Page 76 of The Comedown

Together, you and I, we’d be a fucking catastrophe.

Calamity.

Tragedy.

Drippin’ from head to my bones in the agony,

soak me good, baby, because without you, it’s straight misery.”

The words aren’t from our song but they’re more real, more true, than the lyrics I consider rewriting every minute of every goddamn day. The song we “made together” sucks, too, and I hate singing the lyrics anymore. I’d have no issue singing them with literally anybody else, but with Collette, I hate them. More than I hate myself. More than I hate Collette.

I don’t hate Collette.

It’d be easier if I did.

A dare in her eye and a pep in her fucking step, Collette joins me onstage, the shoulder-length blue hair she’s wearing turning wavy around her own stormy expression as the rain infuses the strands.

Here we go. Punish me. Show me I’m worth punishing.

Her own mic comes up when she’s a foot away from me, and amongst the rain and the screams and the chaos of my head battling my heart for dominance, she sticks a finger in my face and raps, actually fucking raps.

“These girls might be calling you Daddy,

But you should know I ain’t your baby,

You want me at your feet, yet I got you between my knees.”

With her hand on my head, she lifts a bent knee, pretending to guide me to her pussy, and it takes everything in me not to fall and worship her here and now. A king kneels for no one, but I’d drop to my knees for Collette—my queen.

“Praising me good, buried deep beneath the sheets,

Coming up for air just to catch a peek.

I know you like to watch, but trust me when I say, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

Might wanna wipe your upper lip, Julez, we both know it won’t be sweat.”

She takes a swipe at my top lip and I chase the move with my mouth, wanting to bite her so fucking bad. I’d pray for lockjaw and never let go. Never.

“’Cause when it comes to who’s on top,

please believe it’ll always be your girl, Collette.”

Ending with a hard glare, Collette moves toward the crowd, but I snatch her ass up with an arm around her waist, pulling her attention back to me. Doesn’t she see? This is all for her.

My hold on her tight but not tight enough, she pulls from my grasp, facing off against me like we’re in a real battle. My specialty.

“We ain’t gon’ talk about it?

Shit, say the word and I’ll straight scream about it.

Why can’t we just be about it?

Got me spinning in circles just thinking about—”

A loud crack of thunder rattles the stage, cutting my mic off midsentence, but I step into Collette, still going without it.

“Let me off the ride, but never the high.”