Wasted Heart by Nicole Reed Page A

him read exactly what I think of the idea on my face, which he obviously ignores. I think about giving him my middle finger so that he clearly gets my drift, but I’m already swimming in deep shit.
    “We have been spending the morning free-writing lyrics. What basis did you come up with, Syn?” Ryan asks, looking over at her.
    “Love. That first moment when it happens and the feelings of unknown. Not knowing where it will take you, but having the strength just to let it lead,” she says, not looking over at me but directly at Ryan.
    Her voice annoys me right off the bat. This low-pitched, sugary sweet, Southern accent. I’m sure it’s always peppy. I’m nauseous again. Not sure if it’s from the sound of her voice or withdrawal. Either way, I want to close my eyes and go to sleep. That’s it. That’s all. I don’t want to listen to her feelings. Her worst day probably consists of chipping a nail and not being within a mile of a nail salon to get it fixed. Or horror of all horrors, having a hair out of place.
    “Who gives a fuck?” I say out loud, rolling my eyes away from her.

    “Excuse me?” she asks.
    Glancing back over, I see the “eat shit” look she is sending my way. Now, we are talking. It’s better than that stupid ass smile she has been giving me.
    “Let me slow it down for you. I said, ‘Who. Gives. A. Fuck.’”
    “Obviously not you,” she replies, running her eyes over me and evidently finding me lacking. “More’s the pity.”
    What? I shake my fist up and down, mimicking jacking off, and she just smiles back. Did she just mouth, “You wish”? I laugh again. I’m pretty sure she did.
    “That’s enough you two. I’m not here to play nanny. Rhye, this shit isn’t going on in here. You get me?” Ryan says, glaring daggers directly at me.
    “Whatever, man,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
    “Let’s break for lunch. Rhye, since you just joined us, why don’t you work on some lyrics while we are out. Get a feel of where we want to go with your record,” he says, not really giving me a choice.
    Not that I could stomach any food, but I’m not ready to write either. Everyone stands to leave, including smiley herself. I finally get a good look at her. Long, blonde, wavy hair, jeans, plain t-shirt, hardly no makeup. If I had to describe her, I would say, “Wholesome .” Makes me want to puke. It’s so fake. Ten dollars says she rides cowboys like the winning bronco rider every night. Probably could make a sinner like me blush if I was interested. Which I’m not. I’d rather my girl look the way she acts. What you see is what you get. No lies and no expectations.
    Ryan is the last out of the room, but before he leaves, he turns back to me. “Dude, I’m serious. I will have no qualms about quitting your ungrateful ass. Are we straight?” he asks, not waiting for me to reply. “No drugs. No shit. And leave your opinions about Syn at the door. Put them in your music for all I care, but keep your fucking mouth shut. Are we clear?”
    I glare at him. Let him think what he wants.
    “I expect an answer when asked. Are we clear?” he barks, the anger causing his face to flame red.
    “Crystal,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders. Damn, don’t have a coronary.
    Nodding, he walks out and slams the door behind him.
    What is up with people lately? Everyone is so sensitive. I’ve always said that if everyone smoked large amounts of weed, we’d be a more peaceful planet. Unfortunately, unless we all had medical prescriptions for it, we’d be a peaceful lot rotting in prison. I’m sure the kumbaya spirit would wear off pretty quick. Total anarchy. Fuck, yeah.
    Resting my head back against the chair, I pray for sleep to come. The insomnia is wearing thin on my nerves. I feel the black nothingness within start to eat me from the inside out. All my demons coming out in full force, seeking to control me. Mentally, I know it is all part of the process of detoxing, but physically, I