Every Little Piece of Me Read online

  When the room slowed down enough for her to get her bearings, she slid off the side of the bed and dragged herself across the floor to her dresser. She reached up and grabbed her cell phone, staring at it a moment before turning it on. There was one text, from Emiko, with two words.

  Call me.

  It all came back, the way things do the morning after: at once, like a bucket of cold water dumped on your head, leaving you standing there, dripping and humiliated.

  All of it. Including the hands. Someone putting her to bed.

  She stumbled to her feet, then pushed open her bedroom door, letting it swing wide and bang loudly against the table behind it in the living room. A rush of cold air hit her with so much force that she had to hold on to the door frame for balance.

  “Hello?” she called tentatively into the room. No one there.

  As she tiptoed out into the living room, which smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, she realized that even though there was no one there now, it was obvious that someone had been in her apartment: empty bottles neatly tied up in a blue bag and placed near the door, throw blankets folded over the arm of her couch, magazines stacked in a tidy pile on the coffee table. She quickly discovered the source of the cold air: one of the windows had been propped open a couple of inches with a flashlight, and a light dusting of snow had drifted in, covering the sill. Had she really been smoking inside? Did she even own a flashlight?

  “Dammit,” she said. She walked over to the window and brushed her hand along the sill. The snow was so light that it melted as soon as she touched it, cool water dripping down her hand and over her wrist. She pulled out the flashlight and closed the window, the remaining snow flying up from the sill and disappearing in the air, a fine mist raining down to the floor as she stood there, naked and shivering, her bare toes curling against the hardwood.

  After she had found a sweater and some socks, she ventured into the kitchen. A stack of clean dishes sat drying on a rack that she didn’t even know she owned. The ripped dress was draped over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. The rotten pear was nowhere to be found.

  In her hand, her phone vibrated. A text from Emiko.

  Front page of tomorrow’s National Chronicle!!

  Mags didn’t have to look; she already knew what she was going to see—all the messiest, most broken parts of her splattered across the page. Instead, she stared hard at those two exclamation points at the end of Emiko’s text, those two little vertical lines on top of two little dots, a punctuation mark that she had never seen Emiko use singularly before, let alone doubly. And she began to realize, with a sick feeling, that she might be the only one who thought of Sam’s death as a tragedy. Mags turned her phone off, resisting the urge to throw it across the room.

  A sound came from the hallway, startling her so intensely that she dropped her phone. “Sam?” she called softly, then immediately felt embarrassed. Too many movies, too much fantasizing. If she weren’t so freaked out, she would have laughed.

  She came out of the kitchen, her heart thudding in her chest, just in time to see a woman walk in carrying a couple of large paper bags.

  “Oh good,” the woman said, standing in the doorway, shaking the snow from her hood. “You’re up. I brought us burgers. I hope you’re not a vegetarian. For a variety of reasons, really, but mostly because I brought us burgers.”

  Mags stared at the woman, uncomprehendingly, momentarily feeling as though she had woken up in the middle of someone else’s life. Then it clicked in, like a lens focusing. Ava. The hands underneath her, putting her to bed.

  “I didn’t feel like cooking, and I didn’t think you would, either,” Ava continued, as though they had been having the same conversation for years. “I bought some wine too, just in case. They barely even looked at my fake ID. It’s wild here.” She kicked off her shoes and walked over to the couch, unzipping her parka.

  Mags followed her across the room, her mind still trying to catch up. “What are you doing here, Ava? How did you find me?”

  Ava looked startled, staring wide-eyed at Mags, one arm still in the parka sleeve. “I…you said to call you.”

  “Call me. Not walk into my apartment and clean while I’m asleep.” Mags flopped down on the couch, then picked up the bag with the wine in it and pulled out the bottle, studying the label. “What even is this, cooking sherry?”

  “I…don’t buy wine much.”

