Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

“We’re so boring.” He met me outside my hotel again tonight. It’s darker. More clouds out. Maybe it will rain. “Last night in Lausanne, and we end up on this same bench.”

  “I love this bench.” I don’t want to bore him, though. I nerve myself and let my lips slide down to his neck. He catches his breath. He tastes sweaty. Salty. Savory. Sexy. I suck harder, move my mouth, and do it again. I’m so not bored. He pries my mouth off his neck so he can administer some lip action.

  “Uptown is just the bar scene at night.” His words tickle my lips.

  “And we’re not into that.”

  “I’m just into you.”

  I laugh at how delicious he is tonight. “That sounds like a corny pop song.”

  “I think it is.” His lips explore the side of my face. “Or you could write it.”

  “That’s you.” I pull back so I can see him better. I like him in the dark. Somehow he’s softer, safer. I caress his face. “Did you finish my song?”

  “Nope.” He frowns at me. “This beautiful angel distracted me.”

  “Uh-oh.” I lean back against his arm. “I don’t want to come between you and your art.”

  He grins. “Who said it was you?”

  I pummel his chest. He defends himself. He bears down on me, trying to kiss me. I whip my head back and forth. When he finally gets my lips, the kissing is crazy and fast. Eager and desperate. More tongue. More passion than we’ve let loose before. His hot mouth moves to my neck, my shoulder. He sucks on my prominent collarbone. Now he’s kissing my sternum. His mouth slides lower. His hands creep higher.

  I should be nervous and freaking out, but all I want is for him to keep going. I’m aching for him to touch me. I want his shirt off—my hands on his skin. His hands on mine—

  But he stops.

  He pulls his face away, props me up, bends over with his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” His breath comes out in spurts.

  I hang over him. “I’m so not offended.” My fingers go to my blouse buttons—undo the top three, and all I’m thinking is I’m glad that underwire bra pushes most of me into view.

  Derek looks up. “Beth. Don’t. I’m trying to do what’s right here.” He turns his back to me.

  I stroke his back. “I’ve never felt this. I like it.”

  “It’s not right.”

  It’s dark. No one can see us here. “Is there a right or wrong about it?”

  “Of course there is. There are things you don’t understand.”

  “It feels right.”

  He slides to the far end of the bench so I can’t reach him. “Trust me. It isn’t. You don’t get it.”

  “Come back, Derek.” I glance down at my bra peaking out of my shirt and whisper, “What don’t I get?”

  “You know how hard it was to stop?” He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes linger. “How hard it is for me not to jump you this second?”

  I swallow. “Would that be so awful?” Something crazy and powerful has me, and I don’t want it to let me go. Enchanted? Naw. This is stronger than any magic.

  He turns his back to me again. I slide down the bench to him and kiss the back of his neck. I lift his shirt from behind, try to slip it over his head.

  “Knock it off.” He gasps as if he can’t breathe and tears out of my grasp, gets up, and walks over to the edge of the lake.

  I go after him, wrap myself around him from behind and chew his ear.

  He turns around and pushes me away. “I told you—this isn’t about sex.”

  “Maybe it could be.” That doesn’t come out how I wanted it to sound—sultry and inviting. I sound scared. Pleading. Desperate.

  He turns and can’t keep his eyes from drifting down my shirt, pulls me close, puts his face on my chest, murmurs, “And you’ve got condoms in your purse?”

  “No.” I groan. “I’m not a—I mean, I don’t . . .”

  He lifts his face, his eyes lock onto mine. “Exactly.”

  “You don’t carry—I mean,” I’m not ready to give up, “shouldn’t you be prepared?”

  He lets me go. “No. I’m prepared to control myself.”

  “But . . .”

  He’s looking down my blouse again, practically shaking. “You’re not making it very easy.”

  “What if I never see you again?” I choke on the words. “What if this isn’t real? That I wake up tomorrow, and you’ve evaporated out of my life? I don’t want it to be too late.”

  “Evaporate?” He tears his eyes away from my cleavage. “You’ve got my email, my cell.” We exchanged on our way home from the ropes. “You already know me online. What more do you want?”

