Crocodile Tears: A Boy Meets Girl Story

by Daya Daniels

  I laugh. “It’s my mother actually.”

  “Uh huh. Liv, they’re beautiful. They’re all amazing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ve started painting more?”

  “Yes. I’m really a sketch artist but I paint as well.”

  Amanda nods. “You’re very talented, Liv.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, so the timeline we’re looking at is to have everything out to buyers in the next three months. A few pieces will be displayed in the show in New York that’s coming up soon. We’ll represent you of course if you cannot be present. We’ll work on a website and all the marketing pieces that’ll be run by you in the next few weeks. We’ll arrange for magazine write-ups and get you some reviews and your name out there. There’s a lot to be done.” She exhales. “But I’ve no doubt that you will be a success, Liv.”

  “I hope so.”

  Amanda’s eyes widen. “You will.” She pauses. “I have to ask but what name do you want your work to go under? I don’t know if you care if we market you as Olivia M. Stanton.”

  “My middle name,” I say firmly.

  “Just your middle name.”

  “Yes.”

  A bright smile stretches across Amanda’s face. “Okay, then.”

  I give her a smile back.

  “I want to thank you again for allowing us to represent you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “It’s important we keep in touch. We do still need to talk market prices, etcetera. So, I’ve given you all my numbers—home and mobile. You can call me anytime you need.”

  “Okay, it was good talking to you.”

  “Yes, you too.”

  Slowly, I close the laptop and stare out the window at all the helicopters and airplanes that head to McCarran International Airport. The red light on my phone blinks incessantly, begging for me to check my messages. I hit the faceplate, noticing I have a few missed calls. One from Stanton. Two from Olga and a text message from Audrey that says, “We’re off to Saint Tropez for two weeks. TTYL.”

  Fuck off.

  Immediately, I call home only to hear Olga pick up on the second ring.

  “How are you, Liv?” she singsongs into the receiver.

  “I’m good.”

  “That’s good, my darling.”

  I smile at her sweet voice, desperately willing myself not to cry.

  “How is the rock boy?”

  “His name is Zane, Olga.”

  “Zane,” she repeats, allowing me to hear the displeasure in her tone. “What kind of name is that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s the name his parents gave him. I happen to like it.”

  She groans as if she wants to say more but she doesn’t. I hear rattling dishes that she must be loading in the dishwasher.

  “Your parents just left yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I was told. They went to Saint Tropez.”

  “Yes, it’s a beautiful place in the summer, I’m told. I told your mother to stay out of the sun. She’s nearly the color of the terracotta tile here.”

  I giggle and cover my mouth.

  “But she doesn’t listen to an old lady like me. She thinks I’m crazy. When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. Whenever thoughts of having to go home fill my head, I instantly become dizzy and nauseous.

  “Ari came by here a few weeks ago. Have you seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, he’s such a sweet boy,” she goes on, mumbling words in Ukrainian. “He’s more for you, Liv—stable, responsible, not wild like the boy you like now.”

  I roll my eyes. “Olga, please.”

  “Okay, okay,” she whispers with a chuckle.

  Olga and I talk for nearly an hour about this and that. She joined a knitting group a few months ago. She promised to send a few blankets to me when they were done. I told her about my art and how I was preparing to have it out to the world soon. I didn’t miss that ridiculous house in the Hollywood Hills. I didn’t miss my brain-dead parents. I was taking one day at a time, still uncertain of what I would do next.

  I hold the phone in my hands still daydreaming after I hang up, when there’s a knock at the door. I stride across the room and open it, allowing a uniformed woman to push our breakfast in on a trolley. I’m starving. She sets everything out at a table near a window that has a spectacular view of the Strip below.

  “Thank you.”

  She only nods, when I slip her a tip.

  Zane heads out of the bedroom with damp hair, only wearing a pair of lounge pants. He presses a kiss to my lips and snatches his plate up and a glass of orange juice. I don’t speak, I only watch him in disbelief, as he disappears from my sight and heads for the recording studio down the hall. A few seconds later the door slams. I flinch at the sound.

