Free Real Ugly by C. M. Stunich Page A

doorway and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks pretty hot tonight, dressed in a black tank and a pair of tight as fuck jeans. He doesn't have any shoes on either, which is a kind of a thing for me. Only problem is I hate him. Too bad because I'm horny as hell right now. I try not to admit to myself that it's all because of Turner.
    “You want to talk about something?” he asks me, but I sure as shit don't. Not yet. I want to get high first. I lean back and rest my head on the seat behind me, waiting for the drugs to take over and give me courage, euphoria, confidence. It'll do all that, you know? Yeah, it could kill me, and yes, it's stupid as hell, but I do it anyway. I'm not right in the head, never have been. That's a problem of mine, one that I intend to work on at some point. I wonder briefly if I'd had real parents, if things would've been different. If, instead of being shuffled from home to home, I could've lived in one place, how I might've turned out.
    I open my eyes and sit up, brushing the thoughts away like cobwebs. Introspection never helps; it only gets me more tangled up in my shit.
    “Want to make out?” I ask Wren, studying his strong face, his stubbly jaw and then watching as he pulls his lip down with his middle finger and flashes me the tattoo there. Fuck Yeah, it reads. I scoot over and wait for him to join me, putting a hand on his chest before we start anything. “I don't want to screw though,” I tell him seriously. “Got it?” Wren just shrugs and wraps his arms around me, pressing his mouth to mine. I tangle my tongue with his and try not to imagine what Turner Campbell is doing right now, if he's dipping his dick into hot, wet heat and thinking of me.
    Naomi, seriously? Why are you even going there?
    I scoot onto Wren's lap and press the hard bulge in his pants against my crotch.
    It's fun for awhile, until Hayden comes back, panting hard, face as white as a sheet. Wren and I both turn to glare at her.
    “Naomi,” she pants, cheeks as pink as the top she's got on. It's got friggin' Rainbow Dash on the front. Like, who the fuck over the age of ten wears a My Little Pony on their clothing?
    “What?” I snarl at her as I shove Wren back and stand up. Whatever it was that I was looking for in him, I'm not finding. I wonder if I should just fuck him, but I don't know if that'll help. If I'm honest with myself, I'm still carrying a big ass torch for Turner Campbell, one that I thought had gone out long ago. Guess it just got relit.
    Apparently, Hayden doesn't like my tone and proceeds to rip into me.
    “Hey, you stupid bitch, either come with me or not. If you don't, maybe I'll forget our little agreement and call the cops in Tulsa with an anonymous tip. Think the guy you stabbed last month will testify to your penchant for violence?”
    I grab my jacket off the hook near the door and tear out of the bus on Hayden's heels, wishing I could just reach out and strangle her with her hair. She leads me around to the other side of the bus and down to the trailer that we tow behind it with our equipment inside.
    I light a cigarette as we go, one that quickly gets forgotten when I see what Hayden wants to show me. The lit cherry tumbles through the dry darkness and hits the dirt at my feet.
    On the side of the trailer, there's a message written in blood. Like a scene in a bad horror film, the headless body of a dead bird lies on the ground beside the wheel.
    “Oh shit.”

    Thank God we don't have a show tonight.
    After what I saw, my hands are shaking so bad, I can hardly bring the cup of water to my lips for a drink. Or maybe that's from the coke I snorted. Not sure which.
    “Are you sure you don't want to call the cops?” Dax asks, hovering above me and Hayden like an overprotective brother. He likes to think he's one of the responsible ones in the group. Not true. The only truly responsible one of all of us is America.
    “No, it's fine,” she snaps at him as she paces back and forth,