Read Online Real Ugly by C. M. Stunich - Free Book Online Page A

somewhere in my words. Turner could; I know that's why he spoke to me like that on the phone. He knows I've got secrets, and he'll do anything to pry them out. I've got to figure out a way to make myself a lot less interesting and fast. No more onstage stunts. Period.
    I stab my cigarette out in an ashtray and stand up, dumping the rest of my food into the trash and tossing my plate onto the counter for America to clean up. One bonus of having a manager with OCD is that she'll clean shit up, if only to soothe her own anxieties. I snatch her tablet on the way out of my room and hold it up for confirmation. She nods at me and lets me disappear into the bathroom where I sit bare assed on the toilet and take a piss. Flicking my fingers across the screen until I find the video of me covered head to toe in blood.
    It's kind of hard to watch, but I make myself do it over and over and over again until my eyes hurt and the seat starts to dig into my butt. I'm trying to play Nancy fucking Drew here, searching for clues as to who could've filmed this. They would've been standing in the hallway with the camera or phone or whatever it was about waist high. This makes it even harder for me to make any deductions about height.
    I stand up and fasten my pants with one hand while I continue to hold the tablet in the other.
    Picture's a bit shaky, like whoever it was was scared – or excited. I mean, they didn't say anything, didn't try to stop me. The shot ends with me crumpled over the bed, sobbing. The scissors fall to the floor and stain it crimson. So ominous. So, so ominous, the sound of that blade falling. I don't think I'll ever forget it.
    When I exit the bathroom, America shoves my phone in my face and snatches back the tablet.
    “Deal with your shit,” she tells me as I stare at the incoming call. Blocked number. Turner.
    “What?” I snap as I answer it, crawling into my bunk, so I can at least pretend to have some privacy. A harsh chuckle slithers through the speaker and fucks my ear.
    “Hey there,” he says, like we're old friends. “Glad to see that you're finally up and at 'em.”
    “Fuck you.” I hang up and toss the phone down, knowing full well that when he calls me back, that I'll pick it up. Fifteen minutes pass. A half hour. Two.
    When I fall asleep, I fall asleep dreaming of Turner soaked in blood.
    Two secrets wrapped up in one and both ready to destroy me at the same time.
    Great.
     

I spend all day on the bus smoking weed and jacking off. I have to. Otherwise, my mind gets all wrapped up on Naomi fucking Knox. I'm so zoned into her right now that I didn't even take advantage of the girls waiting outside the door last night. They were all grayscale while Naomi was in full fucking technicolor.
    Oh baby, you can bet your sweet ass I'm not giving up on you, I think as I stroke my cock to her image and lean my head back against the wall behind me. Any girl that can sour hot pussy for me is worth chasing. I bring up the memory of our foreheads pressed together and the sweat rolling down between her breasts and blow my load into my hand, tossing it into the sink and washing it away before I get pissed again. Can't help it. My mood is night and day right now. One minute, I'm wanting to worship the ground she stands on, and the next, I want to destroy her.
    She obviously doesn't like me, doesn't even respect me. But why? I comb my brain for that flickering punch of memory and can't find it.
    “Fuck,” I snarl as I kick open the bathroom door and stalk to the front of the bus. Nobody talks to me right now; they all know better. I rip the charger out of my phone and call Knox back. When she answers, her voice is groggy and far away, soft. My hard-on springs back with a vengeance, pitching a big ass tent right there for Josh to ogle. He rolls his eyes and turns away in the captain's chair, focusing his gaze out the front window.
    “Hello?”
    “You gonna stop hanging up on me, so we can talk?” She pauses, and I