  That seems kind of obvious, but I don’t answer. Red-hot embarrassment catches up with me. “I’m sorry.” I fumble around with my buttons. They came undone so easy. Now my fingers are sweaty and awkward. “I’m so stupid when it comes to this stuff.”

  “It messes you up, Beth. It’d mess us up. I won’t treat you like that. I’ve been there, babe, trust me.” He brushes my hands away, buttons me up. His fingers are trembling, too.

  I’m such a fool. Maybe it would have gotten to a point where I got uncomfortable and tried to stop him, but there was absolutely no resistance in me. If he hadn’t stopped—

  Crap. Shouldn’t I not want to give in to him? Isn’t it supposed to be the guy who wants sex?

  Respect. Have I lost that? “So now we know. I’m a slut.” He’s right. It isn’t what I want.

  “It was my fault, Beth. You’re a nice girl.”

  “I wanted to feel you touching me.” I look down at the dark water softly lapping the rocks. “Still do.”

  Derek clears his throat, puts his arm around me. “I don’t think that’s slutty. That’s how you’re supposed to feel when you love someone.”

  Love? He said “love.”

  “Acting on it, though.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “That’s trouble.”

  “Especially when we’re dealing with my DNA.” Guess I need to get a backbone or carry protection.

  “I know what you mean.” He’s sweet not to dwell on it. Not to force me to examine all the nitty-gritty details.

  He takes my hand, and we walk toward our statue. The clouds have dropped low enough to obscure the lights across the lake. A cool breeze wafts around us. It feels good. I’m so hot.

  I want to get Derek back on the topic of love, but I don’t know how. He dropped it so casual. Maybe he didn’t mean it. I’m aching to hear it again. I realize that before I let him go tonight, I need some words. I want him to tell me he’s my boyfriend. That I’m his girlfriend. Not some chick touring China. All the email addresses and cell numbers in the world mean nothing if he’s not really mine. But that’s not what I say. I get really, really stupid.

  “This afternoon you were going to tell me something.”

  “It’s not important.” He pushes his dark hair out of his eyes. His forehead is wrinkled with concern that I can’t fathom.

  “You said it wasn’t fair.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Then Meadow’s right. You have a girlfriend in the AYS? That’s why you won’t—”

  “Had a girlfriend.” He turns and leads me back to our bench. “Let’s not waste tonight like this.”

  I stop walking. “You’re not going back home to her?”

  “She didn’t like my obsession with you.”

  My eyebrows draw together. “You broke up over me—before we even met?”

  “What kind of creep do you think I am?” He walks away from me.

  I hurry after him. “All guys—”

  “That’s stupid.” He takes my hand. His voice loses its edge. “You know me. Do you think I’d be going after you like this if I had a girlfriend? Even if she is in China. You must have dated a bunch of jerks.”

  “Dated? No.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  We get to our bench. “But if it’s not about sex, why are you going after me?” I sit down, bring my legs up on the s
eat, and wrap my arms around my knees.

  Derek settles next to me. “I’m addicted.” I tense when he says that word, but he doesn’t notice. “I can’t get you out of my head. First it was your voice. My ex saw it before I did and dumped me. Then I met you—”

  “You like the pretty wrappings? It’s all fake. Everything you see—hair, face, eyes, clothes—even my teeth.”

  “Your voice isn’t fake. And your lips,” he barely brushes them with his, “feel incredibly real.”

  I freeze, hoping he’ll kiss me again, but he puts his head on my shoulder like that little boy we joked about. “I like your heart, Beth. When I found you on this bench, you opened it and swallowed me.”

  I stroke his hair.

  “I like that you have no clue how good you are, how gorgeous you are, how fresh and open you are.”

  He’s so convincing. I almost like myself. But then I say something that reminds me I’m the Beast. “That Amabile girl, did you sleep with her?”

  “No. And we went out a long time.”

  “Do you regret—”

  “No. Listen, Beth. I’m not going to pretend it’s going to be easy when we get back home. You’ve got your choir. I’ve got mine. We do a ton of gigs, and we’re getting more and more sponsors. I have to spend a lot of time—” He pauses, searching for words.

