Page 16 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Once I’m outside, I look at the texts.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Phoenix.

I want to talk, but I also want to ruin it all.

He doesn’t feel like you. Watch.

“What the fuck!” I roar, wanting to throw my phone into the street.

Somehow, I made it through the show without fucking up. We’re exhausted, looking forward to a real bed to crash in as we ride the elevator to our hotel rooms. Staying in them is rare for us, but since we have been having consistent sales on the merch booths and sold-out shows, there are enough funds to get rooms for tonight.

We also justified it because we have another show in the next town tomorrow.

Kelly yawns, leaning on my shoulder. The elevator dings, and we walk out. No one ever wants to sleep with Michael, but Kelly opted to tonight because she’s the only one who sleeps with earplugs regularly. I’ll take a queen with Jorge while Devon will take the other. Terry likes to sleep on the bus, which helps keep costs down.

When we separate to our rooms, I head for the shower.

I get undressed, flip on the water, and check the group chat all my siblings text in. A smile spreads over my lips at seeing Delilah asleep on Deke’s chest. I react with a blue heart, type out how I miss them, and set my phone on the counter. Jorge and Devon want showers, too, so I don’t fuck around. The hotel bar soap is tacky, but whatever.

While I’m soaping up, I glance down at my ribs. This one is my favorite of all the tattoos I’ve gathered over the years—a cherry blossom tree with my siblings' initials written over each of the four flowers. I plan to add my nephews and niece soon.

The crazy thing about the tattoo is that the same petals Eli has tattooed over his neck are meant to be cherry blossom petals. I remember thinking it was some stroke of fate that we were meant to meet—to be together. Not that either of us has any real ties to the tree itself; we both like how beautiful they are. And here I go again, reminiscing, holding onto shit that doesn’t fuckingmatteranymore.

I do this too often. I dig through the grit and pain to find the beautiful pieces, hoping it will change things or justify his actions. Why can’t I stop? He’s making it his mission in life to fuck with me—to hurt me. I want to understand him. I want to figure out his motives or if he’s just a gorgeous lunatic.

Looking back, I know why I fell in love with him, but how much of that was real? There’s no way to know for sure. No one wants to deal with this for the next five and a half months, though. It’s unfair to my band. We all might be friends, closer than most people’s families, but I don’t want to put them through more drama. They’ve worried about me enough.

I’m not going to hang myself…or something.

I get out of the shower, quickly dry off, and dress. My hair takes forever to dry, so I use the mini hair dryer provided. While I half-ass point the thing at my head, I check to see if anyone wrote more in the group chat. They didn’t. But I have a new text.

Remember when you said I could call you if I was in trouble?

Did I? Probably. I probably said it to him after one of those vanishing spells he’d have to reassure him that I cared. I never knew what he did during them. My mind would come up with all kinds of crazy shit, worried and half-blinded with insecurity and jealousy that he was off with someone else. So, yeah, I’m sure I did. I was always there for him if he needed me.

But I don’t respond because shit’s changed.

I know how this looks, trust me. But, if you meant it, I’m in room 305.

I turn off the hair dryer, my heart pounding uncontrollably. Running a hand down my face and cupping my mouth, I stare at the text. My stomach swoops like I’m falling.

This is another trick. If I indulge him, show up at his hotel room, and he’s fucking balls deep in Leon, I might just kill him. Because I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. And better yet, why doesn’t he ask his boyfriend? Isn’t that the whole point of having a partner? Someone to be there for you when shit gets hard?

Unless…unless Leonisthe reason it’s hard. Unless he’s hurting Eli.

Why should I care, anyway? If he’s that big of an idiot to stay with someone like that, after all he’s done thus far to fuck with me, oh well. I turn off my phone, leave the bathroom, and meet Jorge’s eyes.

“Where you going?” he asks.

Apparently, I’m going to do something very fucking stupid. I slide into my shoes. “Just going to get some air,” I lie.

“Devon might eat all your Oreos if you are gone too long.”

Devon jerks up from where he’s pulling out his clean clothes. “I will not.”

“You will.”

“I won’t be long,” I tell them, giving zero fucks about my Oreos.

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