This One’s For You

by Holloway, Taylor

  “Wendy must have good taste,” I remarked, swallowing my jealousy.

  Ian nodded. “She does, although I’m sure there was a professional involved here, too. It’s almost four thousand square feet. That would take a long time to decorate alone and they just moved in.”

  Four thousand square feet? Did they have an Olympic sized pool in here? I decided I didn’t need to know. It was none of my business.

  Two obese pit bulls rounded a corner and approached excitedly from a large open kitchen.

  “The big one is Bambi,” Ian told me. “The little one is Thumper.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Which is the little one?” They were both at least sixty pounds.

  Ian laughed and the sound of it made me irrationally happy. He had a great laugh: deep and genuine.

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “apparently Jason’s been trying to put them on a diet for a couple of years. They’ve gotten even fatter off all the baby food, though, so it clearly hasn’t worked.”

  I laughed and pet the two lumbering canines. The idea of the lead singer of one of the world’s biggest rock bands unsuccessfully trying to put his dogs on a diet was just too much. Celebrities, they’re just like us, right?

  Ian smiled at me, and something about the expression in his eyes made me remember that we were alone, except for the baby sleeping in the other room. I’d come over here at his suggestion, and it was clearly not just to play board games. Still, I followed him dutifully around the giant great room like I was under a spell.

  He was tall. I wondered exactly how tall. I was five-six (five-seven with good posture), and Ian looked to be at least seven inches taller. That would make him around six-two? I was so busy thinking about it that I didn’t realize he was waiting for an answer.

  “So… Scrabble?” he asked for the second time. I found myself face to face with a cabinet containing every single board game I could name and a number that I couldn’t.

  “Sure.” Given the fact that I was struggling to verbally make words, I doubted my Scrabble skills at the moment, but as we sat down and started setting up the game, my natural competitiveness woke up.

  “I haven’t played this game in years,” Ian said while we drew our letters from the bag. “But fair warning, I used to be pretty good.”

  “I will destroy you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think better of them. Channeling my inner April Ludgate was probably not a great idea in this situation. I wanted Ian to like me. I wanted it so badly it was making me vaguely batty. “I mean, I used to be pretty good, too.”

  Ian laughed at either my words, my ensuing blush, or both. “Okay, bring it, Red.”

  “You first,” I replied, since he’d won the toss.

  Ian stared down at his letters. “I usually never get performance anxiety,” he grumbled before scooping up his tiles in his long-fingered hands and laying them down on the board.

  M-U-S-I-C

  It was a solid first play, if a bit cliché. Ian totaled up his eighteen points (he got the double word score from the center spot) and stared at me expectantly. I knew from the moment he put the U down what I was going to play.

  Q-U-E-T-Z-A-L-S

  With the Q and E on double letter scores. Mic drop.

  Ian stared at me, then down at the board, then back at me.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed. Then his eyes narrowed. “Is that even a word?”

  I smirked at him. “A quetzal is a type of tropical bird.”

  Ian googled it and then shook his head. “I guess I should have gone to college or something. How many points does that get you?”

  My smirk became a grin. “Well, the Q and E are double letter scores, plus the bonus for using all seven letters, so eighty-seven points.”

  “You weren’t kidding. You are going to destroy me, aren’t you?” he asked, although his expression indicated that he looked somewhat excited about the prospect.

  “You can concede now, if you’re scared,” I told him.

  He sat back and cocked an eyebrow at me. His confidence was unshakeable. “Well, now that you’ve thrown that down…” he trailed off and shook his head. “I was going to go easy on you, but forget that. I’m going to have to beat you. Epically.”

  I smiled sweetly at him. “You can try. It’s your turn.”

  7

  Ian

  Vanessa tossed her red hair over her shoulder and squinted at the board with her elbows on the table. I resisted the urge to stare at her chest, halfway wondering if she was intentionally using her, um, physical assets to distract me. I needed to keep my wits. It was her turn, and probably her last since we were almost out of letters. She looked down again at her letters and then up at me with that sly expression that did things to me. She’d figured out her next move.

