So much love to my ladies for their help :3

Thank you for reading, even if these flawed characters continue to make you mad.

Update will be Monday!

If you need something to read in the meantime, check out Breaking Waves by RMacaroni and fall in love with Surferward! Also, CiaraShayee just started a new fic today, Fever Dream, and I'm already obsessed!


Chapter Fourteen

Edward POV

"Get up." I feel someone nudge my shoulder. "Dude, get the fuck up."

I open my eyes, and Emmett's standing over me. I realize he was using his foot to wake me because I'm on the floor of a hotel bathroom.

"Shit." I sit up. Head pounding. Throat sore. There's vomit in the toilet and on my clothes. I run a hand through my hair and find some there too. "Might've gone a little hard last night," I laugh, downplaying the embarrassment I feel because I really don't fucking remember.

I barely recall the show we played last night. I definitely don't have any recollection of coming back to the hotel. I sure as fuck don't remember what city we're supposed to be in right now. I know we're on the East Coast now, but that's about it.

"Going a little hard is what I do, Edward. What you're doing is…." He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and scrubbing a hand over his mouth. "I shouldn't find you on the fucking bathroom floor." I don't know what to say to this, so I stay quiet. "For a second, I thought you were dead."

"Jesus, Em. It's not that bad." I grimace at his bluntness and stand to splash water on my face.

"Do you even remember last night?" he asks.

"Yeah. We played a show and got rowdy, like we always do." It's not a bad guess, but when I look in the mirror and meet his eyes, the look on his face let's me know there's more. I shut off the water. "Just spit it out, Em."

"Oh? Now you wanna talk?" he asks flatly, and I turn around to face him. "Okay. Fine. You were an asshole on stage last night."

"We're all assholes on stage."

"Nah. Not like this. You were being a dick. Arguing with Jasper about the set list, trying to play the songs you wanted to play."

That doesn't sound like the worst thing I could've done. "Okay. Sorry," I say, not really meaning it because how can I apologize for something I don't even remember?

Emmett glares, like he can read my mind. He knows my apology is half-assed. "When you do that shit on stage, it makes us all look bad."

"I said I was sorry. Fuck," I sigh.

I don't like the way he's staring at me, so I turn around and wet a washcloth to get some of the dried puke off my shirt.

"You were making out with Vic, too," Emmett adds. "She was all over you after the show."

I hate to ask, but I say, "Vic?"

"Wow." He laughs humorlessly. "The guitarist for the opening band. Tall, red hair."

"Right, I know," I lie, trying really fucking hard to remember that part of the night, but I come up empty.

"You can't drink that much before a show again," he warns. "It was fucking unprofessional and awkward."

"Okay, Dad," I say sarcastically. "Give me a break, okay? I'm going through some shit—"

"Yeah, I know. We all know. But you think that's how you're gonna get Bella back? Getting wasted and making out with chicks and—"

"I'm not trying to get her back," I say, without thinking. Without meaning it. Of course I want that. It's all I want. But it's been a month, and she's still refusing to talk to me. She doesn't answer my calls. Blocked me on all social media. We haven't talked since that day she flew out of Austin. No one will tell me how she's doing. This is the first time someone's even willingly mentioned her name around me in a long fucking time.

"Okay," Emmett says evenly, like he's annoyed or frustrated or just… fucking sick of me. "Good to know you're not trying to get her back, 'cause you're sure as shit never gonna be with Bella again if you keep acting like this."

I rub my eyes and look at my phone, pretending like hearing her name for a second time doesn't fucking affect me.

"Get your shit together, Edward. Or the tour is over."

Bile rises in my throat again, and I swallow it back. "What the fuck, Em? That's not your call to make."

"I know. But me and Jasper talked," he says, blindsiding me. I realize he doesn't mention Sam's name in any of this. "It looks bad. You're a wreck. You're… you need time or rehab or—"

"Rehab?" I laugh, but it's hollow, and all I feel is panic. "Fuck, Em. You act like I'm the only one partying. Big fucking deal, I drank too much—"

"It's not that," he says quietly.

"Okay, so I like to do a little coke every now and then—"

"It's not every now and then," he interrupts, tone sharper. "Stop fucking lying to yourself and to me."

"Are you giving Sam the same speech?" I ask. "Are you giving him the same ultimatum?"

"I don't give a shit about Sam," Emmett says seriously. "You're my brother. He's not."

I don't expect my chest to fucking hurt, but it does. I play it off, though, like his concern doesn't make me wanna crawl into a hole and disappear.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath. "Just… ease up."

"No. I'm not gonna ease up. You get your shit together, or you're done, and we'll finish the tour without you," he says and walks out of the bathroom.

"Good luck finishing a tour without the lead fucking singer!" I shout.

The hotel door slams, and it rattles me to my core.

It's quiet then as I stand alone in the bathroom. I'm full of anger, but I know it's misplaced. I know I'm not pissed at Em or Jasper. I'm pissed at myself for letting shit get this far. But fuck them for thinking they get to call the shots. To make decisions that affect all of us.

I try to shake it off, but I'm too frustrated. Too pissed.

I think about Bella. Think about doing a line. Instead, I smash my fist through the bathroom mirror. It doesn't shatter enough the first time, so I do it again. And again. Until I'm staring at myself through a bloody kaleidoscope.

Until I finally feel.

XXX

I'm heading down to the lobby when the elevator stops, and a tall redhead walks in.

Vic.

I step to the side and move my duffel bag to make room for her.

"Woof," she laughs when she sees me in sunglasses, my hand bandaged and bloodied. "You okay?" She asks it like she knows me, and my stomach turns when I think about how well we just might know each other after last night.

"Rough night," I laugh, downplaying it all.

"Who pissed you off?" she asks, looking down at my hand.

Myself, mostly. I don't tell her this. Instead, I slide my sunglasses down the collar of my shirt and look at her, trying to remember what Em told me.

Faint images of last night appear. Her mouth on mine. Her sitting in my lap and pouring beer in my mouth. Then her slipping a pill onto my tongue, one that I easily accepted. No questions asked.

At one point we were alone, I remember, and I really fucking hate to ask but, "So, about last night… did we, uh…"

She raises her brows. Looks fucking annoyed. Almost offended. The elevator dings, and I grab my bag and follow her out into the lobby. She steps off to the side, near the bathrooms, so we can have some privacy.

"You really don't remember?" she asks, digging in her bag for her own sunglasses, sliding them onto her head through her thick red hair.

"It's a little hazy," I admit.

Hazy is an understatement. It's a bold-faced lie. But I say it anyway because if she's about to tell me we fucked, I need to pretend like I remember.

"We didn't do anything," she says flatly. "After the third time you called me 'Bella,' I figured it wouldn't be a good idea."

Fuck. My stomach rolls at the sound of her name.

"Ah, shit." I breathe out an awkward laugh. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs, unaffected. "Not as sorry as I am for you."

She walks away then, and as much as I should feel like shit, I don't.

Before I meet the guys outside, I slip into the hotel bathroom and post up in a stall. I wait until I'm alone. Dip the end of a key into white powder and bring it to my nose, inhaling. Realize it's the key to my house. The one I don't live in anymore with Bella. I struggle to take it off the metal ring before letting it drop in the toilet. Swipe my thumb under my nose. Flush the key. Watch as it disappears.

I second guess myself for a second, then shrug it off. It's not like I'll be needing that key anymore. It only serves as a reminder of what I had. What I lost. What I'll never get back.

Maybe I should feel like shit, but I don't. All I feel is numb. And it almost feels like relief.