Page 522 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Then he’s on the move, walkin’ away and tearin’ off his jacket as he goes.

When he blows past Peter, he pitches the jacket into his chest.

Peter catches it, thrown off. “Where the hell you goin’?”

But Andrew looks right, spots the girl, and he takes off, disappearing into the crowded mess of Ludlow. He reaches behind his neck and grabs his collar, yankin’ his shirt off next. Pushin’ through the crowd, he drags it over his face, collectin’ all the sweat, the fake fantasy, everything he’s over and done with, tryin' to keep eyes on her.

The shirt hits the ground.

“Hey!” he shouts, joggin’ bare-chested now, dodgin’ side-eyes from the crowds spillin’ out of the bars, watchin’ the wind catch her hair as she moves further down the block. “Yo, Aerosmith! Hold up!”

But some girl grabs his wrist as he tries to pass, fingers tight, snatchin’ him back. “Andrew? Andrew, wait!” he hears behind him.

As panic pushes him forward, he rips his arm free, and his elbow flies back, catching someone hard in the face.

A sickening crack echoes above the chaos.

He spins around, stomach sinkin’ when he sees a girl doubled over, clutchin’ her nose and mouth as blood pours through her fingers.

His hands reach for her on instinct, horrified. “Fuck—I didn’t⁠—”

The world explodes, then.

People scream at him. People shove.

And before he turns his head, before he takes his next breath, two cops drop him, slammin’ him sideways into the wall, crushin’ the side of his face against the cold brick. His cheek scrapes raw as they pin his arms back. They’re shoutin’ into his ear, their spit flyin’ against his face and neck.

But he hears nothin’ as his eyes desperately cling to the girl. The second she vanishes around the brick corner, Andrew closes his eyes.

64 / CRAZY

AEROSMITH

// DEC 30, 9:07 AM - THE HARDINGS - UNION CITY, NJ //

I wake in half-hallucinated flashes:

Andrew’s bed and scent cocooning me, his pillows cradling my head and shoulders, his warmth fading away, cold spilling over the skin he abandons.

His hand finding my thigh,

dragging it open.

Every inch of me spent and sore.

“I need a shower,” I mumble, I think.

His nose parting my sticky lips.

“Mm-mm… don’t wash me off you,”

he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

My fingers curling into the sheets.

“Drew...”

But sleep keeps trying to pull me under.