  “At least it’s not in a box.” Mags cracked the cap and took a swig. She could not handle this right now. All she wanted was for Ava to leave so she could drink this Dubonnet or whatever the hell this crap was and wallow in her hungover misery. “Look, I’m sorry you came all this way for—well, I don’t know what you came for. But whatever it is, I can’t help you.”

  “But you said…” Ava pulled her arm out of the parka and placed it carefully over the back of the couch, brushing a piece of lint from the fabric. “I just need somewhere to stay for a bit.”

  Mags ran a hand through her hair, feeling the sticky end where it must have dragged in her vomit. “Thank you for cleaning my apartment. You didn’t have to do that. But I feel like shit and I just want to be alone.”

  “I promise you won’t even know I’m here.” Ava dropped her gaze. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Mags studied her. She seemed paler, even more exhausted than she had that night on the balcony. But instead of the sadness and desperation she had recognized in Ava then, Mags saw only defeat now. She thought about Ava’s blank slate of a phone, her empty contact list, and knew it wasn’t that she didn’t have anywhere else to go—it was that she didn’t have anyone else. That was a feeling Mags knew well. She leaned forward, picking up the other bag. “Demon’s?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” said Ava, sitting down next to her tentatively. “I thought it looked okay in there. They’re not famous for their health code violations or anything, are they?”

  “No,” Mags said. “No, they’re great.” Demon’s was one of her favourite places to eat on the street, but the smell of the burger made her stomach turn, and she grimaced, passing the bag to Ava.

  “Are you naked under that sweater?” Ava asked as she pulled out a burger.

  Mags glanced down. “It seems to be a theme,” she said. She took a drink of the wine. It really wasn’t half bad. “I am curious how you found out where I lived. Am I that easy to track down?”

  Ava unwrapped her burger and took a bite. “I called you,” she said as she chewed. “Some lady answered. She was putting you into a cab, I think? I heard her tell someone your address.”

  “Oh, Emiko, probably. My manager. After the show last night.” She didn’t want to think about the show, or any of the shows that were to come…

  Suddenly, Mags shot straight up, her heart pounding. “What time is it?”

  Ava looked at her phone. “Seven thirty.”

  “Shit. I’m going to be late.” Mags grabbed the burgers and, after a brief hesitation, the wine. “Ever been backstage at Mercer Hall?”

  * * *

  —

  They finished the wine in the back of the cab, then moved on to a flask Mags had in her coat pocket. When they got to the venue, a throng of paparazzi was waiting for them at the backstage entrance. Mags paused with her hand on the door of the cab, momentarily paralyzed, her whiskey-slick mind spinning its wheels as she tried to remember how she was supposed to do this. Any of this.

  “Here.” Ava untwined the scarf from around Mags’s neck and rewrapped it around her face so that only her eyes were visible. Then she pulled an elastic from her wrist and pulled Mags’s hair back into a ponytail, tucked it into the scarf, and pulled up her hood. “There,” she said. “You could be any random Canadian.”

  “I can barely see,” Mags said, her voice muffled through the scarf.

  “You’ll be surprised how little you actually need to.”

  They got out of the car and pushed their way through the crowd, heads down, elbows out. Ava was right—Mags fo
llowed the steady beam of light from the door, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. She could feel the cameras on her even though she couldn’t see them, could hear the shouts of the reporters.

  “Mags, is that you?”

  “Mags?”

  “Who is that with you?”

  When they reached the door, she whispered her name to one of the security guards, who pulled them into the venue and rushed them backstage. By the time they got to the green room, it was after 8:30, and Emiko was pacing, cell phone glued to her ear. She threw it down as soon as she saw them. “God, Mags, you haven’t even done your hair or makeup yet and you’re on in less than thirty minutes,” she said, unzipping Mags’s parka. “Who is this? And where is your fucking bra?”

  Mags pulled away from her, surprised. Emiko never swore. Even in her inebriated state, Mags knew that couldn’t be good.

  Ava stuck out her hand. “I’m Ava.”

  Emiko’s eyes flicked toward Ava’s hand, then rolled briefly heavenward. “I don’t actually care,” she said, falling back to make room for her assistant-of-the-week to move in with a makeup brush. “I care about this.” She flicked one of Mags’s nipples, hard.

