Revel

by Shey Stahl

  I shift my eyes to hers, curious as to why she went for a married man. And all this time, through the news breaking, this is the first time my mom crosses my mind. I wonder, briefly, what she’s thinking today. Does she care? Did she know all along? Will she divorce him now? “So why my dad then?” I finally ask Hensley when she shifts her stance nervously. For someone who always appears so confident around me, she’s nothing like that now.

  “He was a man, more established, older, kinder, and he swept me off my feet. It’s easy to make excuses, even though you know what you’re doing is wrong. I’m not proud of what I did, what I destroyed, but I own it. I ruined a lot of people’s lives in the process and lost my best friend. He will be my biggest regret.”

  “Did you know about my dad offering Revel money to stay away from me?”

  She nods. “I did. He didn’t want Revel to tell you about us. He didn’t take the money nor did he agree to anything.”

  And then she waits, like I’m supposed to say something in reply. I have nothing for her. What am I supposed to do, tell her she’s forgiven? “You need to leave,” is all I can respond with. I don’t want her here. I want numbness. I want an escape. I don’t want to hear my own heart beating let alone feel tears of anger sliding down my cheeks.

  Hensley leaves as Liz comes in after her. Her face full of emotion, yet blank at the same time. “They released him.”

  I nod.

  “We can’t find him.”

  Again, I nod.

  I know where he’s heading. My hotel room.

  “Just go. I’ll deal with him when he gets here.” I blink back tears, trying not to sink. This is all too real. One blink at a time as the anger, betrayal and sadness creeps in.

  My heart beats erratically, my emotions all over the place. I don’t know where we stand or what’s going to happen next. Revel shows up at my hotel room two hours after he’s released from jail. He lingers by the door, his eyes downcast and shoulders hunched. I take in his appearance, unsure of what to say to him. He’s showered and thankfully out of his bloody clothes, and in fresh ones, he looks worse than he did last night. Both eyes are swollen and red, the right more than the left. His right hand is in a splint, and there’s cuts on his lips, chin, and below his left eye. Like I said, he’s a mess.

  “Did you know this whole time?” I ask him. He’s sitting beside me on the bed now, smoking, bouncing his knee to the point it’s really annoying the crap out of me. “Did you know it was him she was sleeping with?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I knew from the beginning,” he answers honestly, but it’s the break in his words that surprise me. He’s angry, on the verge of either blowing up again or walking away. The gasp of breath he sucks in when he snubs his cigarette moves my attention completely to him. “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

  “Is that why this is going on?” I motion between us. “Did you, I mean—”

  “This?” He laughs, shaking his head as he coughs out a breath filled with smoke wandering up over his head. “C’mon, Princess, I wouldn’t exactly classify what I do to you as this.” His hand moves up my thigh and though I welcome the touch, the electrifying sensation that’s always there, I want answers I know he has.

  “Stop it.” I push his hand away. “Did you know my dad was the one who got Hensley pregnant? Is that why you started this? To get back at him? I want the truth.”

  Revel’s glare, his intensity, it’s almost too much to bear. “Yes, and no,” he finally admits.

  Is this some kind of sick joke?

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you knew all that shit.”

  Staring me down, his eyes are lost. My emotion, my tears, they push him toward the only reaction he knows—straight to the boiling point. “Don’t spin this all on me. That’s not fair and you know it. You knew, you just refused to see it, and us, you know that shit wasn’t orchestrated. What I said, what I did to you, that was real and happened without me wanting it to.”

  “I didn’t know for sure it was Hensley my dad had been with.” I fully realize that deep down I knew, but I kept pushing it aside.

  Revel shakes his head, running his hand over his jaw. “You did, you just refused to acknowledge it.”

  There’s truth in that.

  “You could have told me,” I remind him.

  “Are you fucking serious?” Revel yells, standing up. “Why the fuck was that my responsibility?” He takes a step forward, an angry step, but he isn’t going to hurt me. I know that. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You were just too goddamn naïve to see what was right in front of your face the entire time.”

