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“Really? If that were true, you wouldn’t be digging around in my notebook.” I clutch it protectively to my chest.
“Those who can’t, teach. You had to take this gig because your magical pussy broke up your own band.” He spins on his heal and heads for the door.
“For your information, it’s golden!” I yell after him, pointing my finger in the air, and then kick the table with my boot.
I SLUMP DOWN onto the couch and sigh. “Asshole,” I mutter to myself.
Peter’s guitar is still propped up against the couch, and his own notebook lays open on the coffee table. If he was walking out for good, he would have taken this with him.
I eye the door before I pull the notebook over to me. It looks like he worked on some lyrics without me. As I read through it, my heart constricts.
Her heart stops and my world tilts
The colors in my mind fade to black
Drums beat without any sound
And all the walls are done and built
Obsidian armor and steel boots
I can’t move on, not without you
Deeper I go, getting sucked in
That same beast running through
Maybe hoping it would take me too
“Fuck.” I push myself off the couch and hesitate at the door before I head down the hall to find Peter.
Betty notices me looking lost at the reception area and points towards the double doors that lead outside. Peter is leaning against a concrete parking block, smoking a cigarette.
“Fuck off, Mia,” Peter says when he notices me approaching. Smoke billows from his lips, and he flicks the ash of his cigarette to the ground.
I ignore him and lean against the parking block next to him anyway. Peter takes a couple of drags as we watch the traffic go by in silence. I stick out my pointer and middle finger in front of him and he places the cigarette butt between them. I take a drag and hand it back to him.
“Golden, huh?” he mutters without looking at me.
I stifle a laugh. “Like fucking Midas.” I take another drag of his cigarette and hand it back.
“Here.” He shoves the pack of cigarettes in my face.
“Nah, I don’t smoke.” I push them away.
Peter leans towards me and laughs. “You really are something else.”
“So I’ve been told.” I flip him off.
We sit outside in silence while Peter smokes and I pretend not to smoke until I finally get up the nerve to ask him.
“Who was she?” I continue to stare straight ahead, and watch as dusk falls over the city block and taillights start to wink.
Peter throws down his cigarette, stubbing it out with the toe of his converse. “Ah, this calls for something stronger.” He pulls a flask from his pocket.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Hayes.” I hit him and snatch the flask, taking a cautious but relatively hefty swig. I cough and sputter. “What is this?”
“Whiskey.” He takes a big gulp and then tries to pass it back to me but I shake my head. I need to keep my head clear, and one swig is enough to grow hair on my chest.
