Lovely Trigger

by R. K. Lilley

  He stormed from the room. I finally straightened to find everyone looking at me in wide-eyed shock.

  Frankie was the only exception to this. She looked frankly gleeful. “Wow. So the crazy train is going full speed ahead, huh? ‘Bout fuckin’ time.”

  I waited about five minutes before I felt my phone vibrate in my hand. I had one new text. I checked it, and sure enough, I’d gotten nothing but a picture from Tristan. It was taken using the mirror in the bathroom, not thirty feet away.

  He’d taken his shirt off, and unbuttoned his jeans. He was giving a very toothy grin to the mirror, one big hand fisting his big cock. He’d gotten himself hard.

  I blinked. I’d done the whole thing because it was funny. I’d never imagined a dick pic could actually be hot. It looked like he was inviting me to join him in the bathroom, which he probably was.

  I ignored the possible invitation, putting my phone away, my face so red I could feel it.

  My eyes went nowhere but the crotch of his pants when he came strutting back into the room. At least he’d gotten a handle on his hard-on, though I wasn’t going to ask how he’d done it.

  He raised his brows at me expectantly as he sat down beside me again. “You get it?”

  “It’s not time-stamped. Do it again.”

  I couldn’t keep a straight face when I said it and neither could he.

  “You can see that it is in their fucking bathroom,” he said between heaving laughs. It was a straight belly laugh for him. My absolute favorite. I would have gone through hell and back to hear that laugh come out of him.

  Had gone through it.

  Would again.

  “The conditions were very clear. Time. Stamp.”

  He looked around the room, shaking his head in laughing disbelief. He pointed at me. “This woman is evil. Never lose a bet to this woman. What, do you think I anticipated that you’d make me do the picture in this very house, and just happened to have one already taken, in that same bathroom?”

  I tapped my imaginary watch. “Time’s a wastin’.”

  “James, do you have a newspaper somewhere? I need to timestamp a picture.”

  James, who was across the room, chatting with Akira, gave Tristan a thoroughly disgusted look. “Seriously? You think you need a newspaper to timestamp a photo? Get out of the stone ages, Tristan. Just hand me your phone and I’ll do it.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to see this. Newspaper?”

  James stood up and went, I assumed, to get a newspaper.

  Tristan turned his laughing attention back to me. “You need to erase the other one. I did not agree to two, and you are being a snot, so I’m not giving you a freebie.”

  I looked around, hoping we hadn’t brought too much attention to ourselves, but of course we had.

  Still, I looked back at Tristan, smiling at him with my eyes. “Make me,” I mouthed.

  He got up and walked out of the room, headed down the hallway that led to the bathroom.

  He looked agitated. The good kind of agitated.

  James came back into the room carrying a newspaper.

  I intercepted him, holding out my hand.

  “I’ll take it to him,” I told him with a smile.

  He looked taken aback, but he handed it over with no hesitation.

  “Thank you,” I said cheerily, heading down the hallway, where Tristan had disappeared.

  The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light on. I stepped close to the door, as though to knock, when it swung completely open, and a smiling Tristan snatched me inside.

  He’d surprised me, and just going on instinct, I smacked him in the chest with the paper I was holding.

  I did it again, holding it out for him. “You better hurry. I think you have like thirty seconds left.”

  He shut and locked the door behind me, swung me to sit on the long bathroom counter, then started shrugging out of his shirt.

  “If you don’t hurry, you’re still going to owe me on this bet.”

  With a curse, he pulled his dick out, grabbed his phone and the paper, and took a hurried shot in the mirror.

  I was still laughing when he hit send.

  I stopped laughing when he moved close, his hands going to my thighs and parting them so he could step between. His eyes and his hands were all over the one knot that was keeping me dressed, but not for long, since he untied it faster than I could say, “We shouldn’t. Someone will hear.”

  He was parting the two sides of my dress, folding it back over my shoulders. “You didn’t wear this dress so I wouldn’t fuck you the first chance I got.” He unsnapped the front of my bra, pushing both cups to the side. “And look at this. I got a chance.”

  It was by all definitions a quickie. A panties shoved to the side, cock shoved in, yanking out, rocking, rutting, quickie.

  A fast, swift, brief, hasty, fleeting, hurried, rushed, quickie.

  A hard, rough, vigorous, brutal, crude fuck of a quickie.

  That’s not to say it wasn’t awesome. I got off, he got off, and I could have spent the rest of the day sleeping on his chest and dreaming about how sweet life could be.

