her that I couldn’t help but want to get to know her a little. She was sweet, and although I knew she was a bit of a groupie with the other bands touring a similar circuit, it didn’t bother me because I wasn’t looking for anything serious.
I told Camryn I wouldn’t mind if we were friends that hooked up when we could, and she was all for it. I ended up tellin’ her a lot about myself, more than I had with just about anyone, even Brigid. I guessed because Camryn wasn’t my girlfriend, I felt like I could tell her about my Baby Girl.
Unlike when I had told Devon about Kenna, I was able to remember Kenna with the happiness I had felt in those couple of hours I had had with her. Camryn got it. At least, I thought she did. And she was a good lay, too. She never got upset that I wouldn’t go down on her. Brigid was always so fuckin’ pissed about that. I wondered why she’d even wasted her time with me. And Camryn never bothered to ask why I had to hold my dick when we fucked.
This arrangement was working just fine for both of us—until we were all in the same hotel as Cornered Cannibal. It was for a few days back in crazy-ass Finland, the last leg of the Scandinavian circuit, before we headed to some fuckin’ hot weather in Costa fuckin’ Rica. We were all dying for some tropical heat by that point.
As to be expected, I avoided Devon at all cost, and too ashamed of what I had done, I never told Camryn about it. But I guessed Devon had noticed that I was spending a lot of my free time with this girl. One night, he found her on her own and convinced her to come join him in his room, that there was a party going on and that I was already there. She believed him.
He got her up to his room. He beat her, and he raped her. Then, that motherfucker dumped her bruised and battered body in front of my hotel room door and left her there for me to find.
Camryn was hysterical—well, that was just a given. She banged on my door, bawling her little eyes out, wearing only her bra and panties. She told me everything he had done to her, and she gave me his message—she was payment for letting his last toy—the girl he’d spit on—get away.
I fuckin’ tore that hotel apart, looking for him. But Cornered Cannibal had checked out less than an hour before. I wanted to call the police, but she begged me not to, saying she didn’t need more trouble. She worked the circuits as a makeup artist. If word got out that she’d snitched on a band member, she might not get hired out again.
So, I left it at that. She went home to California the next day to heal up before she had to find more work. I gave her some money to live off of while she recuperated. It was my fuckin’ fault. I was responsible for her suffering.
And once more, NOLA’s Junk stepped on a plane—only this time, we were one step closer to going home. A few more months, and I could start looking for my Baby Girl. After everything, after all this time…all I could think about was her.
I stopped fuckin’. No matter what my blood tests kept telling me, I didn’t feel clean enough to be worth a damn. Instead of fuckin’, I started working out like a head case. I could at least give Kenna something worthwhile to want to look at.
I caved on my birthday though. I got hammered, and Sheri offered me a blow job. Once more, Jason pounded at her while she sucked me off. Just like old times.
But after that…I swore, the next woman who touched me like that was gonna be Kenna. If I had to go all monk and be celibate for the rest of my life, so fuckin’ be it.
God, it was fuckin’ quiet. It was like that inner peace kind of quiet Kenna had told me she’d look for when she was meditating. I couldn’t look at her, not yet. I was scared shitless of what I might see in those forest-green eyes.
I fuckin’ love that color. Her eyes are the most amazin’ thing I’ve ever looked in.
But it was all out there—every fuckin’ stupid, fucked-up piece-of-shit thing I had