wall.”

“He used to not care who I slept with, but it seems the bigger I get, the more control he wants to have.” She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling on my other shirt. “It must suck not having any freedom.”

“I have some freedom.” She shrugs. “I mean, I can do all the drugs I want. And I can write the songs I want.”

“That’s something.”

“It is.” She nods. “If he let you, would you want to stay on as my guitarist?” She doesn’t look at me as she asks this. I turn around so I’m facing her. “I mean, I’d be willing to consider your input when it came to making the albums,” she continues.

“Yeah. I would stay if he let me.” It’s the truth, too, but I think we both know Hendricks won’t let me. He is going to want to use my songwriting ability more than my guitar skills.

“Too bad it won’t happen.” She looks up. “He won’t let it. I want it too bad.” Her lips curve up slightly. “And now I don’t think I can let you survive to play or write for someone else. The very thought makes me want to die.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to make the most of the time I have with you then, huh?”

“Guess so.” Her smile stretches across her face. “When it’s all said and done, I hope you look back at this time fondly, because I know I will.” She turns, walking out of the room.

I know that’s the best apology I’ll ever get for what happens after tour. She will most likely tell him what happened between us, along with other things, and I’ll end up locked in a studio somewhere writing music for bands I’ll never be a part of.

It sucks, but I can’t bring myself to hate her for any of it. I can’t bring myself to hate her at all.

Because I think I’m starting to like Tuesday a lot more than I should.

When we get ready to take the stage, Tuesday is wearing a tight, black leather skirt and a corset. I try not to stare, only glancing over at her out of the corner of my eye.

It’s been awhile since I got off. I haven’t exactly been keen on the idea of jerking off on her bus. Before then, I hadn’t really felt the need, but lately I find myself with the urge to get off again. Ever since getting her off I felt it, but as Tuesday shows me more vulnerability, and spills more secrets, I find it really hard not to get hard at the memory of that night.

I’ve fallen asleep with a hard-on more nights than not lately. Waking up with one, too.

“Do you want to know tonight’s song, or would you like to be surprised again?” she asks.

“Surprised.”

“You really like surprises, don’t you?” She laughs.