a work of art

chapter 34: stay

Claire stood on the other side of the door. She looked terrible.

She took one look at Billie, naked, her chest covered in marks from my mouth, and me on the bed, also naked but for a pair of thigh high leather boots, and looked like she was going to throw up.

I grabbed the duvet from the end of the bed and pulled it frantically onto my body. Bill glanced at me, then back at Claire, unmoving. She had a mean look on her face that I couldn't ever remember seeing before. Her being confidently nude seemed to accentuate it.

"Yes?" Billie said by way of greeting, and it sounded rude and cold and dismissive. I shuddered.

"Hi," Claire said softly. "Can we talk?"

She was brave, I could give her that.

Billie looked over at me, stared intensely in my eyes for a long minute. Finally, she shrugged, and held her arm out into the hotel room. "Be our guest."

"Thanks," Claire all but whispered, and stepped in.

She stood in the middle of the room, glancing around as Billie went to her wardrobe area and found a t-shirt, slipping it over her head. She threw one at me and I caught it gratefully.

"So," Billie said as she sat on the edge of the bed, close to my feet. "What couldn't be said in an email?"

I winced. She was in rare form tonight.

Claire straightened up a little, refusing to be bothered. "I'm going home. I leave in the morning."

I wasn't surprised in the least. She glanced at me, and our eyes locked briefly, but I looked away, like a coward.

"Cool," Billie said, shrugging. "Wanted to find a new way to fuck me, huh?"

"Bill, take it easy," I finally said, feeling awful.

"I am," she nodded her head. "I'm good. Claire is the one who isn't. Trying to steal my girl and now ruining my tour the night before it starts. A great friend!"

Claire was crying now, tears silently slipping down her cheeks. "I wasn't trying to—"

"You might not have been trying, but you did." Billie's voice was colder than I'd ever heard it. "You were my friend, Claire. I don't have many real friends, and you know that."

"I know," she sniffled. "I didn't want to hurt either of you. I'm sorry."

"We all fucked up," I whispered. "I did, the most. Direct it at me, Bill."

Billie was looking at the floor. She shook her head. "I forgave you."

"Then why not Claire?"

She didn't say anything. I was tired of all of it. I got out of the bed, and struggled with the zippers on the boots, throwing them off me. I kissed Billie's cheek, then walked toward Claire and hugged her. She shuddered in my arms.

"This is dumb," I said to both of them, pulling away. "We were all good friends. Feelings got involved, yes. But we've talked this to death. There's nothing more to say, so we either move on, or we stay pissed and hurt and nothing gets better."

Billie looked up at me, glowering. "Who made you king shit?"

I shrugged, unfazed by her aggression. "You know I'm right. You don't have to go back to being besties. But we can at least all tolerate being around each other so we can finish the tour."

Billie glared at Claire, who sniffled again and looked at the floor.

"It's also my mental health," Claire said shakily, softly. "I'm not... doing well."