Midnight Blue
Blake jumped between us, as if on cue.
“All right, lads. That’s enough pissing testosterone at each other’s leg for one day.”
“I’m going to fuck her.” I stared at Lucas, who was grabbing at his hair, pulling it in frustration. Welcome to Random Acts of Meanness. It’s just like kindness, but for cunts. Every muscle in my body flexed as I braced myself for a brawl. Lucas’ pain was real, and it surprised me. Why did he care about New Girl so much? He barely knew her. “I’m going to fuck her and make sure she’s completely ruined for you. Now, how about that, Waitrose?”
He sucked in a breath and stormed out.
I laughed all the way to the bath and didn’t even want to drown myself when I stepped into it. Not today.
Today, I lit up a fag, stared at the ceiling, and thought about another fitting song, exhaling from my nostrils.
“Smoke on the Water.”
Jenna: Indigo. It’s Jenna.
Indie: Hi, Jenna. Please call me Indie!
Jenna: Hudson is in this chat, too. Is this okay, Indigo?
Indie: …
Indie: Yeah, absolutely.
Jenna: How’s Alex doing?
Indie: Reluctantly sober.
Hudson: Hi, Indie! I heard Alex’s been writing with you.
Jenna: ???
Hudson: He stayed up all night writing. Said he had a breakthrough. He voice-messaged me about it at four in the morning Australia time.
Jenna: He is a rock star. He doesn’t need sleep. That’s good. Indigo, tell us about it.
Indie: Nothing much to tell. He’s just asking me stuff about my life, mostly. I can’t see what he’s writing, and asking him is futile.
Hudson: Duh. Alex hates questions. Mostly rhetorical, though he is not a huge fan with straightforward ones, either. Which doesn’t bode well for me as his PA.
Jenna: Hudson—you’re blabbing. Indigo—report back. And soon.
Indie: It’s INDIE.
Hudson: Bye, Indiana.
The knock on the door startled me.
A safety pin pricked my fingertip, and I sucked the blood between my lips, rising up from my sewing corner by the window. Yeah, I was the girl who packed a mini sewing machine to a trip around the world. I always made myself dresses, because buying the kind I loved would cost a small fortune. Clara, my ex-employer, was kind enough to give me leftover fabric every time she worked on a piece. And she always had leftovers, which meant I always walked around looking like I was ready for a Victorian ball.
I opened the door expecting to see Blake. Whenever Blake had to leave the hotel room he shared with Alex, he would either call me or show up at my room while Alfie or Luc babysat the rock star, silently watching me put on my Oxfords as I grunted to myself with displeasure. This time, it wasn’t Blake. It was Lucas.
“Hey.” His hands were tucked in his front pockets and his smile was apologetic, like he knew he shouldn’t be here.
“They let you come here. That’s a huge step. Maybe I’ll be allowed to vote next.”
Lucas rubbed the back of his head, then moved his palm to his face and scrubbed his mouth.
“Blake was never the problem. He doesn’t care about much other than his phone, and maybe Jenna. Alex, on the other hand…he’s got a bit of an anger issue.”
“You don’t say.” I sighed, poking my head out the doorway to make sure Winslow wasn’t there, ready for an ambush.
“He has his reasons, Indie. Give him a chance.”
A chance at what? I decided not to ask.
“I don’t appreciate being treated like trash.”
“No one thinks of you as trash, trust me. This has more to do with me than with you.”
I left Luc at the door, falling onto the queen-sized bed and slipping my shoes on. Five minutes later, we were outside, hailing a taxi and heading downtown. Lucas was not someone you’d recognize. He was the drummer for a solo artist, not a part of a well-known band. But he still looked every bit the rock star, with his deep blue eyes, sculpted face, distressed denim, and pea-soup green blazer. His red-brown hair was messy to a fault—not as tousled as Alex’s, but still rocking the I-just-finished-a-threesome vibe—and I wanted to ask him how they did that. How they always looked like a walking, talking PocketRocket commercial.
Despite the foul weather, downtown Melbourne was bustling with tourists and cyclists. Carriages with couples and packs of teenagers roamed the streets, flaunting their youth. We grabbed Spanish donuts from a food truck and people-watched, sitting on a bench. Lucas inhaled the food like it was the first time he’d been introduced to the concept of eating. I took my time, mulling over the last few days in my head and mostly feeling guilty about being there. Knowing that thousands of miles away, my brother and sister-in-law were still struggling to make ends meet and counting their discounted pasta packs. But all that would change in just a week and a half, when I was due to get my first paycheck.
“How are you liking your new job so far?” Lucas asked, tossing our paper plates into a nearby trashcan.
I shrugged, following the movement of a teenage couple in beanies kissing under a lamppost in the drizzle. I longed to be in their story, not mine. Mine sucked. Plus, I wanted to sleep with my villain while my prince—Lucas—looked at me so platonically, he made me feel as sexy as a tablecloth.
“I don’t really do all that much. Just pester Alex, basically.” I was about to bite my lower lip but managed to stop myself from doing so.
Lucas shook his head, staring at me, not the crowd, like he was trying to assess something.
“Trust me, you’re not. I mean, maybe you are, but he needs this. I’ve known Alex ever since he was a little lad living in a council house in Watford with his parents and sister. He’s always had a flare for addiction. Don’t mistake the lack of drug and alcohol in his system for sobriety. He’s still very much an addict, consumed by resentment and driven by fury. Just look at the way he talks and reacts to Fallon’s name.”
Every time I heard her name, my heart slowed a little.
“Bad breakup?” I asked. I was sniffing around. Why was I sniffing around? The less I knew about him the better.
Luc shifted on the bench, his velvet tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “You’re not interested in him, are you, Indie?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Answer me with words,” he said.