  After her gratuitous opening play, I’d semi-redeemed myself. At least, I’d avoided a humiliating defeat.

  She played Q-U-E-T-Z-A-L-S on her first turn. I played Z-O-N-E on a double word score. She threw on a D and played Z-O-N-E-D and D-A-Y. I played off her and made D-A-Y-L-I-G-H-T on a triple word score. She must have run out of good letters because the next word she made was S-A-C-K. Neither of us had good rounds for a while, until I made good use of the K and played K-E-L-V-I-N on a triple word score. We were now neck and neck in points.

  Somewhere along the line, I’d realized that Vanessa wasn’t just a hot Scrabble genius, she was also a good sport and a fun opponent. Her smile could light up a room. Her bravado was mostly all show, too, and just hanging out with her made me feel like I was winning something, even if it wasn’t Scrabble.

  Still, I got the feeling that Vanessa was planning something extraordinary for her final move. Her blood red fingernails skimmed over the tops of her letters, and then she plucked two letters and laid them down on the board.

  T-R-A-G-U-S

  She used only two of her own letters to form it but managed to grab herself a double word score. It wasn’t a super high-scoring word, only 14 points, but it was enough to screw me over.

  “Tragus? That’s the thing inside your ear, right?”

  “This thingy, yeah.” Vanessa said, pointing to her own right tragus, which was pierced with a little gold hoop.

  “I bet that hurt a lot.” For some reason, and body piercings had never concerned me before, the thought of a needle passing through Vanessa’s cute little ear bothered me more than it ought to. Her ears were perfect. They didn’t need any more holes. And yes, I was a perfect hypocrite because I had plenty of body modifications of my own. But Vanessa’s sweet little ears…

  Vanessa clearly didn’t share my horror. She shrugged her delicate shoulders and I reminded myself again that it was impolite to stare. She was wearing tight, black ankle pants, a lowcut light blue shirt, and tall, fuck-me heels. With her peaches and cream coloring and auburn hair, she might have been the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. If she’d come here to seduce me, she was succeeding with those heels alone. I love a woman in high heels. I especially love a woman in only high heels.

  “Some,” Vanessa answered, drawing me back to the conversation. “Not as much as other piercings I’ve had.”

  I raised a once-pierced eyebrow (now fully healed) and looked her over. She had no other visible piercings besides her earlobes. That could mean lots of things. Interesting things. I reminded myself that this was not the time to get off track. I had a game to win.

  “Quit trying to distract me.”

  She batted her long eyelashes at me. “I’m not.”

  “You’re very good at it, you know.” I scowled. Her overwhelming sexiness was an unfair advantage. How could I compete with that? I couldn’t.

  “Scrabble? Why, thank you.” More fake innocence from Vanessa. Less convincing this time.

  “No, distracting me,” I clarified.

  She grinned at me, a quick flash of white teeth against red lipstick. “I’m not stopping you from taking your turn.”

  She was right. I still had
one turn. And there was a single, naked Y on the board. And it was right next to a triple word score.

  Y-O-G-H-U-R-T-S

  Probiotics for the win. Literally.

  Vanessa whistled through her teeth. “Damn. Nice word.”

  “And that’s how it’s done.” I grinned at her.

  “Wait a second,” she said, looking down at the board in confusion. “You broke a rule. That’s the British spelling. I’m going to look it up.” She tapped on her phone as I counted up the points and knew that it didn’t matter either way. Across from me, Vanessa deflated. A moment later. “Ugh. You’re right. It’s an allowable variation.” She pouted her crimson lips at me. “You win.” She stuck her hand out over the board in a belated show of good sportsmanship. “Good game.”

  I shook her light, slim hand, wondering if I should press my luck with her or not. She’d come over at night to spend time with me, alone.

  “Not bad for a college dropout. So. what do I win?” I asked her, still holding onto her hand.

