Scar Girl (The Scar Boys #2)(49)

I didn’t have any answer, because I’d told Johnny, Harry, and Richie about it. Though I may have jazzed up the story a bit. But that was different; I don’t remember calling her a slut or making fun of the cretin who knocked her up.

“Who are you talking to anyway?”

“I don’t know, just some guy.”

“Just some guy? You’re telling my deepest secrets to just some guy?”

She smiled and shrugged.

The phone receiver was on the nightstand between our beds, so I reached over and hung it up.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

I dropped back down and put the pillow back over my head.

“Why don’t you go and get drunk again, Cheyenne? Or better yet, why don’t you just drop dead? No one will care.” I heard Theresa leave the room.

My drinking was obvious enough for Theresa to notice. That was bad. I mean, she drank a lot, too, so I guess she knew the signs. But still.

The other thing she said, though, was so much worse, because she was right. Who would care if I was dead? My parents? No. My sisters? Maybe one or two of the younger ones, but there were enough of us to go around. Jeff? No, I was smart enough to know that he was using me. I was a replaceable part. If I was gone, he would find some other band with some other girl and use her, too. Johnny and I were so far gone that I thought he’d be relieved. Harry, too. The only person I could imagine missing me was Richie, and even then, only when we played music. I should just leave. Or even better, I should just end it.

It was a new low point for me, and the only answer I had to low points was alcohol. I got up and went into the living room. My mother was sitting there, and so was my little sister Joan. They were on the love seat next to my father, who was still snoring gently. They were caught up in Wheel of Fortune, ignoring me as I walked in. Fuck them, I thought. I went right to my father’s brandy, took it in hand, and drained it.

The warm sensation spreading from my throat to my chest made me feel better. I retreated to my room and flopped on the bed. My mother and sister either didn’t notice or didn’t care that I had just done this incredibly ballsy thing, because no one followed me. That made me feel even worse.





RICHIE MCGILL


The lunch with Jeff was just more drama, and, really, for a dude who was supposed to be our older, wiser manager, he was making things a whole lot worse.

Anyways, I felt pretty bad for Johnny after that lunch. When Harry and I dropped him off, I thought he was going to cry.

But maybe it was just deserts. I mean John’d slept with Chey when he knew Harry was in love with her. Everyone knew it, but John didn’t care. Maybe it was just a case of what goes around comes around.





CHEYENNE BELLE


I stayed on my bed for a long time, thinking about everything. My dad’s glass of brandy had been really full—like four fingers’ worth—and I hadn’t eaten since lunch, so downing it quickly made the room spin a little. I was used to that feeling, and it didn’t bother me. In some ways, I liked it.

I don’t know how or why, but I found myself holding the phone and dialing Johnny’s number. When I realized what I was doing, I decided to just go with it. What the hell, right?

“Hello?” His mother. Ugh.

“Hi, Mrs. McKenna, this is Cheyenne. Is Johnny there?”

“Just a minute.” Her voice was flat, like she’d given up on being a bitch to me. Maybe she finally realized that me, Harry, and Richie were here to stay.

I heard someone pick up a receiver, then I heard it hang up again. I figured that Johnny’d picked up in one room and his mom had hung up in another. But there was no background noise and I started to wonder if I was listening to a dead line.

“Hello?” I said, not sure if I’d get an answer, so it made my heart skip a beat when I heard Johnny’s voice.

“Hey, Pick.”

He sounded awful. I mean, like, really, really awful.

“Johnny? Are you okay?”

There was a long enough stretch of silence that I thought maybe he’d hung up on me.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little bit out of it. I think it’s my meds.”

“What meds?” I didn’t know anything about Johnny taking any meds. It wasn’t anything he’d shared with me, and I wondered if he’d gone down the same road I had.

“It’s nothing.” His voice was slow and soft, flowing from his mouth like molasses. “What’s up?”

Right, what’s up. I called him. I didn’t know what was up. I had no idea what was up. I let my brain shut down so my mouth could take over.

“Johnny, look, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch lately.”

More silence.

“I just don’t want you to be mad at me.” Wait, wasn’t I mad at him, too? I had no idea where this was heading.

“I’m not mad at you anymore, Chey. It’s all water under the bridge. Everything is water under the bridge.”

Everything is water under the bridge? I thought. What does that mean?

“I’m really tired.” He seemed so out of it that he was barely making sense. My buzz was strong enough that I don’t think I really picked up on just how awful he sounded.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Do?”