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“Sleeping, not fucking,” Layla sings from the peanut gallery.
“Layla, language,” Jordan groans.
As if by magic, her phone rings and she sighs. “Fu-dge sticks, it’s Dad. It’s like he knows when I’m breaking his stupid rules.”
Layla flounces out the room to answer it and Jordan chuckles. “We’re gonna find another base of operations while the three of you sleep. I’ll make your flight for tomorrow bright and early, okay Derek? For now lay down before you fall down.”
I nod and walk into the room, falling face first into the bed. The door softly shuts behind me and Roark and Turner close the blinds and turn on the fan so that the room becomes the perfect place to nap. Turner tugs off my shoes and Roark pulls off my shirt. I burrow tiredly into the middle of the bed, and watch as they strip down to their boxers.
I continue to watch as their shadowy bodies climb into bed, and moan as Roark digs his fingers into my hair. “A flight out of here will still be there in the morning. You need to be in tip top shape for this. Your dad’s a right bastard, but he’s smart. There can’t be any fuck ups,” he murmurs.
It would seem as if he’s lecturing me, but I feel warm and fuzzy. What I feel isn’t love, not yet, but I let myself float away on the feeling of Turner wrapped around my back and Roark’s fingers playing with my hair.
Lennon
Loud music wakes me up before freezing water hits my body. A gasp steals my scream as I open my eyes. Mr. Xav steps into my view and gives me a cruel smile. I can’t hear anything except the screamo music that’s being piped through the speakers of the room, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except my head is throbbing. Mr. Xav’s lips are moving but I can’t hear him. I struggle to strain my ears, but it’s a lost cause over the cacophony of sound.
I’m sure this is his way of messing with me, and he’s really just whispering things to himself. Sadistic prick. Shivering, I realize I'm tied to a cold platform that’s inverted on its side. My arms are over my head tied to posts, and my legs are spread wide and fastened by ties. My arms ache from carrying my weight, and I’m wearing a thin shirt that’s now soaking wet and nothing else. Collymore stole my underwear from me earlier and I strain to move my body, pulling on my bindings, needing to see if there’s any give.
Mr. Xav clicks on a remote and the music shuts off, causing my ears to ring from the suddenness of the silence. “Miss Lennon, you’ve been given to me as my own personal case study,” he says, reaching out and tugging on my hair. A distasteful look crosses his face as he looks at it.
“This shade is atrocious and we shall be turning you back into the pretty blonde goddess you should be. Why you’d do this willingly to yourself is beyond me. I’m going to ask you a series of questions now, and if you’re a good girl, I won’t hurt you. Are you game?”
“No. I’m not a fucking game to play,” I snarl. I should be smarter than this, but it’s clear they’re never going to let me go. Why play nice?
Mr. Xav smirks before punching me in the stomach.Fuck. I wheeze, trying to find air that doesn’t want to come, trying to lean forward to protect myself but unable to because I’m bound to this stupid thing. Shuddering, I cough as he chuckles.
“I have been instructed to not touch your pretty face or leave marks where someone can see,” he says with a shrug. “If you decide to be uncooperative, I’ll be forced to do what’s best for your treatment. I am not an unfair man.”
“What am I being treated for?” I ask through the pain. If he’s going to actually respond to my questions, I’ll suffer the consequences for the answers.
“Bipolar disorder with mania, because you have been showing signs of this on tour. I believe you and your bandmates lovingly call these moments ‘the zoomies’ during which you’re erratic, distracted, and recently led to hallucinations,” Mr. Xav says smugly. Shaking my head because he’s twisting things, he picks up a scalpel off the table. “Don’t lie, pet, because Prescott Jones reported your behavior to the Albuquerque media.”
The fucking twat.My eyes widen in anger, but I press my lips together against responding to the accusations, watching as he comes closer with the scalpel.
“Every lie or failure to comply with my requests, Miss Lennon, will be responded to with a consequence, with the severity increasing each time. Is that understood?” His tone is mild and professional and I swallow against the bile threatening to rise.
“Understood, Sir,” I rasp.
Nodding, he stares at the scalpel for a moment. “You have a sister, don’t you?” Memories of an argument with Derek and Jordan fill my mind, tears rising unbidden. I don’t remember a lot about that last show before I arrived here, and I wish I did. I keep getting snippets of memory.
A flare of pain explodes on my hip and I hiss. Mr. Xav smears the blood welling across my hip before stopping and staring. His fingers are calloused and I flinch, wanting to pull away but unable to. Squatting down, he hums to himself. “You enjoy pain, do you, Miss Lennon? There are scars from what looks like years of cutting on your hips,” he muses as his fingers explore my thigh.
I’m completely bare to him outside of the thin, wet shirt that I’m wearing. Biting back a whimper, I realize he is more concerned with my various scars from cutting. It’s why I had the vines with purple and red flowers tattooed here. I was in a really shitty place, and I’m ashamed of how I dealt with my pain at that time.
“We will be adding self-harm to your list of diagnoses,” Mr. Xav says, letting his fingers drag up my thigh.
I’m fully aware of how vulnerable I am and still flinch when his knuckle turns to brush closer to my pussy than necessary. My chest heaves with anxiety and fear as I watch him.
“You’re quite the black sheep in your family, despite your success, aren’t you?” he asks.
I take a moment too long to process that and flinch as I see him shake his head and move his hand towards me. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” I rush to say with a gasp.
“Your mother left you alone when you were barely eighteen and died while traveling, and your father abandoned you,” Mr. Xav says with a shrug.
The man is trying to open every scab today. Wounds I haven’t had time to heal from since they’re so new. “I don’t feel like a black sheep. My fans appreciate my outcast status, and they accept me,” I respond quickly to avoid another consequence.
He snorts, shaking his head. “Your label announced that you were taking an extended hiatus due to your drug use and mental instability. These fans that you say love you so much will get bored with the lack of new music and abandon you as well.”
