Clash

by Aurora, Belle

  I gasped as recognition took hold. “Becky Amour.”

  My heart rate beat in my ears as she went on, “Marshall High, to be exact. And I’m totally punking myself out, telling myself it, ‘It can’t be her, it. It isn’t her. You’re being stupid, Bee…’ But it is her.” The cat-like smile she wore was one of pure victory. “Guys,” she started slowly, taking in a deep breath and letting it out through her nose, “I know The Violet Dame.” She chuckled to herself. “And you’re not going to believe it when I reveal who she is. But we’ll get to that.”

  No.

  My breathing turned heavy and my vision blurred.

  No, no, no. Please don’t.

  But she would. Of course, she would. Compassion had never been Becky Amour’s strong suit.

  “Before I go on, I think I should explain to you a little theory I’ve been working on. As you know, Left Turn is one of the most popular bands in the world. And that’s what I do. I follow the music scene and report on the inside news.” Her attitude changed completely. Pasting on a huge fake smile, she quickly added, “If you like this video, you know what to do. Hit like and subscribe for more news like this and, oh boy, do I have news.”

  When her handle lit up on screen, I blinked at it a moment.

  BeckySpillsTheTea.

  Oh, geez. She was a drama channel.

  Of course, she was. Why wouldn’t she be?

  I had the insane urge to laugh.

  “Okay. Theory time.” Becky looked way too pleased with herself. “As you all know, Left Turn toured not long ago and all seemed to be going well. Concert after concert was sold out. Not even I could get tickets, guys,” she said as if she held some kind of pull in the music industry. Her sense of self-importance and inflation was very Becky, indeed. Just as I remembered her. “Connor Clash was on his best behavior or so it looked. There were really no incidents to report. It was all very cut and dry.” Her brows rose. “Until it wasn’t.”

  “Two days before the tour ends, Connor drops a song completely solo.” Oh, God, she had a timeline. “This is when things start to sour for the band. ‘Virgin Tears’ is released and anyone at the two remaining shows will tell you, the tension between the band was so thick you could slice through it with a knife.” Oh, God, she had an accurate timeline. “So, what happened? How did it get to this? And who the ever-loving hell was this Emmy mentioned in ‘Virgin Tears’? Everyone wanted to know.”

  My ears burned. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. “Connor.”

  He didn’t say a word, just squeezed my hand.

  Becky told more of her story. “After tour, shit goes down. The band doesn’t talk to Connor for a while, he turns to drugs again, and then that bizarre interview surfaces where Connor is clearly high A.F.” It was my turn to squeeze Connor’s hand in support. “Connor’s got it bad. He’s in love. He’s apparently lost her. Again, we hear the name Emmy. And the world asks ‘Who the eff is Emmy?’. We still don’t know.”

  “Connor goes to rehab. We don’t see him for a while. Months pass and when Connor is clean, Left Turn announce they’re recording a new album. All seems to be well in the rock world. Or is it?” She pauses for affect. “Let’s go back a couple of months. In come The Ultra Violet Vixens, who we all know opened for Left Turn during their recent tour. They were pretty much nobodies before this,” Becky announces with disdain, “but Left Turn gave them a shot and made them what they are.”

  “Hey, that’s not true,” I argued. With a phone.

  “So UVV gets some traction, records start to sell and we begin to see more of them. They’re everywhere. Everyone wants a bite of the new, shiny apple that is The Vixens. Before long, it’s reported that there’s a fifth member of the group and she looks just like them. Sort of. Where The Vixens are all leather and big hair, this new one wears tight latex and says nothing.” Becky rolls her eyes. “As in, nothing. She’s a statue. She doesn’t even smile. UVV then announces this tagalong is not a member at all. She’s the new manager, The Violet Dame, they call her and she starts off by pulling her band out of a bad interview, which,” Becky reluctantly admits, “was a good move on her part because anyone who’s seen the interview? Ugh. Yikes. Sexist much?”