  “What? Fuck bras. I’m a rock star.” Emiko glared at her. “Fine. I think I have another one on the bus.” She sniffed her armpits. “And another top.”

  “The bus isn’t here, Mags. Jesus.” Emiko scraped her nail across the front of her shirt. “There’s mustard on this.”

  Mags glanced down. “Shit.”

  “You can have mine,” Ava said. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with wine. She plopped down in the chair in front of the vanity mirror, then picked up an eyeliner pencil and began drawing whiskers on her cheeks. “I’m going to be a kitty!”

  “Hey! I want to be an animal too.” Mags sat down in the chair next to Ava, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her flask.

  Emiko scowled at her. “You remember to bring your whiskey but not your bra?”

  Mags shrugged. “Priorities.” She felt strangely reckless, untethered, all those threads that had begun fraying that night she met Ava finally coming apart. “What other kind of animals can you do?”

  “How about a lizard?” Ava said. “I could cover your face in scales.”

  Shaking her head, Emiko rummaged through her own purse. “Do whatever you want,” she said, thrusting a bottle of pills at Mags. “Just take these so we don’t have a repeat of last night.”

  “I thought you said last night was good publicity!” Mags shouted at Emiko’s back as she walked out of the room.

  Mags and Ava swapped shirts quickly. Ava’s top was much too tight on Mags, but at least it kept her packed in. She opened the bottle and popped four pills as Ava touched the tip of the eyeliner to her face.

  “What are those?” Ava asked, leaning her face closer, her breath hot on Mags’s cheek.

  “Dunno,” Mags said.

  Ava kept glancing at the bottle as she worked. “Can I have one?” she asked finally.

  “Sure.” Mags opened the bottle and palmed two more pills, throwing back another one herself, closing her eyes, and swallowing. When she opened her eyes again, she studied Ava’s face, hovering inches away from her own—the dark circles beneath her clear blue eyes, the wild scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “That was a good trick out there,” Mags said.

  “Thanks. Avoiding cameras is my specialty. Or, at least, it used to be.”

  “I remember your show, you know,” Mags said. “Your old show. Sam loved it. He watched it all the time. You were always his favourite.”

  Ava blinked slowly, the eyeliner pencil hovering over Mags’s cheek. “That’s not true,” she said. “I was never anyone’s favourite.” She touched the pencil to Mags’s skin once more, briefly, then stepped back. “There. I decided to skip the scales and gave you a little starfall.”

  Mags peered at her reflection in the mirror. A spray of tiny, perfectly symmetrical stars of varying sizes rained down from the corner of her eye to her jawline. “It’s like I’m crying stars,” she said, touching her finger to her jaw just below the marks.

  “That was the idea,” Ava said, recapping the eyeliner.

  Mags opened her palm. “Here,” she said. “Open your mouth.” Ava’s lips parted, and Mags placed the pill between them. Then she handed Ava the flask. “To wash it down,” she said.

  Ava swallowed. “Thanks.”

  Then Emiko was back, tall and still in the doorway, her gaze piercing Mags like an icy wind. “Let’s go.” She glanced briefly at Ava. “You can come watch from the wings if you like.”

  Mags grabbed the flask as she headed into the hall, and still had it in her hand as she stepped out onstage. She could see Paul glaring at her as she stumbled in a haze to the mic.

  “Where the fuck were you?” he growled, leaning toward her.

  You were once my friend, Mags wanted to say. You were Sam’s friend. “Shhhh, it’s time to sing,” she said instead. She fixed her vision on the mic in front of her as whatever drug Emiko had given her started to kick in, sound and light washing over her like waves. She waited to feel the usual exhilaration, the magic that kept everything else away. But it didn’t come.

