Razor's Edge (Afflictions) Read Free Page A

blades."  
    "Thanks for the offer, but family gets free tatts from me and—" 
    "You deserve some kind of compensation."   
    What is it with my friends and their undying need to get me out? "If you feel that bad about not paying for the tatt, how about floating me on our poker nights for a couple of weeks, and we’ll call it even." Reaching into the bottom drawer I pull out a fresh, unopened bag of needles.  
    "It can’t be that bad. You might have a little fun."  
    Ignoring him, I take the tubing to my gun out of the sterilizer and reattach it. Tryst doesn’t say anything and doesn’t go away. He’s waiting for my answer.  
    The bell rings.  
    "Tryst, your two-thirty is here," Bebe announces from the front.  
    "This convo isn’t closed." He glances at the door.
    Q is standing there, and Dicky walks in behind him.
    "One of these nights I’m going to get you out of that stuffy loft apartment you live in." Tryst walks toward Q. "Hey, man. Whatcha got for me?"  
    He’s right. I should go out. It’s been a while since I went to anything other than Bebe’s poker nights.
    Fifteen years of being supported by that bastard Gary puts me in check. When he gets out he’s going to want his business back. My only hope of getting away from the asshole is saving my money to open my own shop in a better part of town, with richer clientele. Sp ending cash on needless activities won’t help me accomplish my goal.  
    Sometimes I wish I were Bebe. She doesn’t have the worries I do. No kid, no abusive baby daddy. She can go out whenever she wants. Her clientele is solid. They’d never abandon her for someone else. The urge to go out rides me hard. To be Bebe for just one night.  
    "No kid today?" Dicky removes his shirt.
    "No. He’s with Timikia—” Sh…it! I almost forgot. Max’s birthday. Timikia asked if Ben could spend the night, too. Ah… Maybe I am working a little too hard lately.
    I glance at the flyer. Can’t use the no-babysitter excuse now.
     
    Morgan
     
    She’s coming to see us perform tonight. Emily Rhines. My band’s one shot at possibly getting a record deal. When Rictor got the call a few days ago, I could barely contain myself. But now, I’m all tight knots of nervous. Shit. Get a grip. You’re going to blow it for everyone. 
    Bryan’s tuning his bass guitar and Lina is plugging in her keyboard. She hits a key and an ear-splitting tone rings through Harper’s empty space. Bryan’s one lucky SOB. Lina is gorgeous, with her pixie face and bright red hair. She has mad talent and our band is lucky to have her. She adjusts the sound and tries again, this time it’s a little better.
    Bryan checks and re-checks his connection to his amp. Nervous. We all are. This could make or break us.
    What if we’re not good enough? What if I’m not good enough?  
    You’re a useless boy I never should have had. You can’t even get a fucking note right.
    My mom’s drunken words catapult me back to the seven-year-old boy learning the guitar. She taunts me in front of a group of her friends. Calling me names and telling everyone how worthless I am because I can’t play the piano like I’m some younger version of Beethoven. The sick part is, they all laugh with her. She wanted me to become famous, but she constantly put me down. Forced me to practice and humiliated me at every turn.  
    Bang!
    My head snaps in the direction of the sound and brings me out of the memory that always skyrockets my stage fright before every performance.  
    Fucking Rictor . It’s not even seven yet, and he’s stumbling around the stage drunk. He glances up at Wiley and pulls himself up from the mess of drums.
    " Rictor, you asshole!" Wiley bends down and grabs a cymbal stand. "You’re lucky you didn’t bust my drums. What the fuck, man? You want me to smash your guitar?"    
    Rictor leans down and rights one of Wiley’s snares. "Sorry, dog. Didn’t see the cable." 
    Yeah, sure it was just the