  I stab into a sausage, feeling my temperature rising, praying that my head doesn’t explode. Shoving it into my mouth, I chew while I allow my tears to fall into my plate.

  Liv

  Zane hadn’t really spoken to me in what felt like three fucking days after the Ari incident. The required short words of yes and no were said, but no real conversation. I was crawling into myself.

  The Vs were set to play at the MGM Grand Garden Arena tomorrow night. Tonight, Zane and I remained in the recording studio that was tucked away in our apartment. It was dead quiet. The silence was only filled by his singing, the occasional strum of one of his guitars and the sound from the beautiful piano in the room.

  I swallowed down three beers before I came in here, hoping to temper my own frustration of being endlessly ignored. This had been going on for nearly two hours now. It was late afternoon. I’m slumped over the soundboard covered in sweat, with my cotton sleep shirt pushed up to my waist, revealing my ass. I’d already come twice. Zane’s already had three orgasms. I didn’t know how much more he had to give. I stare at him across the room. He’s shirtless with his chiseled abs on display, wearing a pair of lounge pants that drape off his hips, revealing the prominent strip of muscle that leads down to my favorite place.

  He writes. He plays his guitar while he sings and scribbles down more lyrics. He lights the occasional cigarette. He saunters over and fucks me for a little while, in whichever hole. He does a line of coke, drinks back a beer. Then...he does it all over again.

  Zane hits a switch, turning some music on when he decides to take another break. Overfloater by Soundgarden resonates from the stereo. The beat booms through the floors and settles somewhere in the middle of my chest.

  He inches up behind me, gathers my hair and shifts it to fall over one shoulder. A soft kiss is pressed to the nape of my neck, before he pushes into me from behind. I groan when he settles deep inside of me and begins to fuck me, hard. I press my fingers into the smooth black surface in front of me, as my mouth falls open. His hands slide up beneath me to squeeze my breasts and tease my nipples.

  I moan when he slows and slams into me again with his heavy weight.

  He kisses along my neck, running his hands lovingly over the skin along my throat. I clench around the length of him, as his flesh repeatedly parts my own. I’m coming again, while he slams into me, hitting my cervix with every glorious stroke. I scream and whimper his name as the orgasm wracks through my body, causing my thighs to shiver. Zane growls and pulls out slowly, pushing into my asshole and settles into a rhythm again. I’m exhausted, desperate for bed and for a reprieve from being filled by him.

  I massage my clit as he slides in and out of the tight passage. Groans and hisses leave his lips. He leans over and wraps his hand around my throat like a Neanderthal, grazing his lips against the shell of my ear.

  “You feel so fucking good, Liv. You like your ass being filled?”

  “Yes,” I squeak out.

  “Good girl. I like filling this pretty thing.”

  Zane grunts loud, fucking me harder, holding me in his grip. A savage noise leaves his mouth when he jerks deep ins
ide of me, filling me with everything from his balls.

  He backs away from me, covered in sweat. He throws his hands up in the air and mumbles something still breathing heavily. He tucks himself back in his pants and heads over to a table where he dips down and snorts two more lines. I stand shakily, and furiously yank my sleep shirt down. I attempt to wipe up all the mess that slicks my skin but it’s too much. I’m drowning in it.

  Zane slow walks back into the studio room and takes a seat on the stool, picking up one of his guitars. I glare at him in disbelief. I might as well not even be here! He hits a chord that echoes loud. It’s beautiful but it’s angry—much like I feel right now. I feel used and ig-fucking-nored.

  I’m about to have an epic meltdown. I wipe my tears. I stomp over to the table where the white powder, full bottles of beer, empty glasses, ashtrays, and a full unopened bottle of Jack Daniels whisky rest. If Zane wants to be in his own world, where only he matters and I don’t exist, then maybe I should find my own place there too! Fuck it. I wouldn’t hurt anymore. I wouldn’t constantly need his or anyone’s approval. I wouldn’t be the attention whore that I am. I wipe my tears and sniffle, listening to him sing in the distance. His voice is beautiful and so is his music but I don’t care about that right now. Right now, I’m just pissed.

