by Shey Stahl
He says nothing more, at least not with his words because now he’s holding my face in his palms. His fingers are hot on my cool skin exposed outside of the water, the sensation both relaxing and jolting at the same time. Oh, how I crave this touch.
“You should quit smoking.”
His lips barely touch steamy skin. “You should stop talking,” he whispers with the slightest pressure to my lips. “And start fucking.”
My hands shake as I bring them to cover his. “Okay.”
He kisses me once more, then moves his mouth lower, to the purple marks on my throat from his fingers. His warm breath blowing over my shivering skin exposed to the cool night air. “How are you going to explain this?”
My lip catches between my teeth, green locked on harsh blue as I breathe out, “The wolf was hungry, and I was happy to be the prey.”
Beneath a starry night, I’m hypnotized by a rough touch and the rhythm of his words. For now, for tonight, while I pretend this means something. My heart is so full. I’ve finally found my place in the world where I don’t question whether or not I belong. Even if it’s in hiding and only meant for us, I belong here with the man possessing my every thought.
MAYBE IT’S BETTER THIS WAY
REVEL
Christmas Eve, Red leaves on a flight to LA, and I’m left alone on Christmas. It’s my twenty-fifth birthday.
I don’t tell her.
I know what you’re thinking. I should have asked her to stay, or at the very least told her it was my birthday. I didn’t because she would have stayed and maybe that’s why I didn’t tell her. I’m not sure of the answer.
I think about it long after she’s gone. Longer than I want to. Believe it or not, I’ve never invited anyone up to my cabin with me. So why Red? Because I needed time alone with her to understand where this is going. And also, I didn’t want her with my band or near Breckin, so that meant I had to take her with me.
The question remains, how do I feel about her?
Not a fucking clue. If anything, I’m worse with indecisiveness. I’m swimming in feelings I don’t understand, nor do I want to. So I drink because it’s what I do.
I finish off that bottle of Middleton that was in the cabin, and then I move onto wine and whatever else I can find to keep from thinking of her.
My brothers call to wish me a happy birthday and Merry Christmas. It always sucked having my birthday on Christmas growing up because it wasn’t like you could celebrate either.
Oma calls me to wish me a happy birthday. I send the call to voice mail. I’m drunk, and I know the lecture that’ll come with it. “Rev, you’re killing yourself.”
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t drink to forget. I do it because it’s an addiction and I crave the feeling of numbness that comes with it. I’m no longer fragile. I’m reactive. Addiction in many ways is simply an obsession, and it takes over your mind and every thought that comes with it.
I started drinking when I was eleven. Eleven fucking years old and I was stealing mini bottles from the local liquor store because if I downed one of those before bed, I slept and without them, I didn’t. I don’t know why but I remember being the only one awake at night and hiding under Oma’s bed until the sun came up because her freaky-ass dolls scared the shit out of me. When I was twelve, I set them on fire. She was not pleased.
Still, I didn’t drink to forget. I drank because I liked the way it made me feel. And it just went from there. Now if I don’t drink, you don’t want to be around me.
And that’s why I’m alone on my birthday. I push people away because it’s easier than apologizing for being unlovable. But with Princess, I’m not just falling, I’m falling into something different, a new kind of beautiful, and I don’t have the energy to keep pushing her away. I’m drowning, and she needs to walk away because she’s the type of girl who’d jump in to save me.
MERRY AND MOPING
TAYLAN
Christmas Eve, Bella picks me up at a private airstrip in LA with Ben and my driver, Matthew. I’m moping and less than thrilled to be with anyone but Revel. I think about him constantly and with every sore twist of my body, I’m reminded of him.
Within minutes of picking me up, Bella notices my neck. Her eyes about pop out of their sockets. “Girl, look at your neck!” She grabs my cheeks between her palms, her face inches from mine. “Did someone choke you? I’ll kill him. Did he hurt you? Is that why your eyes are all puffy?”
I shake out of her grasp, reaching for the button to roll up the window between us and the front seat. “He didn’t hurt me,” I tell her, fighting off a smile.
“What in the world did he. . . .” Her words die off as she places her hand around my neck, mimicking the bruises with her fingertips. “Oh, I see. There’s wild in those red roots after all.”
My cheeks bloom the color of my hair. “Stop.”
Bella settles into her seat beside me, grinning. “Was it good?”
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “There isn’t a word to describe how good it was.”
“Details.” She twists in her seat once again and slaps her hand to my knee. “I want details. And make them good.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“The hell there isn’t.” She squints at me. “You have bruises on your neck.” She leans forward, brushing her hair from her face to get a better look at me. “Is he like, really rough? Did he tie you up? Handcuff you? Spank? I need details.”
“He didn’t use anything besides his hands,” I tell her, winking.
She studies me for a few minutes and then leans back in the seat, sighing like she needs a cigarette at the thought. “Holy. Hell.”
“Uh-huh.”
Scrolling through my phone, I look at the numerous messages from Leddy and my PR staff all asking if I want to comment on my recent involvement with Revel. I message “No comment” to all of them. The more time spent around Revel, the more I begin to take on his way of thinking. I think it’s funny how the media expects an explanation on everything. If a celebrity doesn’t want to comment on their personal life, they shouldn’t have to. It’s not like you have to tell your neighbor why you walk around naked at three in the morning eating a pint of Chunky Monkey. It’s none of their damn business.