  She took another swig of whiskey as she heard the drumbeat kick in. “Hey everyone,” she breathed into the mic. “How…” Suddenly, she felt as though she had burst into flames. She tried to focus on something, anything, but the room was spinning, and she was sweating, and she couldn’t hear anything, the drum seeming to beat directly into her ears. “It’s really hot in here,” she said. She clawed at her shirt, yanking it up over her head, and then began trying to worm her way out of her jeans, sticky against her damp skin. But still the heat overtook her, her body a coal burning. And slowly, everything washed out to bright white, and the past, the future, all the answers to the universe were right there in front of her, and as she reached out her hand to touch them they dissolved into sparks of light.

  Lashay Bullard

  @shayisdeadd

  OMG YOU GUYS MAGS KOVACH JUST RIPPED OFF HER CLOTHES AND PASSED OUT ON STAGE THEN CAME BACK OUT AND SLAYED FOR 2 HOURS LIKE A FUCKING QUEEN #alignaboveatmercerhall

  11:10 PM – 20 Feb 2015

  119 Retweets 2,458 Likes

  B @a_beew 39 min

  Replying to @shayisdeadd

  That was the Align Above concert content I have been waiting for

  Lashay Bullard @shayisdeadd 38 min

  Replying to @a_beew

  Right? I live for this shit

  Talisha @teebot45 37 min

  Replying to @shayisdeadd @a_beew

  JFC I *knew* I went on the wrong night #alignaboveatmercerhall

  Reiko Redd @thereddening 29 min

  Replying to @shayisdeadd @a_beew

  TITS EVERYWHERE

  Martika @fellinahole23 28 min

  Replying to @thereddening @shayisdeadd @a_beew

  OMG

  Talisha @teebot45 21 min

  Replying to @shayisdeadd @a_beew

  There better be pics!

  B @a_beew 20 min

  Replying to @teebot45@shayisdeadd

  Just saw this on @chatterfuel

  Blistering hot shots of Manic Mags at tonight’s Toronto show *NSFW*

  We have exclusive pics of the troubled rock star in all her naked glory onstage tonight at Toronto’s Mercer Hall…chatterfuel.com

  Talisha @teebot45 18 min

  Replying to @a_beew @shayisdeadd

  THIS IS REAL OMFGGGGGGG I’M DEADDDD

  Ava

  Friday, 9:08 p.m.

  Ava had never seen anyone go down the way that Mags did. Staggering around the stage, her eyes gleaming, voice roaring, red hair practically on fire, ripping herself out of her shirt—Ava’s shirt—as though she were some kind of monster. When Mags collapsed to the ground, Ava thought she was going to burn right through the floor.

  “What were those pills?” she asked Emiko, feeling the palms of
her hands start to sweat. “Horse tranquilizers?”

  “Basically,” Emiko said impassively, watching as a paramedic knelt in front of Mags, who was now huddled on a chair backstage, pale and shivering and wrapped in a blanket. “How was I supposed to know she was going to take so many?”

  “I’m fine,” Mags mumbled. “Let me up. I’m fine.”

  Ava started to feel dizzy herself. She sat down on a chair and put her head in her hands, trying to steady her breathing. She didn’t know why she had taken the pill, just that Mags made it look so easy. It’s all in your head, she told herself. You only took one pill. It’s all in your head. She had barely slept that day, tossing and turning on Mags’s couch before giving up and going out to get the burgers, which she had hardly even touched. No wonder she felt so lightheaded. “We should go to a hospital,” she said. “I mean, Mags should go to the hospital. This isn’t normal.”

  “I told you, I’m fine,” Mags said louder. Her eyes were glassy and her lips wet, but her voice was clear. She shook off the paramedic’s hand. “Just give me a minute and I’ll get right back out there.”

  The paramedic started to protest, but Emiko dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Here,” she said, handing Mags her clothes, which someone had retrieved from the stage. “You’re going to need these.” When Mags had finished dressing, Emiko took her hand and dropped three small pills into her palm. “These too.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Ava, sitting up in her chair. “Did you see what just happened?”

  “I see that there are twenty-seven hundred people out there who paid a lot of money for this show.”