  I’ve seen Zane do this a million times. It couldn’t be that hard. I drop my head low and brush some of my hair back, tucking it behind my ears. I pick up the white piece of paper that’s been rolled into a small tube. I place it in front of the line, lean down and ease it into my nostril. I’m about to snort, when in a flash everything in front of me is swiped off the table by a muscular tatted arm and crashes to the floor.

  I suck a nervous breath of air and crane my neck up to look at Zane, who is fuming only an inch away from my face. I stand straight. He steps forward and places his hands on my shoulders.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Liv?” he roars in my face.

  The boom of his voice is deafening. I stare into his blazing eyes, while he screams at me. His hair is all over the place and his spittle lands on my lips when he yells.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, when his voice cracks.

  “Why do you do this?” I ask in a small voice.

  “Are you judging me, Liv? Please don’t judge me. We don’t do that. You and I. We don’t judge each other. It’s what makes us, us. Don’t do that, Liv.” He goes on, shaking his index finger at me, giving me an annoyed stare.

  “I just—”

  “Don’t judge me, Liv, because I seem to recall that you were standing on the edge of a-fucking-cliff when we first met.” He hisses right into my face. “Let’s not forget that.”

  Without thinking, I lift my hand and slap him, hard.

  He stands unaffected and narrows his eyes at me, then lets out a soft laugh that makes me want to dick-punch him. My palm is on fire but so am I.

  I allow him to calm but his chest is still heaving with every breath he takes. After a moment, he speaks.

  “I’m sorry, Liv,” he whispers, running a hand over the stubble along his jaw. “Just tell me why.” He goes on, eyeing over the mess on the floor near the table.

  I don’t respond. He repeats his question. When I don’t answer, he shakes me and dips down lower to look at me, as if he’s hoping to find the answer I can’t give him.

  It’s mortuary quiet for nearly a minute. Zane backs away from me and fists his hair in his hands. He mutters something, I don’t understand. I only stand there, while he talks to himself.

  He stalks back towards me. “Don’t ever fucking do that, Liv!”

  I bite back my words at first but then I just don’t give a fuck, so I let it rip. “You do it! That’s what you want, over there!” I screech, pointing at everything on the floor. “So, why can’t I do it? You fucking do it, you asshole!”

  Zane’s face hardens. He steps towards me and gives me a disbelieving look. “You think this is what I want for myself, Liv? To be a-fucking-cliché!” he yells,

  glaring at me. His face is covered in sweat and tears threaten to slip from his

  stormy eyes. I’ve never seen him like this. I wipe my own, taking in how undone he is.

  “I don’t want this for myself, Liv. I don’t want any of this. Before, I didn’t care. Now. Now. I don’t know. Things are different—everything’s different.” He rambles on, heading away from me.

  I sniffle, drop my head and stare at the floor. I feel Zane approach. He runs his fingers over my cheek nudging me to look up at him.

  “Can’t you see I’m sick, Liv?” he breathes out.

  I bite my lip, feeling my tears dribble over them and slip into my mouth, salty and warm.

  “Can’t you see I’m sick, baby girl?” His voice lifts an octave. “I’m sick.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “Promise me, you’ll never do that.”

  “I promise.”

  Zane grabs my shoulders and shakes me again. “Promise, Liv.”

  “I promise,” I whisper.

  Zane steps away, wipes his wet face and disappears somewhere.

  Zane

  I slip into bed next to Liv running my finger over her soft skin. I rest my chin on my palm, looking down in her pretty face as she looks out the window. Her eyes are the greyest I’ve seen them in a long time and I know it’s because she’s sad. I’m sad that she’s sad. I cup her cheek and press a kiss to her lips.