  She didn’t pull away.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  In an instant, I was transported back in time. To the first time I’d seen Vanessa. The memory swept me along, back to a basement beneath a hospital. Months ago.

  * * *

  Vanessa hadn’t wanted to be at that support group meeting on a rainy Tuesday night. It was obvious. She’d only come along because her roommate, Caroline, needed a ride. She spent the whole thing sitting in the back of the room, looking like she wished she could melt into the shadows and vanish. But she couldn’t, and I saw her.

  Still, she clearly wanted distance and I wasn’t going to encroach on her space. Well, I wanted to, but it was horribly rude. So, I watched her, going about my usual activities with her in the corner of my eye. She was obviously injured, still nursing an injury that had her left arm hanging at an odd angle. Caroline brought her for a reason, although it didn’t seem like Vanessa was having any of it.

  “It isn’t that I don’t want to introduce myself,” I heard her telling Caroline as the meeting was winding down. “It’s just that I don’t have anything to give. I’m in therapy. I do my thing. I’m not a big sharer in groups. Come on, Caroline, you know that.”

  “The idea isn’t that you give anything,” Caroline told her in response. “The idea is that you share the experience with other people. It makes it easier.”

  I was eavesdropping on them. Yes, I knew I shouldn’t. But it wasn’t exactly like they were being that quiet. And I was smart enough that I’d started wearing earplugs at the beginning of my career and didn’t let myself get the hearing damage most musicians ended up with.

  “I don’t want to share,” Vanessa told her. Her voice was confident, but there was plenty of vulnerability not far beneath the surface. As someone used to pretending to be strong, I knew the difference. “I’m not the kind of person that goes up and bares her soul, or is comfortable with watching other people bare theirs.” She sighed. “I’m on this path, and it’s mine. I don’t want to walk it with anybody else, and I’ll do better if I stay focused. Alone. It’s something I have to do myself.”

  I’d been just like her. For a long time, actually. For way too long.

  All through my various addictions, compulsions, and errors, I’d always thought I was supposed to be alone on the path back to normal. Vanessa, by her presence there and the arm injury, had clearly been through some sort of horrible accident or trauma. It was obvious.

  “What if other people could help you?” Caroline had asked Vanessa, clearly pushing Vanessa past where she wanted to be. Her body language was closed: crossed arms, neck stiff, hair thrown back defiantly. She wanted the conversation to be over.

  “Only I can help me. I’m not going to be able to do this for anyone else. I have to do it for me. I can’t do it for you or any of these people.” Vanessa shook her head.

  “Okay, Vanessa,” Caroline told her. “But if you insist on being alone, don’t be surprised when you’re lonely.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Caroline just sighed and moved on. It wasn’t until the end of the meeting that I was introduced. I’d gone to say goodbye to Caroline and my sheer conspicuousness basically forced her to introduce us.

  “So, Ian,” Vanessa said, looking me up and down as if for a deficiency, “what made you want to take over the support group from Caroline?”

  “I was guilted into it,” I’d replied honestly. Caroline had worn me down over a period of months.

  Vanessa shot an inquiring look in Caroline’s direction.

  “That is a gross exaggeration,” she interjected. “I did not guilt him.”

  “Oh, she’s good at guilting.” Vanessa grinned. “She learned from the best. Me.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Is that why I can always get you to do the dishes and clean the bathroom? My incredible guilt skills?”

  Vanessa turned her indulgent grin on me. “Just imagine the mess if she weren’t so good at guilting me. We’d live in a garbage heap.” She looked back at Caroline. “Admit it, you’re good. After all, I’m here at your little Broken Toys club, aren’t I?”

  Caroline seemed like she wasn’t even going to dignify that with a reply. And I knew she didn’t like anyone calling it the Broken Toys club, even if the name had rubbed off on everyone.

  “Are you here to join the group?” I’d asked Vanessa. “I thought you were just Caroline’s ride tonight from the way you were hanging back.”