  I watch his face, the words, the reaction, the anger, it’s all there. He reaches for me, but I resist. “Don’t touch me,” I warn, but my voice shakes, and I yank my hands out of his reach.

  He laughs, but he steps back. “Don’t touch you?” He rolls his eyes, looking at the wall, and then back to me. “Okay,” he says, nodding like I’m playing a game with him, and he’s playing along just to appease me. But this isn’t a game, and he fucking knows it. “You know, tell me something, Red. Because I’m really fucking curious. Why did you come on this tour?” He sounds honestly interested in my reply, but his eyes tell me otherwise. He’s drunk. Again.

  “You’ve been out of jail for two hours and you’re drunk, as usual. This is ridiculous, Revel. You need to stop drinking.”

  He laughs, patting his pockets for his cigarettes again. Only they’re on the end table next to the bed, right in front of him and he can’t see them. “I’ve been drunk since you met me. Now answer the question.”

  “Maybe you need to get some help.”

  His eyes drift lazily to mine as he sits next to me again. “Maybe I found it.”

  I push his hands away, refusing to let him use me as a crutch for his inability to say no. “I can’t be that for you. You’ve used me enough.”

  My head tells me he’s cold, disturbed, and will never be what I need. So why, even after all the hell he’s put me through, do I still want him?

  His bloodshot reckless eyes don’t leave mine, still out of control and wild like his love. “I used you? Tell me why you came on this tour,” he demands.

  He thinks I used him. “Why does that matter?” My hand sweeps over my tears, trying to breathe and focus.

  “It matters,” he says, his voice sharper now. “Tell me the fucking truth. You didn’t have to. Why? Why did you want to go on this tour so badly? Why did you throw away everything—the perfect life—for this?”

  “I wanted something different. I didn’t know it, but I wanted you and what you showed me.” There it is. My truth. He can take it or leave it, or ignore it completely. Do you notice the quick gasps of air I’m taking in and the way I can’t seem to get enough of it? I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I’m sure of it. I’m going to die of hyperventilation. In the midst of all this, I choke on my tears, trying to clear my throat, and then give up and cry into my hands. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. My chest and lungs struggle to gain control.

  He takes in my words, all of them. Our eyes stay connected until he breaks away. “Jesus.” Revel stands and presses his head into the doorframe of the bathroom, tightly gripping the back of his neck with both hands. The way his chest is heaving, I can tell he’s attempting to control his anger. His breath comes in short gasping spurts. “I fucking hate him. I hate him and her and all this goddamn bullshit!” He puts his hands on his hips, still facing the wall. His head dips forward and he turns toward me. “For the record, I never meant to hurt you.” His eyes slide to mine with what seems like disappointment. “I wanted . . . God . . . Red . . . .” He swallows, choking back tears, but it does nothing as they continue to fall. “It wasn’t because of him. It’s wasn’t because of her. Everything I said I felt for you was the truth.”

  His words, the truth, it crashes over my soul, breaks my bones, and pollutes my blood. I reach for him. I can’t take it any longer. All anger and emotion aside, I want hi
s touch. He holds me tighter, pulling himself to me while we cry, the two of us overwhelmed by the connection we can’t ignore. “I know it was.”

  It’s late. We’re still in my hotel room. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to think, let alone leave this room. “Stay here with me tonight?” Revel asks, his face buried in my neck as we lie together.

  I roll to my side on the bed, pushing away from him and sitting up. I look back at him then the clock, but I don’t say anything.

  Turning me around, his hands frame my face, his eyes, bloodshot and pleading. He isn’t going to beg me to stay with him, given it’s my room, but deep down I know he will if I want him to. “I know I fucked up.”

  I nod, focusing on his lashes and then deeper into his eyes, wanting to trust him.