  “What?” Shooting up? Snorting? Popping pills? No, Derek. You don’t need time for that.

  “—With my family.”

  I don’t believe him. He knows it.

  He bends his forehead to touch mine. “I’ve got stuff going on back home that—please—I never want it to touch us. I want something pure, untainted. Be that for me, Beth.” The agony in his voice cuts into my heart.

  I sit up and hold him. “Of course, of course. I’m sorry. Of course.” It’s my turn to soothe, my turn to rock. I hum my solo and sway gently.

  Something awful has him. He’s running away as much as I am. I should leave right now, but then I would be the Beast. He needs me. I’m here. No way am I letting go of this. I kiss his hair and sing, Oh, the glory of that bright day

  When I cross the river Jordan.

  The angels playing banjo

  And the good Lord on the fiddle.

  He starts to cough.

  I stop singing and place the back of my hand on his forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

  He doesn’t jerk away this time. “Only you.” He tips his head so he can kiss my palm.

  I pull him to his feet. “I should walk you home tonight.”

  “I’m just whipped from this afternoon.” He steers me in the direction of the Mermaid.

  “You’re still not telling me what you and Blake are doing tomorrow?”

  “Classified.”

  We cross the street to the hotel. Great. Leah and Meadow are sitting on the steps. I don’t want to kiss Derek good-bye with them watching. If we’re alone, he might slip up and use “love” again.

  They jump up and run at us. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “What?”

  Meadow glares at Derek. “Sarah’s AWOL with Blake.”

  Derek curses. “He was going to the bars.”

  Leah nods. “We got a weird call from her. She was definitely drunk. Didn’t make a lot of sense. Told us not to wait up.”

  Meadow puts her hands on her hips. “She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants, but she’s got to get back here before our wake-up call. If they’re in your room—”

  “In our room?” Derek gets upset. “She can’t go in our room.” He realizes how weird that sounds. “Amabile rules. Besides, I’ve got the key. I’ll go find them.”

  I don’t let go of Derek. “I should come with you.”

  “No.” He squeezes my hand and lets it go. “Stay here in case she shows up.”

  He flags a passing taxi and is gone.

  I sit down on the steps, resign myself to worry. Stupid Sarah. Stupid Beth. Stupid, stupid me. Poor Derek. He has to save everyone tonight.

  Half an hour later a taxi pulls up to the Mermaid. Derek gets out. I jump up. “You found her?”

  “She’s in rough shape. I need some help.” He opens the door. Sarah was leaning heavy against it. I catch her before she kisses the pavement. Derek helps me lift the rest of her out and stand her up.

  I look at him over Sarah’s head. “Thank you.”

  “Blake’s a good guy most of the time. Not when he drinks, though.”

  “I don’t mean this.”

  He gets what I’m saying. “Don’t mention it.”

  “Where’s Blake?” Sarah puts her face into Derek’s. “You’re not Blake.” She stumbles from Derek to me. “I promised Blake tonight.”

  Derek lets go of her. “Blake was even more soused than she is. He was trying to unlock the door with his car keys. At least they didn’t do it in the hall. Can you girls manage her from here?”

  “Yeah. You better get back. Kick Blake in the shins for us, okay?”

  “He threw up and passed out in it on the washroom floor.”

  “Gross for you.”

  “Maybe waking up with his face glued to the floor by crusted vomit will make an impression.”

  Sarah wobbles and groans. Crap. We better hurry. I turn away from Derek, and Leah helps me get Sarah into the elevator Meadow has waiting.

  “Bye, Beth,” Derek calls after me.

  Stupid Sarah. She ruined our see you laters.

  The elevator doors close. Crap. Derek said, “Bye.”

  Sarah puts her hand over her mouth.

  Meadow says, “Hang on. Not here. Or we’ll all be banned from every future trip.”

  Sarah sways.

  Leah steadies her. “And Blake was drunker?”

  I take Sarah’s head and arms. Leah and Meadow each take a leg, and we carry her down the creaky old hall to our room.

  She makes it to the bathroom—barfs in the bidet.