  Vanessa looked down at her shoes. “I’m considering joining. Maybe.” She rolled up her sleeve to show me the scar on her arm. “I got shot by a crazy person and then my arm got ripped off when my ambulance exploded. Now I’m all fucked up in the head.” Her voice was perfectly matter-of-fact, but I winced.

  I glanced down at her scarred arm, and then back at her face. I’d seen plenty of worse injuries, but never such an exquisite woman with so frank an attitude. I was impressed and entranced by her. She was so beautiful, so mysterious and distant, and even though she was laughing, I sensed that she had depths she was concealing. I knew instantly that I didn’t have a shot.

  But that didn’t stop me from trying. “Cool,” I told her, looking at her face and not her scar. “Welcome to the club. You’ll fit right in.” She laughed at my blunt response. “Seriously though,” I told her, “we’d be glad to have you.” I knew that I was staring at Vanessa with a lot more appreciativeness than the average recruit. I could feel Caroline watching us both with interest.

  “I said I’m considering it,” Vanessa replied. She arched an eyebrow at me. “Care to convince me?”

  Yes.

  My heart had been pounding, but I somehow managed to stay upright. “I can be convincing. Maybe give me your number and I’ll get right to work on that.”

  She’d seemed spooked by my request. I’d come on too strong. She had mumbled something in response and slunk off at her first opportunity. I doubt that I had made much of an impression, although I’d tried.

  * * *

  Vanessa probably moved on immediately, but I’d remembered the brief conversation, and her, perfectly. I’d remembered everything, every detail, for many months. Meanwhile she went on and probably didn’t give me much thought at all.

  And yet, she was here with me right now. She played Scrabble, flirted, and asked me what I wanted. And I knew. I knew exactly what I wanted.

  I wanted Vanessa.

  But only for selfish reasons. I couldn’t heal her. I couldn’t even heal myself. To some extent she’d been right that day. Recovery is personal, no matter what kind. It’s something that must be done for oneself, by oneself. But that loneliness can get old, and I was lonely, too.

  Vanessa had made a mark on me. She was a beautiful, defiant, and independent creature. Did I want her to quench my own loneliness? Maybe. Love at first sight? Maybe. But I think it was because I saw echoes of myself in her and wanted to save us both from the endless loneliness that
we brought on ourselves.

  I was doing it for me. And because I was selfish and broken, I was entirely fine with that.

  8

  Vanessa

  Ian kissed me across the Scrabble board and something took ahold of me. A feeling coursed through me, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. An aching, burning, nameless need. The intensity shocked me, but it delighted me too. The board went clattering to the ground when he pulled me closer, sending tiles flying.

  My heart pounded against my ribcage as his kiss became more intimate. I felt alive. It had been so long since I had felt alive.

  The funny thing about serious physical injuries is that when you’re really, really fucked up, you can focus in ways you never thought possible. I had always thought I had ADD. I even had a diagnosis from a doctor and a prescription for Adderall and testing accommodations as a kid. But the truth is that I was just an active kid. I didn’t have any real trouble with my concentration.

  The reason that I know this is because when I was trying to relearn how to use my newly re-attached left forearm while the burns on my lower body healed, I found willpower and concentration like nothing I’d ever felt before. When failure is not being able to feed yourself, or use the bathroom unassisted, or put on a bra alone, you discover things about your own mind. Dark things, mostly, but also the limits of what you’re capable of. What I discovered is that I am capable of sublimating just about anything for my own wellbeing. Any issues I ever had before had to leave to make room for the new ones, and mostly what I needed my brain for lately had been survival.

  But survival mode is not without its own set of drawbacks. For instance, when you’re struggling to relearn basic motor functions and wean yourself off the heaviest of heavy pain medications to lead a normal life again, it doesn’t leave much room for romance. It doesn’t even leave much room for normal, healthy sexual desire. Although I had an inkling that had me driving myself across town tonight, I hadn’t realized until Ian kissed me how much I wanted and needed that back in my life.