Page 136 of Down Beat
FORTY-SEVEN
Rey
“Break Stuff” – Limp Biskit
“Some of us are trying to sleep, asshole!” Toby yells to be heard over the music.
Limp Biskit’s “Break Stuff” pounds through the hotel room.
Toby’s eyes go wide, his head rearing back with a “Don’t you dare” angle to it as he catches sight of me.…
Poised in the middle of the living area with the swanky horse head ornament that usually sits on the TV cabinet.
“Put it down,” he says calm and low, hands raised before him.
I lift it higher. This morning has gone to hell in a handbasket, one bottle of beer at a time.
“Rey.”
The white ceramic skitters across the floor in a thousand pieces that accurately represent my goddamn heart.
“Fuck!”
Toby disappears into his room, emerging a moment later with a pair of jeans on. He careens out the door, shirtless and shoeless, while I eye up the television. I really, really want to throw that fucker off the balcony, but I don’t think I could take accidentally killing somebody in the street below at this point in time.
By the time Toby returns with Emery in tow, I’ve ripped the pretentious artwork from the wall and made a pretty picture of the space with my dot-work cutlery.
“Fuck’s sake, asshole.” Emery marches over and proceeds to rip them from the sheetrock. “You want to end your goddamn career? Wallace is going to have a fit.”
“Who fucking cares, right?” I back up, hands thrown wide, and straight into Toby.
He bands his arms around me, which only sets me off worse. I thrash against him, twisting my shoulders in an effort to break free, but the fucker’s always won when we fought since he’s taller and broader than I am.
“What is the deal, Rey?” he hollers, still competing with Fred Durst.
“What’s the deal?” Fuck my life—there is no deal, that’s the issue. “Who’s missing? Who isn’t here?” I relax in his hold to play dead.
“You want me to go get Kris?”
“Who else should be out here with all the noise I’ve made?” I jerk my body to try and catch him off guard.
He flicks a leg around mine to put me off balance, and then slams me face-first against the wall. “What did you do?”
God—it’s poetic. If only kitty could see now. “Always my fault, hey?” I say on a humorless laugh. “She played me, brother. I finally got a taste of my own medicine, and let me tell you, it’s bitter as fuck.”
“Christ, Rey.” He lets me go to take a step back, hand scrubbing his face when I turn to look at him. “She had to have a reason. I didn’t think she was like that.”
“Me either.” But hey, life has a pretty fucked-up way of reminding us how good it is at surprises, right?
“Have you tried calling her?” Emery parks his ass on the arm of the sofa—about the only thing that hasn’t been destroyed in here.
“Fuck. No. It hadn’t crossed my mind,” I drawl with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “She won’t pick up.”
“Let me try.” Toby rips his phone out of his jeans, gesturing for Emery to do the same. “Give me yours. She might answer if it’s unknown.”
I retreat to my room to leave them to it. He’s welcome to do whatever the fuck he wants, but I already know she won’t take the call. How can she when she’s probably in the air?
I fall face-first onto the bed with a groan, before propping myself on my elbows to retrieve her note. At least she had the decency to give me an explanation, even if it fucking hurt like a motherfucker to read it.