Page 14 of Vengeful Melodies
The low hum of traffic outside Wren’s apartment keeps me tossing and turning beside his snoring frame, his tattooed leg draped over my bare one.
You’d think after all our childhood sleepovers, I’d be used to his snoring—or outside noise in general. That was all my childhood consisted of. We never lived in some quiet suburban neighborhood like I got used to with Bradley. It was always busy roads or train tracks—something always moving, always loud. So why can't I sleep now?
Why does the man from the tattoo shop haunt my thoughts, drawing me toward him? But just as I try to follow, his face shifts into a nightmare—Bradley, screwing that nasty bitch on his desk, robbing me of something good.
Why her? Why couldn’t he be faithful to me? What’s so wrong with me that everyone I love eventually leaves, one way or another?
Wren mumbles in his sleep, throwing his arm over my stomach and pulling me close. His snoring now vibrates softly against the back of my neck. He sleeps like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I envy that.
I envy the tattooed bastard too. I wish I could fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow, without overthinking everything. Without the nightmares.
“Oh Grey… you sure you can…” Wren murmurs in his sleep, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he’s dreaming about one of the beautiful men we ran into today.
Hopeless. That’s what we are. We’ll probably never see them again… and yet part of me wishes we would.
Carefully, I slide out from under Wren’s limbs, trying not to wake him. He deserves to rest—especially after everything I dragged him through today, and that punch he threw on my behalf.
Jack’s nails click across the hardwood as he rounds the corner—Wren’s white and brown speckled bulldog, eyes full of mischief as he makes a beeline for the cracked bedroom door.
“No, Jack—” I whisper, but he’s already charging like there’s a mountain of treats waiting behind that door.
I just manage to catch him before he barrels in.
“Your dad will kill us both if you wake him,” I whisper, dragging him back. “Trust me, the man in his dream isbeautiful.”
I shut the door fast before Jack gets any funny ideas, and rub behind his ears. “Come, hang out with me while I job hunt. I won’t be taking up you and your dad’s space for long.”
We move to the beaten-up couch—patched in random places, everyone a story. I grab my laptop from under the coffee table, open it, and instantly regret it.
Bradley’s smug face stares back at me from the screen. His smile makes my skin crawl.What did I ever see in him?There's nothing about him I’d want in my future kids—not his looks, and definitely not his character.
I was clinging to the idea of love, not the reality.
Maybe Wren was right. Maybe I’ve diluted myself so much that I lost who I was. Maybe I was never meant to stay with Bradley.
Jack nudges into my side as I scroll past dozens of photos, stopping only at one—me and Wren at graduation, holding a portrait of Jackson. I set it as my new background, ignoring the bile still rising in my throat. I’ll delete the rest tomorrow.
I dive into job applications. I don’t know how many I fill out—forty, maybe more—just focusing on places within walking distance. No car. No bus fare. Just me and my tired determination.
By the time morning light creeps through the curtains, I’m half-asleep at the keyboard, Jack curled against me, and application #41 blinking on my screen.
Sleep finally takes me.
Soft nudges stir me. I blink open to see Wren’s crooked grin just before the flash of his camera blinds me.
Jack’s belly-up beside me, snoring just like his dad, and my laptop is now sideways on the floor.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Wren teases. “Didn’t think you were the type to sneak out of a man’s bed just to snuggle his dog, Jupe.”
“He’s a cuddler. Like his dad.” I yawn. “What time is it?”
Jack huffs as he rolls off me, dropping beside Wren with dramatic puppy eyes.
“I didn’t tell you to move, drama queen,” I mutter, stretching. “I was thinking of picking up those concert tickets today—maybe sell them to help with bills?”
“Nope. Not happening.” Wren’s voice is firm. “I’ve got everything handled. We’regoingto that concert. You’re gonna find some sexy tattooed man, and you’re gonna have one night of rough, filthy, no-strings-attached, soul-cleansing sex. Got it?”
He pops his hip out, inked hand on it, watching me like a hawk.