Page 96 of Dirty Chorus

My nails dig into the tin can. Friends? I thought we were fine. I barely think about Brody anymore. All I want is to be engulfed by Noah and his baggy black shirts, and the fragrance of dryer sheets that I’m so head over heels for. I feel stupid for having fallen for him. Used again. This has to be the reason pretty girls become slutty strippers. I'm bound to have men watching me dance, hump and come all over a pole. Men fill our brains with the thought we are their soulmates and bam – they get their dicks sucked, they spray semen all over our faces, and they leave us to clean up the mess, and the emotions with it.

I pull out my cellphone, and all the intrusive thoughts win. I check my Instagram and my followers to see if he’s still there. My heart rips down the middle when I can’t find his name. My thumb goes through hoops until I find his profile and check who he's following, and I realize I’m just losing my damn mind because he's still following me.

When I see the profile picture glowing, I know he posted on his story. I click it and see the band all gathered around on a couch. Omen is holding a banana to his ear, talking into it.

“Get off the banana, your fake girlfriend can wait.” I dunno who said it, but Vince and Tony are punching each other in the shoulders, laughing.

Noah is sitting in the middle, rubbing his hands together. His hair falls over a shoulder before he uses a finger to tuck the strands under his ear.

“So umm...” Noah starts off and gives off this weak half smile. “Do you really have to eat that right now?” He turns his head laughing. “I can hear you fucking chewing dude!”

“What?” Omen mumbles around a large mouthful of banana as he chews. “I’m hungry.”

Noah turns back to the camera. “We wanted to announce we just got signed by Metal Blade Records and...” Noah is cut off by the guys cheering, and there's that cute smile again. “So, uhh yeah, our demo is out... but we are actually going to be recording our first official album, it’s not going to just be us playing at the bars anymore. We don’t have any dates yet, but we are going to tour, so, um, yeah, we’ll keep you guys updated.”

The video ends, and I think I might faint. I’m so dizzy. My hands tremble as I click around on my phone and find Noah’s name, writing him a message.

Charlie: You got signed? And didn’t even tell me. I found out through your Instagram.

It doesn’t take two seconds for the read receipt to pop up with the timestamp. There are no little dots popping up to tell me he's writing me back.

Charlie: Can you at least write me back?

Charlie: You tell me you’re fucking terrified of me then just randomly leave me out of nowhere. What the hell! You said you would try to make it work.

That one just stays on delivered. I tell myself I’m not gonna cry about it. I’m gonna pretend everything is fine. But I’m blinking back tears as I push the phone into my uniform top, between my sweaty boobs and the stretchy top.

“Damn,” a voice drawls behind me. “I forgot how sexy you look in that uniform.” I turn, and my stomach twists. God it’s Brody. He’s leaning against the wall like he never broke me, like he has every right to undress me with his soulless eyes. Those brown irises are hazy as he sips on his beer. I can tell he’s drunk by the way he bites his bottom lip and the Mmmms coming out of his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. I turn on a heel, but he pushes himself off the wall and manages to stand right in front of me. “Did that faggot finally dump you?” He puts a hand underneath my chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.

I stiffen, gripping my can tighter. “Like you would care.”

Brody laughs, the sound low and mean. “Relax, I’m just sayin’. You were way too good for that loser, anyway.” His gaze drops down my body, slow and familiar. “You know... we could fix things. You and me. Go back to how it was.” He grabs my hip, pushing me to walk backwards until my heels hit a dead end. My back is pressed against the jagged brick wall, and I hear myself swallow the bulge caught in my throat.

“That’s tempting and all... but no.”

He tilts his head, smirk fading. “No?”

“It’s not happening.”

His jaw tightens, and I can see the switch flip. His hand clutching a beer rests on the wall as he leans into me. His warm breath reeks of intoxication.

“Right. Of course. You’re too busy screwing that emo fuckboy, right?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it should be me.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Guess he got bored. Can’t blame him.” His voice drops. “You always were a slutty bitch when you wanted attention. I’d love to give you some attention right now.” His free hand takes a fistful of my right breast, and he presses his groin against mine. He groans under his breath. “Fuck, I missed these.”

Then he smirks again, a cruel spark lighting in his eyes. “Oh, speaking of sluts.” His hands move from my breasts, skating down to my navel, and grabbing my ass. “You might wanna check the bathroom. Your best friend’s in there.” He groans again, his hands digging into my asscheeks. “With Ryder. Quite a few people were laughing at how loud she was. Didn’t think she was the moaning type.”

My breath catches, and I use my strength to shove him off me. “What?”

“Yeah,” he stumbles back casually, sipping his beer. “Didn’t you know? Payton and your brother have been hooking up. Guess she finally got what she wanted, huh? Must feel great knowing your best friend’s screwing your brother.”