  We clean her up and get her undressed, and she barfs again. This time in the sink.

  I’m brushing my teeth in the shower stall tomorrow.

  It’s after one by the time we get settled. Our bus leaves at five. I’m pumped full of every hormone my body can create. It seems useless to try to sleep. I lie down anyway and try to relax. Stupid Blake. Stupid Sarah. I didn’t get to say good-bye to Derek.

  But it’s not good-bye. It’s just . . .

  Later, babe—

  Don’t say good-bye, love,

  So I can dream of

  The day you’ ll hold me close again.

  Close my eyes,

  And you will be there.

  I swallow my fear

  That you will fly too far from me.

  I can hold on now

  To your promises.

  Forget all my questions—

  Just believe. . . .

  chapter 16

  SEE YOU LATER

  Next thing I know, there’s a choir mom outside the door, pounding hard. “We load in fifteen minutes.”

  I roll off my bed and into our travel clothes—pink track pants and a white T-shirt with my comfy old choir hoodie if it gets cold on the plane. I dash for my turn in the bathroom. The place still reeks of puke. “Gross, Sarah! ”

  I do what I need to and brush my teeth, using the shower faucet, then hand the place over to Leah. I stand over my bed, grab an elastic, and harness my hair. I stuff my nightshirt and toiletries into my suitcase. My makeup is in my purse. I can put my face on later. Who cares? We’re eating breakfast on the bus. I zip up my bag, and I’m good to go.

  Sarah is a disaster. I get her bag packed while Leah dresses her. Meadow hogs up the bathroom.

  Terri pounds on our door. “Let’s go girls. The plane won’t wait.”

  A curse on 8:00 a.m. flights to Paris forever.

  I grab my suitcase—give up on the elevator—haul the bag, bumpety bump, down the three flights of stairs. I dump it by the bus, turn to go back for Sarah.

  And he’s there. D
erek. Looking paler in the brisk morning breeze, huddling in his Amabile hockey jersey, trying to suppress that cough of his. It sounds worse. He’s holding a pink rose. He looks at my track pants. “I figured you like pink.”

  I pull a face. “Meadow likes pink.”

  He frowns. “Sorry.”

  I take the rose and breathe it in. “But I love this.”

  “I wanted to—”

  “Thanks.”

  “Last night—”

  “Yeah.”

  We move together, kiss for the last time in wonderland.

  He whispers, “See you later.”

  I drink him in. Our bodies wind together, and our lips move in harmony. I don’t let him go until the bus honks. “Later.”

  The girls are whoo-whooing at me when I board. Crap. They all watched that exquisitely private moment. I realize how awful I must look. Derek didn’t even flinch. I make one of the younger girls move so I can have a seat by the window on his side. I press my face up to it and search for him.

  He waves. Coughs. Waves some more.

  Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

  I hope he’s not getting sick.

  I eat a nasty packaged croissant with plastic chocolate in the center as the bus rolls down the Swiss autoroute. It winds along the lake and passes by vineyards. The girls start counting how many castle-like places we go by.

  I hang over my music binder, tuck the rose into the rings and scribble. I keep scribbling at the Geneva airport while we wait for our flight, scribble all the way to Paris.

  My heart’s yours

  And yours is mine.

  You are what I crave—

  I won’t live until I’m kissing you.

  With your love,

  I can change my fate.

  I circle the date,

  When my new dreams will spring to life.

  You’ ll drop from the stars.

  Happy evermore

  Like old stories say.

  You can believe.

  We land at Charles de Gaulle with plenty of time to make it to our flight, but the place is so confusing. We get off their stupid bus at the wrong place, stand forever in a big passport-control line that isn’t going to our gate. Terri’s almost crying by the time all eighty of us are running down the concourse to our gate. This French woman behind the desk screams at Terri because we were supposed to be here early. And then the plane is delayed for some mechanical thing, but everyone acts like it’s because of us. We miss our connection in New York and get rerouted to Detroit through Chicago. We get stuck at O’Hare all day. When we arrive in Detroit, I have no idea what time it is—what day it is. I just know it’s dark out. Humid.