  “Time goes by and Connor Clash, our beloved rock star, starts to post about The Violet Dame. On the daily.” Becky actually sounds jealous. “I mean, what is it about this woman? No one knows who she is but somehow Connor seems to know her, as in know her, and we’re all like, how?” She shakes her head and her eyes widen. “We basically watch Connor profess his love to The Violet Dame and some of us are thinking, ‘Wow, that was fast. Didn’t he just love someone else a minute ago?’ Someone named Emmy?” She dragged out my name.

  I knew where this was going but when was she actually going to get there?

  This was taking forever.

  “Next thing you know, Connor and The Dame are a thing. In one InstaFotto post, he even refers to her as his wife. Now, this was never confirmed until very recently. But the question remains, where and when did they get married? We’ll get back to that in a moment.”

  Oh, crap. My ears rang. I was going to be sick.

  I had a feeling Becky Amour knew more than she was letting on.

  “Before I go on with this theory, I have someone I want to introduce to you. Now, this is a world first. I want it to be acknowledged that I, Becky Amour, have done all the detective work and found an answer. I present to you, The Violet Dame.” She held up the Marshall High yearbook and let the camera focus on my photo. “Emily Aldrich.”

  The photo wasn’t completely unflattering. My smile was small, closed mouth with my big glasses resting on the tip of my nose, covering half of my face. My mousy brown hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. The t-shirt I wore was two sizes too big and I had on zero makeup. It was me. And I had never been ashamed of who I was.

  Until now.

  Until the girl who tortured me in high school made it her pièce de résistance to ruin my life. Again.

  Connor put his hand on my knee. Becky continued, “I know what you’re thinking. Like, no way, that isn’t her. But it is and I can prove it. As I mentioned before, I wasn’t able to get tickets to see Left Turn but thanks to social media, I have found a few things that back up my theory. I present, Exhibit A. Left Turn arrive in Texas, at the hotel they’ll be staying at.” On screen was a short but loud and hectic video. “Now, in case you missed it, let me slow it down.” The video slowed and… there I was. She even went so far as to put a big red circle around me. “Ta-da.”

  “Exhibit B. I’ll be very surprised if you haven’t seen this video. It was early on in the tour and a security breach forced Left Turn to end their show early. But I’d be surprised if you noticed what I did. Let’s take a look.” The screen turned black a second before footage showed Left Turn on stage then the overzealous fan running towards Connor, pen in hand. Out of nowhere, from left of stage, I ran at the fan as fast as I could and when we collided, the crowd gasped and yelled. Security took hold of the fan. The stage lights turned off and chaos ensued. End of clip. Becky’s face appeared, smirking, “Did you see that? Let’s watch it again, shall we?” She paused the clip when I was mid-run then closed up on it and, again, a big red circle surrounded me. “Yep. Emily Aldrich.”

  Becky shrugged. “There’s more. I mean, a lot more. I don’t want to waste a lot of time on this so let’s speed it up.” There was more. Photos upon photos of proof of what she was saying was true. Hundreds of images of me being close to Left Turn, walking with them, eating with them, even one of Hell carrying me over his shoulder as I laughed. Becky was not messing around here. She’d done the work. “Emily Aldrich was extremely close to Left Turn. But how? After some digging, it turns out she was their tour assistant. Up until two days before tour. That’s when she was fired. Can you guess why?”

  A moment passed before Becky said, “Two days before the tour ended, Connor released ‘Virgin Tears.’ Coinciden
ce? Not even a little. I mean, it’s obvious he wrote the song for her. He didn’t even hide it.” She quoted Connor. “Moan for me, Emmy, ain’t. Ain’t nobody here.” She scoffed. “Connor was fucking Emily Aldrich and she got fired because of it. Now, I don’t even know how on earth a person like Emily Aldrich landed Connor Clash but she almost broke up the band. Even Noah Gamble was fighting for her at one point! I can’t even, guys. What the hell, right? I can’t help but think that this little nobody could’ve singlehandedly ended the greatest band in forever. Like, Connor! What the fuck were you thinking, dude?”

