“Tell her,” he says. “We can talk again.”
I scoff, ready to hit my head on a wall. “Looking forward to it.”
HALLOWEEN, SIX YEARS EARLIER
BONNIE
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
The following chapter contains graphic depictions of the sexual assault of a person under the influence of the date rape drug otherwise known as rohypnol.
Please consider this your extra warning.
Proceed with caution.
Your mental health comes first.
I can feel the rumbling thunder outside as it shakes the building.
A shot of tequila and the rest of the bottle waits for me on the dressing room counter after our show. Profuse sweat drips down my forehead and mingles in my hair as I practically lunge at the counter and kick one of them back.
Blood from my open calluses stains the bottle when I pour another.
The few shots of vodka our tour manager, Lonnie, fed me onstage was enough to keep me from losing my shit, but I can’t wait to get out of here. I had to stay sober enough to play the gig, sober enough not to fall off the fucking stool and have the band looking for a second drummer replacement.
That would be so embarrassing.
My phone screen is lit up with texts from acquaintances already asking when we’re getting to the Halloween party we’re going to.
“Hey—nice. Tequila!” Reed launches himself to my side and shoots back a shot with me, wincing when he does. “Ah, fuck. That’s good. Hey. Where are we going again?”
I take another shot and savor the cold liquid coating my mouth. “Desireé’s,” I answer.
My eyes shut tight as I lean my palms against the counter lip. The rest of my body is numb not just from the drinks and the gummy Zeb fed me mid-set, but the ache of my arms from drumming. It’s getting worse. My arms are feeling heavier and heavier after every gig.
Push through.
Another shot will help.
Reed is going on about something. I smile and nod along, though his voice is a distant echo. My phone lights up again, and this time, when I pull it into my hands to read the message, I throw it away for another drink.
“—get her out of here—charge to two-hundred—”
“Bonnie, step out—”
The noise of a hospital machine flatlining rings in my ears.
God, that’s annoying.
DAD
Bon, please come home.
I know you couldn’t handle the funeral. I get that.
She wanted her ashes scattered at the ocean.
I’d like you to be there with me.