I think it’s safe to say Rev has totally worn off on me. Because I used to think I had to explain every move I made. Not anymore. The new Taylan Ash is hardcore.
And covered in bruises.
As a little girl, I loved Christmas with my family. Even into my teens and after my career took precedent, being at home with my family around the holidays was always a way to unwind and recharge.
After spending three days with Revel, my family is boring.
I purposely search out Bella, needing her constant chatter to keep my mind busy. Sitting with a glass of eggnog and whiskey, she pats the seat next to her. I listen as she talks about our cousin Abby, who’s dating who and who looks pregnant, but she’s not sure if they are.
An hour passes and my thoughts are never far from him.
“I hate spending Christmas at home. Next year, let’s go to Hawaii or The Bahamas for Christmas.”
“Sounds great to me. Can we skip you buying gifts for your entire band and their family too because I love to shop, but it’s crazy the amount of people you buy for? You don’t have to do that.”
She’s right. “I know, but I’d feel bad if I didn’t.”
Bella raises her glass of what I think is champagne, pineapple juice, and two cherries. Her favorite drink. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to. You pay them a salary already.”
“I know I’m too nice.”
Smiling, she pops the collar of her leather jacket. “Yeah, ya are. Thanks, by the way.”
I laugh, lifting my own drink to my lips. “Merry Christmas?”
“You know my style so well.” Lifting her phone up, she wiggles it back and forth. “Did you call loverboy to wish him a happy birthday or did you give him a parting gift before you left?”
>
Birthday? I snap my eyes to hers and practically choke on my eggnog. Not exactly a drink you want to snort either. “Whose birthday?”
“Revel’s. He’s a Christmas baby.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times. “What?” I snap, entirely too loud and grab her by the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me! I didn’t know it was his birthday.”
She eyes my grip on her tiny arm. “Hands off the jacket. And how did you not know it was his birthday?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never investigated him like you must have.” I dig out my phone and send Revel a text.
Me: You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!
Naturally, he doesn’t reply. He has a cell phone, but I’ve never seen him use it let alone remember where he put it. Then I start to think, maybe that’s why he said he wanted to be alone. Laughing and Christmas music fill the room, distracting both Bella and me. My parents throw extravagant Christmas parties at their home in Malibu. I can see Mom in the kitchen with her sisters, discussing decorations or whatever else it is they’re obsessing over. I love my mom, she’s absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, but I’ve always wondered about her true feelings about me, yet I’ve never dared to ask. Did she want me? Was I planned? How come they never had any more kids? Is she proud of me? Did I meet her expectations?
If I had a daughter, she’d never wonder about any of that because I’d tell her over and over again how much she means to me. While I heard I love you, and we’re proud of you, I always questioned the authenticity of it.
“There’s my baby girl!” Mom gushes, reaching for me as she comes into the room Bella and I are hiding out in. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it,” she hints, like she knew where I was. Which she probably did.
Isn’t my mom beautiful? Long silky blonde hair, bright-blue eyes. . . I have no idea where my red hair and green eyes came from because neither one of my parents have red hair or green eyes. Do you notice my mom’s dress? It’s the topic of conversations tonight with its elegant, yet extravagant neckline and black sequins. Her dress probably cost more than your first car, but she wears it well. And to think my dad cheated on her. I can’t even imagine what he could have possibly been thinking, or if she knows. I’m dying to ask her, but I never would. My eyes drift to my dad in the distance, his brothers surrounding him, laughing and having a good time with his family.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, unable to keep the heat from my cheeks and the smile on my face. I’m also wearing a scarf now to hide my marks.
Mom smiles warmly, shifting her weight from one hip to the next. “You’re not actually dating that boy from Revved, are you, honey?”
Boy? Ha. That’s funny. A boy wouldn’t be capable of doing what he did to me. Smiling, I wink at my mom and step back about a foot. “You look amazing, Mom.” I’m getting rather good at this deflecting thing.
“I know my daughter and she’s hiding a secret.” She brushes her hair off her shoulder, the Christmas lights from the nearby trees reflecting off her dress making it look like fireworks on the marble floor beneath her feet.
It’s not the secret part that I trip over. It’s the part where she says, “I know my daughter.”
Does she? Does she know that I can’t stand tomatoes and at every concert I’ve ever performed I have pancakes the morning before the show. It never fails. Two of them to be exact with peanut butter and a drizzle of syrup. Does she know that before I walk on stage, Bella is always the last person to wish me luck? Not my dad, not my mom, always Bells.
Thankfully, it’s Bella who rescues me now. “You have an early flight to Denver in the morning,” she notes, nodding to the door with her hand on my arm.
My eyes drift to my dad, still in the other room, and then back to my mom. I don’t know why, but I hug her again. Maybe to say I’m sorry she married a man who doesn’t respect her, or maybe to say I’m sorry you married a man you don’t respect enough. I don’t know because all I’ve ever seen from them was a loving relationship. Maybe it was a lie all along. Maybe it’s like the image they created for me. To the public, I’m perfection, but deep down, I’m none of that. I have faults, apprehensions, insecurities, and the very last thing they want for me is to have me dating the bad boy of the rock-and-roll world.
