DAMAGED

KAT

I woke up so cold I thought my bones were going to crack and shatter. How the hell had I ended up next to Harper in the motel room? The last thing I had remembered had been the guy from the bus and his name escaped me. The room was the temperature of hell froze over and sounded like a bear cave. I reached around for my phone but I couldn't remember grabbing it off the bus, the alarm clock flashed an angry 10:00 at me. I rose up and walked on my toes, the ballerina never truly gone to the bathroom. I stared at my face with its pale skin and exhausted eyes, the face of a life on the road. Someday I wouldn't do these bullshit festival tours even though the very idea of a packed arena made my anxiety spike. I was a female punk singer; I wasn't seeing an arena anytime soon.

When I came out of the bathroom I noticed the brothers on their cots, the bearded one looked younger and more defined but the one from the bus was just a body with an arm slung over his face. I moved closer, using the advantage of being small and graceful to crouch and attempt to read his tattoos. The black smoking silhouette was now obvious as Bob Dylan with the finely printed lyrics of "It ain't Me Babe" curling up in tattooed smoke. The paragraph that hugged his ribcage was a snippet from The Great Gatsby but I couldn't see the word on his neck. Single word tattoos that weren't done in Chinese characters always intrigued me. I wanted to trace the outline of his Bob Dylan, glad to see that even an asshole can express depth but I stood and moved back to the bed. I glanced around and no one had budged. I noticed my bulky suitcase next to the door and said a silent thank you to the jerk for bringing it inside. The last thing I wanted was some backwoods everglade-loving oddball who didn't like the stickers and words tossing my shit in the trash.

With everyone still asleep I opened the suitcase as quietly as possible to pull out some cut off shorts and a black tank top. It was Florida and there was no way in hell I was donning the fishnets and plaid in this kind of humidity. I wanted to be more stripped down today anyways, not all tarted up when I performed the song my father wrote for me. I only played it once a year and I couldn't imagine doing it like some bad cliché punk rock Barbie. I felt the wound gape open and crushed the bundle of clothes to my chest; I only had to get through today. When I opened my eyes I had blinked back the vulnerability for at least another hour. I sifted under the skirts and tights until I felt the flask. I drank the lukewarm vodka like a baby with a bottle; I was living on the motto whatever gets you through the day. I peeled off my shirt and changed into the tank and glanced behind me before I changed into the denim cut offs. I heard a sigh and felt color flood my cheeks but I wasn't about to turn around so I just bent down and grabbed my converse before walking out into what felt like a damp uncomfortable hug, god I hate Florida. It left its big damp fingerprints all over my body.