Page 73 of A Tragic Melody

“I hope not.” He shrugs. “I like to believe in it. Helps with the pain of losing your whole family when you think of them up in heaven.”

“I don’t know if I can believe in heaven,” I say softly. “That would mean I’d have to accept I’d end up in hell, so I rather just think death is peace.”

“You wouldn’t end up in hell.”

“Don’t lie to me, now, Wyatt.” I laugh. “We both know I’m no angel.”

“No. I would never imply that, but I think you are a little too hard on yourself.”

“And we both know you'd rather be hard on me.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Tell me why you think I’d end up in heaven?” I ask, getting up and sliding into the booth in front of him.

“I don’t think you’re a terrible person. I think you play it off like you don’t give a damn about anyone or anything, but you cry when you hurt someone. Maybe not in public, but you do let it get to you.”

“Wyatt…” I sigh. “I am sorry about the song, and what I said before about your family. I really…I’m just sorry, okay?”

“I know. That’s what I’m saying, Tues. You aren’t awful. You are a product of your environment. You just have to learn how to change.”

“Why bother?” I shrug. “I can’t change the environment, can’t control it, so why not succumb to it?”

“Because you deserve better,” he says, his voice more serious than I’ve yet to hear before. “You deserve so much better, Tues. I wish I knew how to get you to see that. I wish I knew how to help you get it.”

“No one can help me.” I offer him a smile, if only to try to ease his concern. “And I think in some way, I do kind of deserve this.” I slide from the bench I sit at, walking back to my bag of drugs. “And deep down, I think you know that’s true.”

I walk back to my bunk.

It hurts to hear him say I deserve better. I don’t, but knowing he thinks I do makes me feel things I don’t want to. I don’t want to accept that someone might care for me, especially someone I know I have no chance in hell at keeping around.

Wyatt James might be the only person to ever see something good in me, but he’s still wrong about it. There is nothing good in me, no matter how hard he wishes there was. It’s just not true.

I am horrible. My environment may have made me this way, but I embrace it instead of run from it, so that has sealed my fate.

I hope for his family’s sake heaven is real, but accepting that means I’m destined to hell.

For that reason, I slip another ecstasy pill into my mouth. No need to accept my fate sober, right?

“Wyatt and you seem to be getting along swimmingly,” Hendricks says on the other end of the phone as I sit on the vanity in the dressing room.

The last two shows have gone by flawlessly. Wyatt and I play nice on stage. Off stage, he tries to avoid being alone with me, though, hiding out on his bunk or following Quinn and the guys around wherever they disappear to before sound check.

It’s frustrating. I’d very much like to fuck him, if only to know what that would be like, but I know he is trying to keep that from happening. It’s for the best, sure, but I never do what’s for the best.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I groan, and then freeze. I’m not supposed to say things like that out loud, but I’ve done three lines and mixed it with an oxy to level me off. “I wouldn’t dream of sleeping with him,” I add.

“Are you sleeping with anyone?”

“No, sir. I’ve taken what you said to heart. Trying to be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” he replies. “Keep it that way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When your tour is over, I have some business in New York. You’ll meet me there, understand?”

“Can’t wait.” I force myself to sound chipper, but I’m far from chipper. I’d much rather go back to my apartment in LA after tour. The last thing I want to do is be stuck with him for a week in New York. “What happens to Wyatt after the tour?”