Beautiful Musician Read Online Free PDF Page B

me with her big, wounded eyes, waiting to
see if I’d changed my mind about going with her.
    I made a motion with my hands, sending
her away.
    She trudged down the hall alone. Even
in her tough clothes, she looked like an urchin.
    I cursed myself to hell.
    Shout at the
Devil .
    Shout. Shout. Shout.
    I left the treatment center and went
for a walk, heading down a busy street in my black garb and
screw-the-universe attitude.
    I wandered into a liquor store and
spotted a bottle of whiskey that made my mouth water. But I
couldn’t buy it. The clerk behind the counter couldn’t even see me,
let alone accept my money. Another reminder that I didn’t exist in
this world.
    Maybe I could steal it. I’d been an
accomplished thief when I was younger. I’d ripped off plenty of
shit in Room 105. I had no idea if that would work here,
though.
    Still, it was worth a try.
    Bold as you please, I fisted my prize.
Easy as that, I had the bottle in my hands. Thing was, I didn’t
know if I was grabbing the genuine article or if it was just a
figment of my mind. But it didn’t matter. Fake whiskey was the same
as imaginary whiskey. Nothing I did was real, anyway. No doubt
about it, I was a nonentity, a non-person, like all of the other
assholes from 105.
    Speaking of which…
    As soon as I strolled out of the
store, Bud and Face appeared.
    “ Go the fuck away,” I told
them.
    “ You’re acting like a
self-serving prick,” Face said.
    “ No shit,” came my
response.
    “ Slow down, son,” Bud
said. Aside from the compassion in his eyes, he looked like his
usual self, puffing away on one of his cheap-ass cigars.
    “ I’m not your son.” I
jerked away from the meaty hand he placed on my
shoulder.
    I glanced around the parking lot and
noticed a dumpster. I made a beeline for it.
    Face and Bud followed me.
    I sat on the ground behind the
dumpster and leaned against a concrete block wall. Why I was
keeping myself hidden didn’t make sense, considering that I was
invisible. Maybe I just preferred being in the shadows.
    I twisted open the bottle, seconds
away from drowning my sorrows.
    “ That isn’t the answer,”
Bud said.
    I glared at him. “Piss
off.”
    He huffed out a fat man’s breath and
plopped his butt down next to mine, the smoke from his cigar
curling between us. “You treated Abby like crap this
morning.”
    “ She needs to be free of
me.”
    “ No, she doesn’t. You’re
the sanity in her life.”
    “ Yeah, right.” I scowled
at him, then at Face, who was hovering above us. “We’re all part of
the insanity.”
    “ Speak for yourself, you
dipstick.” Face spun around to showcase his birdlike skills, his
fingers flapping in the garbage-fueled air. “I’m as normal as it
gets.”
    Bud lifted his bushy eyebrows. I
couldn’t help but react in the same way. Face looked downright
maniacal. Mr. Potato Head and Humpty Dumpty had nothing on
him.
    I raised the bottle to my lips, but I
didn’t take a drink. I was thinking about Abby’s expression and the
hurt I’d put in her eyes.
    Flustered, I threw the whiskey at the
side of the dumpster and the glass shattered, spilling the amber
liquid. How could I have purposely hurt the girl I loved? I was
supposed to be her dearest friend, the guy who appeared to her when
she needed warmth and affection. She’d created me to be someone she
could count on, the goodhearted bad-boy.
    “ I behaved like a
bastard,” I said.
    “ The bastard of bastards,”
Face mocked.
    “ You need to make it up to
Abby,” Bud said.
    “ Will you guys help me
figure out how to do that?”
    “ Of course we will.” Bud
was all for it.
    Face was, too, even if he harassed me
about it the entire time we headed back to The Manor, telling me
what a stupid son of a bitch I was. A useless jerk. A turd that
belonged in the toilet.
    I let him berate me. I didn’t care
what kind of names he called me. All I cared about was repairing
the damage I’d done.
    And proving myself to Abby.

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