Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots #1)

Chapter Twenty: Turner Campbell

I am trashed as shit, but not from the coke, from Naomi Knox.

My head hangs over the sink and my hands curl with rage. At her, at myself, at whoever gets in my fucking way. I've already ripped Josh a new one today, and Milo ... Well, let's just say that he's been avoiding me like the plague, hasn't knocked or bitched once, and I've been in the bathroom all night fucking long.

"Dude, some of us need to shower." It's Treyjan, of course. Nobody else has the balls to talk to me when I'm like this. I feel hungover from Naomi. She's in my blood now. And I thought I was going to be able to get her out of my system. A harsh laugh tears its way out of my throat before I rip open the door and shove Trey back hard. Nothing against him, but when I get upset, I fight. It's a condition that was pounded into my blood from my useless mom and her boyfriends.

A scuffle breaks out between us and escalates. Blows are exchanged and Ronnie and Jesse end up getting involved, pulling us apart, arms still swinging. Sweat and blood are pouring down my face and into my eyes, but Treyjan looks okay. Stupid fuck. I shrug Jesse off and wipe the crimson copper from my mouth with the fabric of my T-shirt, letting it fall red and soggy back against my belly.

"What's your problem, man? Ever since you started obsessing about that fucking bitch from Amatory Riot, you turned into a completely different person. You've known the cunt for like a week and already, you're a mess. God, she's fucking hot dude, but she isn't worth it. Jesus Christ."

I stand stone still for a moment and then I'm flying at Trey again, hitting him so hard in the jaw that he ends up on his back on the floor. Jesse grabs one of my arms while Ronnie takes the other, and I end up pinned down in the captain's chair next to our driver, a pretty redhead with green eyes. I don't know her name, never bothered to learn it. She's been off limits since day one. There's this twinkle in her eyes that says she's in love. I usually don't bother with girls like that.

My friends pull their hands back slowly, tentatively.

"You okay now?" Ronnie asks as sweat beads on his upper lip, and he starts to pant. He's a wreck again today, just miserable looking. Bags under his eyes, shaky hands, pale skin. Fucked up because of a girl that died more than ten years ago. A freak accident stole her life and his soul. My biggest fear's always been that I'd end up like Ronnie. I've never told him that, but it's true.

"Fine," I snap, watching as Jesse tucks his hands in his pockets and looks at me through a fall of dark hair. He's glaring at me, pissed the fuck off for starting shit when there wasn't any. Screw him. I turn to the window and slam my head into the glass, closing my eyes and trying to figure out how to get a grip on my anger.

My hands fumble around my pockets and come up with a cigarette. When I flick open my lighter, I open my eyes and watch the signs on the side of the highway roll by. At least we're moving. That way I know I can't get up and go after Naomi. No secrets, right Turner? You've been fucking lying to yourself ever since you saw her asleep on that couch. You know. You remember. You like this chick. You did back then and you do now. You wanted that kid to exist, so you'd have an excuse to chase her. Get over yourself.

I stand up quickly, take a drag on my cigarette and wipe my sweaty palms off on the thighs of my jeans, the ones I got from the teen section, the ones made for chicks. And I look fucking perfect in them. Jesse and Ronnie watch me nervously; Josh glares; Treyjan sips a cup of water and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Milo starts to speak, but I hold up a hand to keep him quiet.

I'm twenty-eight fucking years old; I know what I want and how to get it at this point in my life. And now I know I want Naomi Knox. It's that simple, that easy.

I pull my cigarette from my mouth and take a look around, meeting the eyes of my friends carefully, so they'll know how serious I am right now. First person to laugh gets punched.

"I'm in love." I don't say I think or that I might be. The first step to being successful in anything is knowing yourself. A lot of people don't get that. I don't need to think shit over or take Knox to dinner. That shit is all circumstantial. When you know, man, you just fucking know.

I put my cigarette back in my mouth.

The bus stays quiet. Ronnie's mouth turns up in a sad smile, but otherwise, everyone's expression is just blank.

"In love?" Treyjan asks, and I get the feeling that I might have to punch him again. Right in the nuts this time. "You're not in love with that girl. You just feel bad because of that sob story she fed you the other day, all of that abortion crap."

"Nah, that has nothing to do with it." I put out my cig in a nearby ash tray, and I swear to fuck, I feel better than I have in years. Lighter. Like I could float away or some shit. I rub my hands down my sweaty face. "I just like her. She's a fighter. She's ... strong."

"She's a bitch," Treyjan says, and I smile.

"That, too." I sniff, trying to clear my nostrils of dried blood, and then shrug. "You don't have to understand it or agree with it. You just have to fuck off and let me do my thing, okay?"

"Like make an ass out of yourself onstage?" he asks, looking more and more pissed off by the second. I snap my fingers and point at his chest.

"Exactly." Treyjan rolls his eyes at me, and my phone buzzes in my back pocket. When I pull it out, I see there's a message from an unknown number, and my chest gets tight. Naomi, maybe? I open it up with a flick of my thumb.

"This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life. Turner, you've never even had a damn girlfriend. I've known you since we were kids, dude. You're not in love; you're just infatuated. Obsessed." He continues to bitch while Milo clears his throat and jumps in, giving some bullshit speech about love and life that nobody's fucking listening to. Least of all me.

On my phone, there's a picture, and in it, Naomi. Covered head to toe in blood.