Jean Haus - Ink My Heart

Pounding rattles the door. “What the hell, Justin? You cuffing it after your little serenade?” Sam yells from the other side.

I grab a paper towel and wipe my face. “To a picture of your mom.”

“Shut up, you sick bastard, and hurry up. Unless you want me pissing on the floor.” After one last view of my troubled eyes, I open the door and Sam flies in toward the urinal. “I’ve had to go since we went back on, asshole.”

“Why didn’t you go out back?” I ask, reaching for my bag on the floor.

“Riley and April are out there, helping Gabe and Romeo load.”

“And…”

“And I didn’t want to hear Romeo’s shit.” He kicks the door shut, locks it, and plucks out a small ziplock baggie of white powder. “You up for a hit?”

I rub the sides of my face. After the shit I just pulled, I have to admit I’m in the mood. The invincible high of cocaine sounds appealing. But then I remember that Allie’s out there. And I remember that cocaine makes me act like a prick—or, depending on the night, more of a prick. I cannot be that guy tonight. I shake my head, yank on a new shirt, and start rolling up the sleeves.

Sam wipes the sink edge clean with a paper towel. “Are you turning into some kind of Romeo pansy?”

I shrug. “Maybe. What are you, a pusher?”

Bobbing his head, he shakes some powder on the white porcelain and starts humming that old Curtis Mayfield song “Pusherman.” It’s from the 1970s. I’m not even sure how I recognize the tune—maybe because he’s sung it before. He’s into weird seventies shit. He sings the words to himself while he makes a line with a razor.

He bends with a chuckle and I grab my backpack, knowing I need to get the hell out before the sweet high of indestructible draws me over to the sink.

“Order me a shot and a beer,” he says midsnort.

“Hit the lock,” I say, jerking the door shut behind me as I leave.

I take a step into the room still littered with our shit, and pause. Romeo and his girlfriend, Riley, are against the far wall sucking face. They pull apart and a second later Romeo is staring at me over Riley’s head, his eyes narrowed. “Why does he need to lock the door, Justin?”

I shrug.

Sam likes to party. He doesn’t do drugs daily or anything, but when he parties he mixes it up. Two hours from now, he’ll be out back smoking a joint and almost ready to call it a night. Yet Romeo acts like Sam is a hardcore druggie, and threatens to kick him out of the band every time he gets the slightest whiff that he’s been into something illegal. Maybe I need to grow up, but Romeo needs to get some perspective. One, we’re in college. Two, we live in mid-Michigan. We’re not some drugged-out band on Sunset Strip in Hollywood. Sam isn’t shooting shit into his veins or doing any crazy-ass shit. He’s just letting loose a little.

Riley steps aside and Romeo takes a step toward me, pointing his finger. “Don’t fucking shrug at me. Why did you tell him to lock the door?”

“Don’t fucking point at me like I’m one of your little boxing bitches.”

“Romeo…,” Riley says, reaching for his arm.

I shrug again, more dramatically. “Cause he was gonna take a shit.”

Fists at his side, Romeo looks like he’s going to explode.

I smirk at him. It won’t be the first or, probably, last time we’ll go at it. It’s true he can box. But I’ve been kicking ass out of the ring since middle school. Fighting was another way I tried to get my parents’ attention. It didn’t work, but once my reputation was in place as a fighter, the line to kick my ass grew to the length of a city block.

“Stop it!” Riley says, stepping between us. She’s done this a number of times. Either she doesn’t like violence or she’s worried about Romeo’s pretty face. Probably both.

The door creaks open behind us.

“What the hell?” Sam says calmly. “Why don’t you assholes just meet in the ring once a month?”

Romeo whips toward him. “What were you doing in there?”

Sam’s brows rise. “Dude, can I use the toilet without you crawling up my ass?”

While Romeo’s expression turns thunderous, I try to keep a straight face. I’m not sure if Sam overheard us or if he’s that lucky, but his answer was spot-on.

Riley edges up next to Romeo. “Let’s just finish packing up the van and go.”

He looks cynically at Sam, then at me, but finally says, “Grab something.”

To keep the peace, we follow orders, grabbing anything within reach, and head out into the alley. Back inside, done with Romeo and his shit, I toss my bag onto a chair in the narrow room behind the stage, take a deep breath, and charge into the crowd to find Allie.

The bar/club is still hopping. Instead of going straight to the bar, I walk the perimeter of the room, searching for that head of rich auburn hair. A minute in, some chicks stop me and ask for pictures. Two pose on either side of me while the third girl, a hot blonde, takes a photo with her phone. I decline the blonde’s offer to buy me a drink, explaining I’m meeting someone. I only make it a few more feet before more fans stop me. They gush. I smile. They hang on me and it takes me almost ten minutes to detangle myself. This shit is getting ridiculous. We’re a local college band, not fucking U2.

Usually I like all the attention.

Not tonight.

I’m starting to think Allie took off when I notice her, and her friend, standing at the far end of the bar. I’m hit with a wave of relief, then nervousness. Both are foreign emotions. I push up my sleeves and swagger over to them. Allie’s looking simple yet smoking in tall boots, low-rise jeans, and a tight tank top.

Over a sip of beer, her gray eyes meet mine.

“Hi,” I say stupidly, stopping a few feet from her.

She blinks and lowers the beer. “Hey.”

I almost say “hey” back, like an idiot. We stare at each other, as though there’s nobody else in the club. Her expression is a little dazed, but she doesn’t look away.

“Well hello, Justin!” The shrill voice of Allie’s friend pulls me back to reality as she wraps an arm around Allie’s shoulders. She points a finger at her swelling cleavage. “I’m Allie’s roommate, Holly.”

Giving her a smile, I nod.

“The band was freakin’ awesome. Betcha hear that all the time though.”

“Enough.” I glance at Allie, who’s now studying her beer cup like it holds the answers to life’s biggest questions.

“And your singing,” Holly says, fanning herself. “Amazeballs. What was the one song you did with the violin?” she asks innocently, but there’s a gleam in her eye. Allie tries to nudge her inconspicuously with an elbow in the ribs.

I glare at cleavage girl coolly. I’m fairly sure her tits are fake. “‘Iris’ by the Goo Dolls.”

“Yes! That’s the one! You sang it so beautifully. Emotion poured out of you.” Allie isn’t trying to keep her elbowing inconspicuous now. She’s going crazy with it. Holly lets out a little gasp and squeezes closer to Allie until the attack elbow is locked between them.

“Dude, where’s my shot? My beer?” Sam says, stepping next to me. Allie finally looks up from her cup at the newcomer.

“Well hello.…” Holly’s lips curl into a seductive smile.

“Sam,” I fill in. I hope these two hit it off so Miss Silicone Tits will back off. “This is Allie and Holly.” I point to each girl.

His eyes do a double take on Allie, probably recognizing her as the girl I sang “Iris” to, and then do a double take on Holly’s chest. He grins at her tits. “Hello back at ya.”

Holly unwinds her arm from Allie’s shoulders. “Did I hear shots?”

“Absolut?” Sam says.

“Lemon drops?” she replies.