  “It was this one night...” I sigh. “We had back-to-back performances and The Vs were travelling across Texas together, on one tour bus. I was tired. I was irritable. I don’t know. I was every fucking thing this one night.

  “I’d experimented with my share of drugs. You know weed, mostly. I’d snorted a bit of cocaine before but nothing like this.”

  Liv’s eyes widen and she sits up just a little bit to listen to my story. She’s surprised to hear me speak and I don’t blame her. Liv’s never asked me about this and I’ve never told anyone.

  “This guy that one of the roadies knew watched us rehearse. He was a real nerdy guy, not the type of dude anyone would assume was a drug dealer. He pulled a few small baggies from his pocket. I took one from him and looked it over. I tasted it. It was this mother of pearl, Colombian shit. It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen here. It wasn’t the disgusting, gasoline-tasting, baby piss-smelling shit that you find most of the time. This stuff was something else.”

  Liv inhales, running her fingers over the top of my hand.

  “I asked him how much and he sort of waved me away. He said it was free, you know. This guy was the fucking devil.” I laugh.

  “That night I did a few lines and I’ve been hooked ever since then.”

  “You stopped.”

  “I did, for a while. I wanted to but...the withdrawals.”

  Liv presses her index finger to my lips.

  I take her hand in mine and kiss it. “Everything’s different now,” I whisper, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want this anymore, Liv.”

  She nods. “What do you mean?”

  I let out a breath. “I don’t want this anymore, Liv. I don’t want any of it.”

  “You don’t want to be a part of the band anymore,” she says knowingly.

  I don’t respond, only shake my head and run my fingers over her thighs that I want to crawl in between.

  “What about the contract?”

  “Fuck the contract.”

  Liv sighs. “It’ll be a shit storm, legally, Zane,” she mumbles.

  “I want to be more, Liv. I want to write music independently, produce songs for other artists, do my own thing. I don’t want to be on stage at the rate I am anymore. I don’t want to be on tour because the record company tells me I have to be.”

  Liv nods and drags her fingers over my lips.

  “I want to be free, Liv, in more ways than one. My life isn’t my own to control right now and it’s killing me.”

  “I’m sorry for slapping you,” she says
in a small voice.

  “It’s okay. I deserved it. I’m sorry for what I said to you, Liv.”

  “Zane.”

  “Please, Liv. It’s fine. I’ve been hit a lot harder trust me. It’s no big deal.”

  Liv pulls me into her. I slide in between her thighs and rest my cheek on her stomach. I press my face into the soft skin there and just rest, while she fingers through my hair. I love Liv more than I think she truly understands. She’s the only thing that matters to me now. She’s the only thing I care about...Liv and the music.

  I was still seething about the things that asshole Ari Berg said to me. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on why. It wasn’t because he’d been with Liv before. Okay, maybe part of it was... But I considered everything he said, repeating the words in my head. I knew somewhere deep down, the reason why the things the fucker said grated so badly against my nerves, was because they were true. The last thing I ever want to do is pull Liv down with me or let her fall into this life, the way I had. I’d let her go first, before that ever happened. This woman was everything to me.

  I let out a loud exhale and breathe in the scent of her skin.

  Outside of Liv, the only other person that knew how much this life was swallowing me was Yandi. I’d made my decision. After this tour, I was done with being a part of The Vigilantes. I needed to go and live my own life.

  I kiss a line down Liv’s taut stomach, parting her legs with my palm. She shifts and lets out a sigh, when I kiss along her seam. Her fingers move through my hair, nudging me on. She wants this and by the involuntary shiver in her left thigh, she wants it badly. I let out a groan, running my tongue up and down her slit, tasting her wetness. I’m a hungry man and I have no problem with self-service.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Zane

  “Where the fuck is he?” Barry thunders, slamming his clipboard down and kicking a pile of cymbals on the floor. “Goddamn it! Where the fuck is he!”

  It had been two hours already and Cash was still nowhere to be found. He was late for rehearsal. What was new?