  With my free hand, I rubbed absently at my chest.

  Ouch.

  Becky appeared thoroughly annoyed before pasting on her wide, fake smile. “And that isn’t even the juiciest bit, guys. Oh, yeah. There’s more. According to the state of Nevada and thanks to the internet, I was able to find a marriage certificate. And you guys won’t believe it.” Our marriage certificate came up on screen with a few items blurred out. “Connor married Emily before he released ‘Virgin Tears.’ A week before, to be precise.” Becky’s chuckle told me she was loving this. “I mean, you’ve got to be a cold mothertrucker to break up with a girl this way. He released a song to the public about how much he didn’t care about her. He called her a ho. A Jane Doe. He literally said the words ‘You ain’t my wife’ and implied that he’d rather cut his cock off than be with ‘Emmy’. That is harsh, Connor, considering you let the world know you took her virginity. So very cold. I can’t imagine how that would’ve felt.”

  So that was everything. It was all out there. I tortured myself even more by scrolling down a little to see how many views this video had.

  Three point six million and climbing.

  Cool.

  “With all that I’ve said today, there are things I don’t know. How did Emily Aldrich go from this,”—my yearbook photo took up half of the screen, “to this?” A photograph of The Violet Dame wearing a tiny latex dress filled the other half of the screen.

  Yes, Emily and The Violet Dame were polar opposites.

  Did that mean I couldn’t be both?

  It didn’t. I was both of those people. They lived inside of me, equal parts making up the person I was today.

  Becky asked, “How have they survived all that has happened? How many women would have put up with what Connor has put Emily through? I mean, Connor must have a magical cocktapus for her to have forgiven him, right? Or,” the snake I remembered revealed herself as she stated, “maybe Emily is still the same frightened little girl she used to be, desperate for friends, eager-to-please oxygen thief she was back then.” Wow. Don’t hold back, Becky. “One thing’s for sure, ladies,” the nasty woman enlarged a photo from the yearbook. It was the one image that I hated, and I wasn’t surprised she saved it for last. I was Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Caitlyn Moore had purposely done my makeup poorly. The foundation was brown on my porcelain skin and my eyebrows had been completely painted black. It hurt to see it. I hated that photo so much I’d yanked it out of my yearbook and ripped it up into a hundred tiny pieces. Becky’s arrow hit its mark when she ended with, “If this is who ended up with Connor Clash, there’s hope for us all. Anyway, thanks for watching, and don’t forget to subscri-”

  I closed the video, cutting Becky off mid-sentence.

  My stomach turned.

  It was dark and quiet and deathly cold in our bedroom. I was shook. So much unkindness in the world. Today had not been a good day.

  After a while, Connor gripped my knee again. “Baby?”

  My response was instant. “I’m okay.” Of course, I wasn’t but it was something I needed to say out loud.

  Jaw tight and head spinning, I slid out of bed and slowly walked across the room to the bathroom. I saw Roxie’s head lift as she watched me closely. Luckily, I made it to the toilet just as the bile rose and the next thing I knew, Connor was holding my hair back and whispering words of tender encouragement as I threw up the entire contents of my stomach and more.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Here comes the sun.

  Emmy

  I wasn’t okay.

  The last three days had been chaos. Our phones rang constantly with notifications from social media, with friends calling to pledge their support, with media outlets trying to get the inside scoop. It was exhausting and overwhelming, and it wasn’t because I was upset. It was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  The night Becky decided to destroy me in every which way, Connor held me all night, letting me cry as he whispered that everything would be okay.

  I remained quiet and thoughtful but the tears kept coming.

  Would it be okay?

  I wasn’t as sure as he was.

  Inside me was such a deep-set sadness. A sadness that consumed me whole and at that point, it felt so unbearable that I was certain it would never leave me.

