Page 33 of Dark Notes, Volume Two

Chapter Eighteen

MIA

“Please come to the show.” McKinley all but begs. I haven’t left the house in three weeks despite knowing it isn’t healthy, but I’ve been a hermit for a long time. It’s a hard habit to break. Do I really want to break it by watching Jett on stage? Probably not.

She bounces on her toes like a child begging for a toy and swearing they’ll never ask for anything again. I shake my head at her as she bats her big blue eyes at me and moves her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulder.

“Mia. You want him to see that sure he hurt you, but you're fine. He hurt you, he did not break you.”

We stand in my kitchen sipping on margaritas, and I can’t help but take in my best friend. She’s happy. Really fucking happy and I’m here for it. There’s no jealousy between us, although I wouldn’t mind just a small part of what she has.

“Kins, he did break me. He ruined me. I’ll never get over this–and seeing him again, I don’t know if I can do it.”

She folds her arms across her chest and gives me a serious look.

“Do you think this is the answer?”

McKinley waves her hand around the apartment, making herself clear.

“If I go, will you leave me alone?”

She nods emphatically.

“For at least twenty-four hours. I can’t guarantee more than that. Now, go get ready, bestie.”

Jagger is at the front of the stage singing their breakthrough hit, Primal, but my eyes are focused on Jett. He’s heartbreakingly beautiful. His shirt is tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, as he bangs angrily at the keys on the keyboard. He looks lost, so out of it yet somehow he doesn’t miss a single note. How does he do that? It’s clear he’s blitzed, I don’t know how he can even think straight. Maybe it’s muscle memory. Jagger stands near Jake, their bassist, when Jett grabs a water bottle and chucks it at the back of his head. Jagger spins around, not missing any words, but you can almost feel the heat from their silent exchange. Jett grabs his keyboard and tosses it in the air and it lands upside down. A white key comes loose and flies across the stage, but he’s not done. He storms angrily to the mic stand at the front of the stage,picks it up, and heads for Hendrix’s drums. McKinley grabs my arm as both of us stare at the stage in shock. Jett smashes the bass drum before going to the extra keyboard set up for Jagger.

Jagger runs to stop him as he brings the stand down onto the keyboard. Jett’s eyes, even from here, are dark and glow with anger. Jagger has a microphone so we can hear them when they begin yelling.

Jagger says, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jett yells back, and the pain in his voice is raw. This may be destructive, but I can hear the anguish.

“I have nothing to live for. This is all I have now. Rage.”

He hits Jagger in the leg with the mic stand. Security floods the stage and grabs Jett as he snarls for them to let him go. They drag him away, and I can’t help but notice the way he stares at me until they pull him out of view.

McKinley places her arm around my waist and pulls me in for a hug.

“I’m sorry.”

I wish I were more surprised than I am, but I’ve seen a lot of crazy things on social media lately with Jett. The women, the parties, and of course, the drugs. My least favorite headline? Jett Black ditches model Mia Montgomery for his own harem. It was not lost on me that all the women pawing him were size 0’s– the size I used to be when I first attracted him.

When I had what was considered a perfect body, I was someone. My photos were taken constantly. Everywhere I went the flashes went off. It didn’t suck to see my image everywhere as people gushed about how stunning I was. Now, though, it’s different. When my photo is shown, it’s to talk about how useless I am now that I’m not ‘supermodel skinny.’ It has become fairly frequent for the tabloids to guess my weight. Apparently, there’s not enough negative shit in the world to talk about. Does nobody realize the fat girl they’re talking about is real? She’s a human being with actual feelings. Of course not, because it makes them money. The mean girl energy is real.

McKinley grabs my arm, knocking me out of my thoughts.

“Ignore her.”

I can’t. I watch Samantha walk backstage, and I don’t have to wonder where she’s going.

I know.

Shrugging my shoulders, I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me, but it does.

“I guess it’s her week again.”

She flashes me a sad look before shaking her head.