On the way to my home in Los Angeles, I stare out the window of the sedan, a familiar sight. Me behind tinted glass and my mind wandering. I think of Revel sitting alone, drinking, celebrating his birthday by himself, and my heart hurts for him.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, staring at my text to him that remains unanswered.
DAY DRINKING
REVEL
I’m sure you already know this by now, but I day drink. And night drink. Shit, I never stop so it’s fair to say, I drink, and leave it at that. Like I said before, the reasons aren’t what you think they are, but whatever. I don’t care at this point.
Two days after Christmas, I’m on my bus outside the Van Andel Arena in Grand Rapids. The other guys are out to breakfast somewhere and here I sit, drinking and thinking of her. I want to hate her. I want to because I didn’t want to fall for her, and I feel it coming. The one moment when I know there’s no turning back. I hate her for what she represents, and I don’t even know what it is she represents besides purity, and that doesn’t fucking exist in the world anymore.
The door to the bus opens, and I regret not locking it when the guys left. But to be honest, I left it open for her.
“Happy birthday.”
I don’t have to look up to know whose voice that is, nor do I want to look up.
Wrong her.
I’m pretty good at writing people off. If you fuck me over, I’m content with never talking to you again. Only it doesn’t work in this case because every other day for the last month, I’ve had to see this bitch and her cheating eyes. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know, but you didn’t pick up your phone on Christmas.”
“What are you doing here?” I push my hand through my hair and thinking maybe we should put a sign on the bus that says “cheating whores not allowed,” but then again that would mean half the members of the band wouldn’t be allowed on either.
“Looking for you.”
Every time I look at Hensley, I wonder what she was thinking when she fucked him. Was she thinking of me? What about when the test revealed two pink lines, did she think of me then? Because I know for fucking sure she was thinking of me when she passed out on stage from hemorrhaging. I know she was thinking of me when she miscarried. I know because I drove her to the hospital. I stayed with her in the ER because that guy she was thinking about when she cheated on me, he told her to “take care of it” without involving him. He wrote her a check for fifty thousand to keep her mouth shut about who the father was. And now, she’s still thinking of me. She’s still in my goddamn face every other day.
“Well, you found me.” I sigh, reaching for my cigarettes and flask. Standing, I shove the flask in my back pocket. “Now leave.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she fidgets with the zipper on her sweatshirt and runs her fingers through her short blue and purple hair that’s spiked today. I used to think Hensley’s hair was cute. Something different in a world full of plastic beauty molded by Hollywood. Now I crave a long curtain of thick red curls that tickle my nose and frame honest emeralds. “Is it true you spent Christmas with her?”
Look at the watery eyes and flushed cheeks. I want to lie just to hurt. I want to lie to deflect the vulnerability I know I still have around her. My hands shake, a lump rising in my throat. “I spent Christmas alone.”
“How long have you had a crush on the princess of pop?”
Anger surfaces in my cheeks. My jaw clenches uncontrollably. I take a drink from my flask despite the sun only being up for hours. “Go away.”
Hensley snorts, rolling her eyes. “Figures I wouldn’t get an honest answer out of you.” She licks her lips, eyes narrowing, waiting for me to sa
y something. This is what she does. She digs and provokes, always wanting an emotional reaction. From a girl who lacked connection as a child with anyone, she needs one now. Only I’m not the one to give it to her any longer.
I don’t answer her.
The door opens, and again, I don’t have to look up to know who it is. I know when she’s in a room.
Hensley laughs, her back against the stripper pole. She rolls her head toward Red standing wide-eyed next to the door, dressed in all black like she’s trying to hide from someone. “Oh, uh. . . . Sorry.” My eyes find Red’s, memories of shared smiles and cold toes linger. “Should I leave?” she asks, pushing the words out in a shaky sigh.
I light a cigarette, drawing in a breath. On the exhale, I shake my head and say, “No. She’s leaving.” I look to Hensley. “Leave.”
Hensley snorts, her jaw tight, her knuckles white. Pushing off the pole, she zips her jacket up.
Red sets her phone down on the counter next to the door but doesn’t engage conversation with Hensley as they cross paths. She whispers something to Red, low enough I can’t hear it.
I swallow, my hands still trembling, eyes darting to the girl watching me. The one fighting to keep her eyes expressionless in the presence of evil.
I draw in a smoke-filled breath, and then another when I feel the seat next to me dip. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.” I’m surprised she isn’t asking about Hensley, and why she was in here, but something tells me that’s the difference between those two. She’s not accusing or assuming there was something going on. I find it refreshing in a world of highly insecure women.
I put out the cigarette, shrug, and then smile lightly as I lean over and kiss her temple. “So?”
“I wish you would have told me.” Her voice is soft and caring and so unlike the girl who just left. She doesn’t want anything from me but this, the connection. “We could have celebrated.”
“I didn’t want to. If I wanted you to know, I would have said something.”