  The following day, everything hurt. Every muscle ached, every breath was labored, every blink felt like sandpaper over my eyes. I stayed in bed as long as I could and Connor let me. After trying to engage me in conversation a few times that morning, my single-word responses were enough for him to understand that I needed space. He had no idea of the inner turmoil that was my mind, how this ordeal has sparked a thought in me that wouldn’t fade.

  It was nearing 4:00 p.m. when I finally slid my sorry self out of bed. I put my hair up in a loose ponytail, threw on one of Connor’s hoodies and wrapped my arms around myself, knowing the inevitable was coming.

  Connor and I needed to talk.

  Making my way into the living area, I spotted him on the sofa, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. And my heart broke.

  I had humiliated him.

  It was a hard thing to come to terms with. It made me want to cry all over again.

  He didn’t hear me approach and when I put a gentle hand to the back of his neck, he startled. I took a step back, away from him, and he noticed. His eyes were red and there was a slight blackness settling under his eyes. Yes. He was as unrested as I was. I was so sorry for that.

  “We need to talk.” My voice sounded rough.

  Sitting tall, he gave me a grave single nod. “We do.”

  Here we go.

  “I wish I could take it all back.”

  Connor looked devastated. Absolutely distraught. “Baby, no.”

  But I needed to get this out. “I wish it never happened.”

  “Oh my God.” Connor closed his eyes and ran his hands down his face, letting out a grief-stricken, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  His reaction was confusing but I went on, my lips quivering with every additional word. “I know you have a reputation to uphold and I think I know where this is going but I just needed to say,” my voice cracked, “I never meant to humiliate you. I hoped my past would stay where it belonged. I am so sorry, Connor.”

  Suddenly, the air in the room changed, stilled.

  Connor’s hands fell from his face. “Wait. What?” He looked absolutely perplexed. “You think—” His brow furrowed. “You think I’m embarrassed of you?” His eyes widened and he struggled with the words. “I don’t understand. How? Why?”

  We looked at each other a moment and both of us seemed to be looking for something in the other’s features.

  Huh? “You’re not embarrassed?” I was stumped.

  He took in a deep breath, his face solemn, “Oh, I am. But not of you.” His fingers curled around my own, squeezing. “Never of you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I ended on a shrug because, what?

  Connor began to nod and I could tell from the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, whatever he was about to say was hard for him,. “Baby, I have never claimed to be anything I’m not. I’ve always been a selfish person, thinking about myself before anyone else and doing what Clash wants, because Clash is a fucking rockstar and I wanted to live the rockstar life.”

  My heart
sank.

  “I never planned on… you.”

  My chest tightened. The fear I felt then was palpable.

  I was losing Connor. And still, I said nothing.

  “You tell everyone that I taught you about life but I still don’t think you know what you taught me.” His words made me pause. “The first time I turned up at your hotel room was out of sheer curiosity. I’ll admit it. I wanted to push your buttons.” Connor’s lip twitched. “I was shocked as shit when you pushed right back.

  “It made me feel something that I never felt before. You were addictive so I kept coming back. I didn’t want to and promised myself I’d stop but always found myself at your door. I hoped that one day you’d tell me you couldn’t let me in and that would be it but you didn’t. Even when I was a total shit, you kept letting me in. I never felt accepted like that. Until you.”

  I didn’t know how to feel. All I could do was listen.

  “Being around you was fun. We laughed, we talked, we went on adventures together. I never knew what you were going to say or what you were going to do. You called me out on my bullshit. You fell in love with me and I trusted myself to let you go. But I couldn’t do it. I knew the tour would end and we’d have to move on but the thought of losing you made me crazy. So, I had a bonehead plan to force you to step back. One last adventure together. I would take you to the most tasteless and cheap chapel I could find in Vegas and make you realize that life with me wasn’t what you wanted.

  “I saw the exact moment it hit you. The exact second you understood what was happening. And you didn’t even hesitate. You had more confidence in me, at my worst, than I had in myself my entire life. You chose me. Loved me unconditionally. And I didn’t know how much I needed that from you until you gave it to me.”