Page 72 of Dirty Chorus

I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t want to be with him anymore,” I say. It turns to pure silence, and it stretches out like an eternity, each second more overwhelming because no matter how much I’ve tried to move on from Brody, he’s still tearing me apart from everyone. First it’s Noah going through my phone, and now it’s Payton having her classic five-year-old tantrum when she doesn’t get her way. But I get it. Brody was a complete mistake and Payton wants to protect me from getting hurt. We’ve always been like that with each other, and without her I wouldn’t have a moral compass.

“I don’t believe you,” she says back. My gaze drops to my nails and the painful hangnails forming around my cuticles. “You keep telling me that. But each time you ditch me several times in a row, it’s because of him. I’ve been calling you all night to hang out.” Payton twirls around, throwing her hands into the air before they slap back down onto her hips.

“Oh, shut up!” I use two hands and push myself off the bed and start snatching the clothes off my floor.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” I can feel the heat radiating off of Payton, and her chin trembling as she glares at me.

“You're making a damn mess in my room!” I throw the pile of clothes on my mattress and run a hand through my hair. “I don’t have to invite you everywhere I go.”

“I’m trying to be a good friend and protect you from that prick!” Her voice cracks, and her anger gives way to something deeper than hurt. “I really thought you were done with him, but you keep going out with other people, and you won’t talk to me. We haven’t hung out like we used to.”

“I don’t need you to protect me!” I place a palm against my heart, my eyes fluttering. “Take your damn shirt and go home. I’m not dealing with this right now.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! I need some space.” I swallow hard. My tongue is like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. My lips are dry and cracked as I part my lips. “I love the shit out of you, but you can’t come over and act like this.”

“Fine. By all means if you want to date him, don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart again.” She fights with herself as she attempts to fold her shirt. She grumbles under her breath before giving up and slapping the shirt at her side as she storms out of the bedroom and down the hallway. I stand there holding my breath, my rib cage clenching onto my lungs, squeezing the life out of them. When the front door slams shut, I know she’s gone. I’ll give her a few hours before texting her.

Chapter 31

Noah

Five-o’clock hits, and it’s about time for me to lock up the store when the bell jingles above the door. A group of men wearing the Falcon jerseys pour in, fumigating the place with testosterone. They make snide remarks, hitting each other in the chest as they dip a chin in my direction.

“What’s with the faggot trash bag hair?” One of them cracks their knuckles. Another holds up their head to expose their thick giraffe neck. “I never knew a dude could be a lesbian.” Such bold words from someone I doubt ever gets laid.

“More like a butch feminist if she were overdosing on hormone pills.” Eyes infected with arrogance meet mine, and smirks form on their lips.

One of them looks oddly familiar, and he steps in with a hand in his jean pockets, the other stroking his chin as he licks his top teeth.

I chew on the dead skin of my bottom lip, not surprised. The stocky bastard who cheated on Charlie would possess the ego to taunt me. Looks like he needed to bring backup because he can’t handle a friendly conversation without ten guys guarding him. All of them sneer, pushing each other in the chest as they horse around.

“Look at this.” One of them laughs. He has worse facial hair than I do, his mustache giving him a divorced-mall-security-guard appearance. He tosses a vinyl record at a teammate. “What is this shit?” He points at it with a flat palm.

“Fucking junk. That’s what it is,” another jackass mocks with a moppy haircut with his eyes covered in curly pubic hair. He picks up another vintage vinyl record. Elvis Presley, My Happiness. Fuck, and that one is in good condition too.

He smashes it across a knee and throws it to the ground. My heart crashes in my eardrums as other guys flip through cases of CDs, kicking down cases. Brody takes a steady step forward, flashing me a grin. I keep my distance with the glass display case between us and fold my arms. Thank god I have my hair pulled back into a girly-ass bun.

“Why are you messing with my girlfriend? Hmm?” Brody asks, narrowing his brows, digging those frown lines deeper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t...I want you to be my... I want you to make me come. No one has made me come before.” He mimics her. “I bet you liked that, didn’t you?” He runs a hand through his blond hair and flexes his biceps as if he does it to intimidate me. I hit the gym too. I’m just not injecting myself with steroids to cheat my own anatomy.

A crash as loud as a gunshot rockets through the store as his friends push and shove each other around, knocking over a display case of jewelry. The other guy heads towards the wall displaying shirts with an array of different artists. Brody finds the shelves by the glass display case stocked with shirts, sweaters and beanies my band personalized to sell here.

“I’ve seen her wear one of these beanies.” Brody picks one out, then digs in his pocket, pulling out a lighter. “But she looks better in my jersey.” His thumb clicks against the flint wheel, and each click hisses until a blue flame flickers. “You know, she’s fucked my face plenty of times. She’s a little slutty whore, isn’t she?” He holds the lighter under the beanie, setting it on fire. Smoke floats into the air and instantly invades my senses. “I love how fucking loud she is.”

Time to put my emotions in check, leave my lips flat, and control the pulse racing in my veins. This isn’t Karate Kid, where I can pull a bunch of moves to take out this herd of maggots.

“What is that little symbol?” He fists one of my shirts with the band logo. Then tosses it to the floor with the burning beanie. “Some Jesus bullshit.” He throws several more on the carpet, rounding the glass case to where I stand. “I can’t stand how she fucking believes that fantasy bullshit!”

I take slow steps away from the glass display case, and eyeball the fire extinguisher.

“I saw your little music video posted today...” he chuckles, and his dark eyes zero in. It’s easy to tell he has nothing on his mind other than making sure I’m either dead or bleeding by the time he walks out of here. “Made yourself a little porno, huh?” He just doesn’t know when to shut up. I’m inches away from the fire extinguisher, so I take a few more steps to get closer to it.

“You'd better save yourself a copy because you’re never going to touch her again.” I raise my eyebrow, lick my chapped lips and laugh. “Don’t you have somethin’ to say?” he asks and storms right up to me. His thick fingers grab the collar of my shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists. I raise my hands in a defensive stance. He yanks me forward before slamming me against the wall. Perfect. His hands are close enough together for me to break his grip, but I’d like to see where he’s taking this conversation. Plus, the little fire he started is just a tiny fizzle of smoke, and I have a good sixty seconds to grab the fire extinguisher.

“You think you’re so cool with your fucking skinny jeans, and your tattoos and fucking my girlfriend in that little music video you made,” he sneers, his face inches from mine. “I bet you liked that tight-ass cunt of hers. But you’re nothing. You think she’s going to choose you over the greatest quarterback this state has ever seen?”

For all he knows, I might tour with Oli Sykes one day, but his uncultured ass probably has no idea who he is.