Page 9 of Dark Notes

Erik gets up and walks to the door, and I’m as happy as an asshole like me can be. I’m going to find every reason for him to not be around. I want her and I will have her. He doesn’t realize I always get what I want. I don’t stop until I do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MCKINLEY

Traffic was a nightmare, and I didn’t get home until late. We both went straight to bed and I’m exhausted, so I’m a little annoyed at Erik for waking me up at seven in the morning.

“Wake up, McKinley.”

I open my eyes, expecting to find him in bed, and am surprised that he’s standing beside the bed, fully dressed in black pants and one of his stupid black Under Armour shirts.

“Why are you waking me up?”

He glares at me like I’m the one who woke him up. “We got on the Dark Notes tour. We leave in an hour. Get up and pack.”

I sit up and look at him like he’s lost his mind, because clearly he has. They had one show, and suddenly they’re going on the road with them? Maybe it’s because I’m still half asleep, but he isn’t making any sense to me.

“Maybe you’re going on tour, but I am not. I can work from here. Call me if you or the guys need anything.”

He shakes his head. “You have to come.”

“Why?”

I rarely go to their gigs, so why now? He knew the only reason I went last night was to see The Dark Notes. It wasn’t for his band because I’ve seen them perform plenty of times.

“Because,” he huffs loudly, “that asshole will only let us on the tour if you’re there. He has some kind of a fucking obsession with you.”

“What?”

Erik continues his glare and clenches his fists. “Will you just fucking go? This could make my fucking career.”

I push my messy bed hair out of my face, as I try to think through what he’s telling me. How in the hell is Jagger Wild obsessed with me? He can have any woman he wants, and frequently does. So why me? Is it some sort of weird thrill to get the one he can’t have, and destroy her relationship in the process? I nearly snort to myself because it’s not much of a relationship, anyway. We don’t love each other. In fact, I’m pretty sure Erik hates me. He certainly treats me like he does. There was a time I thought I loved him. It wasn’t always like this, but the good days are a distant memory.

I was sixteen when we met, and had just left home and got my first job. I worked part-time at an art gallery as well as a record store. It gave me a full time income working around the two things I loved most, music and art. Arnie’s Records was a used record store, and Erik was my favorite customer. He was always quick with a compliment and a smile. After eight months of flirting with me, he finally asked me out, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Hey, Pretty Girl. Do you have the Papa Roach album?”

I walk out from the counter and take him over to the new CD section, grab it and hand it to him. My cheeks blush as always; my tell that a guy does something to me. I hate it, because I wish I weren’t so obvious.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Erik?”

With a sexy grin, he says, “Let me take you to dinner.”

“What?” I ask with shock because, honestly, I’m not used to guys asking me out. I’m pretty, but I don’t exactly have men banging down my door. Probably mostly because I keep to myself, but still, it’s different; uncomfortable, yet exciting.

“Let me take you to dinner, Pretty Girl. No expectations. I just want to spend time with you.”

For a solid year, he treated me like gold. Things were good, and I fell madly in love with him. What woman wouldn’t? Everything slowly unraveled when he began telling me how fat I was. Nothing I did was right. Dinner is never cooked to his specifications. I don’t clean well enough. It is always something. Over the last few years, I’ve learned that it isn’t any one thing. I’m just not good enough.

The days when he made me smile, and feel something other than self-hatred, are so far in the past, I can barely remember them. That’s the problem with men, though. They show you what you want to see, until they have you so far under their thumb you can’t get out.

“What do you mean, he’s obsessed with me? I literally met him one time. You know, after you attacked me?”

If he feels ashamed, he doesn’t show it. Not one bit. Am I surprised? Not really. I’ve learned over the last few years that there’s very little bad Erik isn’t capable of.

“He wants you, because he doesn’t know what I do. Jagger doesn’t know the level of fucked up I’ve been so well acquainted with. I’m not worried about it, because the second he meets the real you, he’ll go running for the hills. The same way I should have years ago. That’s the reason you should go, because you fucking owe me.”

I don’t argue with him because he’s not wrong. No man would ever sign up to be with such a broken woman. Even Erik didn’t. He didn’t know either. You don’t wear abuse like a badge of honor. You keep it hidden, and hope nobody notices, but when you’re this damaged, it pierces through your armor. I don’t know what I expected from him, but it wasn’t this. Instead of helping me heal from the trauma, as Mia said he should have, he only added to it.

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