  His touch is heavy and slow. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I love you,” he says. “Tell me this is okay.” His words are breathless against my skin.

  My body tenses, not because of his touch, but his words. He’s so lost inside I’m not even sure he realizes this is the first time he’s said he loved me.

  The sound of metal and leather unfastening brings me back to the moment, and I open my eyes to see him staring at me, begging for more. When I reach for him, he takes both my hands and holds my wrists together in one hand above my head near the headboard, gently this time. “Tell me to stop, tell me to leave, and I will,” he says through his teeth. “Tell me that you don’t love me.” His hips push forward, his heated stare on mine, burning me. “Fucking say it,” he growls, low and primal.

  But I can’t. I won’t tell him a lie just because he doesn’t want to hear the words. He wants to remain unlovable. It’s safer there.

  Reaching between our hips, he pushes his jeans lower with his right hand. My breath catches when he presses himself against me. I know sex isn’t the answer. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I crave the closeness, the reassurance that even if it’s just inside this room, we haven’t destroyed it all.

  “Tell me,” he whispers, his face hidden in the crook of my neck.

  I cry and stare at the cotton-white ceiling as I whisper, “I love you,” in his ear, knowing his reaction won’t be what I want.

  “You shouldn’t.” His response is shaky, his body trembling above mine.

  He’s gentle with me, and though it might be too late for us, he makes love to me for the first time, slowly pouring everything he hadn’t given me before into his movements. I know when I emerge from the haze of him, I’ll be left empty and undefined, barely recognizable.

  He won’t fall.

  Not at all.

  Not ever a chance.

  What a silly notion that would be.

  But he does. He falls hard, and this time, I can’t catch him.

  A RECKLESS MIND

  REVEL

  I’m out of my mind when it comes to her, and I don’t know what I’m doing. Remember when I told her, Don’t bite the apple, Red. Don’t do it?

  She didn’t listen. Actually, let me rephrase that one. We didn’t fucking listen. And now the poison has taken over like a nasty infection. Me being the infection.

  She hates me, or should, and that fear deep in her eyes, it wasn’t for me, but because of me and the alcohol in my veins. I purposely tried to push her away, and now look what I’ve done, made her unsure and scared.

  Red’s lips part, her neck revealed for me. Her back arches, curling her fingers into the sheets. Her knees bend, her thighs squeezing me, begging me closer.

  I watch her rock against me, desperate for more and I let myself believe her words, the love, even if when I leave this room, they won’t matter.

  She moans beneath me, her body clinging to mine. Her head tips back, and I bend my own, dragging my lips over her throat. Despite my usual aggressive lovemaking with her, I don’t want to mark her body this time. I want her to have marks on her heart from me. I want her heart to beat for me and remember when I’m gone, I’m still with her.

  Her legs tremble, heels digging into my thighs. She knows what I’m doing, and maybe it scares her, but regardless, she knows what’s happening, or what will eventually. Remember when I said you’d hate me by the end of this? We’re almost there or maybe we’re in the middle of it.

  Grasping her wrists tighter, I push deep inside her at the same time as I kiss her. When she cries out, my lips silence her sadness I refuse to acknowledge. Anxious, I avoid eye contact. I drag my kiss, my tongue, my body against hers to avoid reality and the emotion drowning me. Possessiveness races through my veins, screams to be let loose, refusing to let go, but I withhold. This girl is mine, and I don’t want to let go. These cries are mine. The way her body welds into mine—that’s mine, too. No one can take that from me tonight.

  Digging my fingers into her hips, I groan at the contact of being wrapped around her, spread out before me. I’m reminded of that night on her tour bus, before I claimed her as my own, before I destroyed her.

  The way she watches me makes my fucking knees shake. It takes my air from my lungs and chills my bones. It takes reality and destroys it, knowing any life without her isn’t worth living and I’m the one to blame.

  She starts to cry harder, but it’s not from pain or that she wants me to stop. She clings to me, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me, begging me not to stop.

  “Shhh,” I breathe, rocking my hips and watching her body take all that mine has to give, my control slipping.

  I push aside every miserable ounce of frustration and aggression I’ve shouldered my entire life to this moment and give her what she needs. I move slower, with passion, with love—a concept I’m not entirely sure I understand. I don’t stop until she tells me to. And then I come. We both do. My arms tighten around her delicate body, rolling through my release.

  “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she begs, still clinging to my body, her cries trembling through her.

  Inside, I’m a mess. I have no idea what tomorrow is going to bring, but for now, I have her. “Never,” I moan, pushing deeper yet again, shaking my head lightly. “You’re in my blood,” I whisper between pants. “I love you.”

  The truth falls from her lips. “I love you.”

  I stay with Red that night, but I don’t sleep. I smoke. I obsess. I worry.

  The next morning, I leave her sleeping and meet with Liz. It’s not that I want to, but I have a feeling Liz’ll just come find me if I don’t. I’m out on bail and don’t have a lot of options at this point.

  You know that saying actions speak louder than words?

  I’m assuming they weren’t talking about beating the crap out of a guy on stage for the world to see. Probably not, huh? I don’t regret what I did to Breckin. What happened between us was a long time coming.

  Explaining myself, again, and more importantly to Liz, is the last thing I want to do this morning. My head pounds, my body screams in pain, my fists ache and my heart, fuck that useless organ. I don’t even want to talk about it.

  Unfortunately for me, Liz has other ideas as she slides a court order at me. I read it—sentencing on Monday morning—and shrug, then stare back at her. There’s also a restraining order attached to it. I can’t be within a hundred feet of Breckin.

  Bundled up from the harsh Colorado winter, Liz peels off her jacket, draping it over the back of the wooden chair. Silently, she takes a seat, orders two coffees and examines my busted knuckles, and the splint on my right hand. I can’t read her emotions, though I try.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, unsure of what I should or shouldn’t say. Maybe starting with sorry will break the ice.

  With a heavy sigh, she lays into me. “I don’t think you are. Revel, this is bigger than anything we’ve had to deal with.” She slides the iPad toward me. Headlines appear. Ones I don’t care to read. They’re all saying the same thing. I fucked up in front of the world. “You’ve done a lot in your past but this… this is more than just being an asshole to the media. This is huge, and it’s going to take a long ti
me to get past it.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I run my hand through my hair, reaching for my cigarette. “I know.”

  Liz tips her head forward, catching my stare. “Do you? Because I don’t think you do.”

  “No, probably not.” My heart pounds like drum beats resonating inside my skull. Fear builds inside my chest. The urge to get lost in a bottle consumes, digs in deep. Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember hazy details from the other night, but one holds true. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.

  “You have to stay away from her. You have to distance yourself from the media and everyone else. You need to disappear. Take a step back because I don’t know how we’re going to fix this.”

  I nod. It’s all I can do at this point because nothing I say matters.

  “We have your attorney, the band’s attorney’s, the label, tour managers. . . everyone working on this, but I don’t know.”

  “It’s fine. It’ll blow over.” Reaching for the coffee she hands me, I sigh. “I’ve done worse.”

  Annoyed, Liz purses her lips. “No, you haven’t.” She leans in again. “Breckin had to have surgery, Rev. He had to have his cheekbone reconstructed.”

  “He deserved it.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll admit he knew what he was doing acting like that, but you, my friend, you crossed a line even you haven’t crossed before. You were in the middle of a concert venue with thirty-thousand fans, media, it’s on YouTube for fuck’s sake. It’s being played over and over again.”

  I nod but remain quiet.

  “The tour managers have canceled the final two shows, and they’re going after you for the loss in ticket sales. Promoters are suing. You’re being sued by Breckin’s lawyers for assault… I think we might be able to get you off with rehab and probation, but I don’t know. It’s a mess, Revel. A big fucking mess.”