  And that was the problem with quickies. They were always quick for a reason, and then you were thrust back into real life, when all you wanted to do was loll about, sated.

  I washed up as well as I could, then started straightening my clothes while Tristan cleaned up. I was just tying my dress when Tristan moved close and kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.

  “Love you, sweetheart,” he said quietly but vehemently, then walked out the door.

  I stood there, frozen, staring into space like a lunatic, for the longest time.

  The words just stayed there, right at the edge of my thought, distracting enough, but somehow hard to focus on, in the light of day.

  And then, as though I’d just snapped out of it, I went back to the party and had a mostly good time.

  Not all the way good, but mostly.

  Mostly because there was one very bad moment when I walked out back to find Tristan performing one of his tricks for the handful of tiny kids that were having a pool party while the grownups had a baby shower. He was so good with kids. Amazing. I watched the entire thing with what could only be an infatuated smile on his face.

  That wasn’t the bad part, not yet.

  The part that turned the day just a touch sour was when he walked up to me after moving close, and with no hesitation, he stroked his hand over my lower belly, stroked it right there, and he didn’t have to say a word. I could read his mind.

  I got away as fast as I could, going inside, trying to stay far away from him until I could breathe again.

  And I did bounce back, even tricking Tristan into letting me win the diaper pin game. It was easy. I had some dirty tricks up my sleeve, too.

  I grabbed a marker, a Sharpie to be exact, from one of the tubs of supplies in the living room turned painting studio, and went into the bathroom. I pulled my dress down all the way to my bra, and wrote BABY on the skin right above.

  I tugged my dress back into place, dropped the sharpie back in the bin, and went in search of Tristan.

  When I found him talking to Akira who was on his way to feeling up a giggling Lana, I quietly pulled him aside.

  He raised his brows, looking very happy. “You ready for another round?”

  I shook my head and pulled my dress down far enough to show him what I’d written.

  He cocked his head to see the words, and read slowly, “Baby.”

  His eyes widened, neck straightened, and he pointed at me. “Wow. You are evil.”

  I held out my hand, and slowly, grudgingly, he unfastened all of his pins and gave them to me. “I hear it’s a deluxe spa package,” I taunted him. “I’m pretty stoked.”

  “I know. I was going to use it to bribe you into doing me sexual favors.” He said it in a pout.

  As though he needed a bribe.

  It was only later, at night, as I lay in the d
ark that his words began to move in my head. To circle. In a crazy loop.

  Here’s all you need to know about crazy: Crazy’s favorite shape is a circle.

  Broken records, crazy urges on a loop. Any of this ring a bell? That’s how crazy works, and why it keeps repeating itself.

  And boy was it repeating itself now.

  It was all happening again. Every insane fucking bit of it was back.

  The all-consuming infatuation. Back.

  The tight pull in my chest every time I looked at him. Back.

  Falling asleep in his arms and still dreaming about him. Back.

  Insane psychotic jealousy. Back. Doubly, because we were both afflicted with it.

  Public make-out sessions, as though we were teenagers. Back.

  Vibrating tongue and magic hands that made me lose all brain function. Back.

  The heaven and hell of being with a man I couldn’t stand to be parted from for even an hour. Back.

  His smile ruining me for every other smile in the world.

  The joy and the pain of being undeniably, unquestionably in love.

  How could one person, who’d proven to be so inherently bad for me, so wrong, still be so utterly necessary for my happiness?

  It wasn’t fair.

  I wasn’t lying there thinking about Trouble. And I wasn’t even thinking of how to avoid it. I simply wanted to co-exist with it.

  The question was, as well-adjusted, okay, somewhat well-adjusted adults, could we turn this crazy thing healthy a second time around?

  I was trying to plot it out, trying to find a game plan that could work, because I wanted this.

  I needed goals, and rules, and a clear picture of what the future could hold.

  But I didn’t have a clear picture of where this could be going, not long-term. And that terrified me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The first three times he brought it up, I changed the subject. I really didn’t think it was a good idea.

  Just the thought of going to one of his performances had me thinking of old times, bringing up long forgotten memories of the days when I’d lived to see him on stage.

  The fourth time, he had a ticket for me, and he didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer.

  “We don’t do these very often,” he cajoled. “I want you to be there. It could be a year before we perform live again. It’s a toned down venue. It won’t be some wild audience. Everyone will be sitting down, I swear.”

  “Oh Tristan.”

  I was hopeless. Truly.

  “Please. As a favor to me. It would mean a lot to me for you to be there. For support.”

  Just hopeless.

  Why had I ever pretended that I was capable of telling him no? Utter denial, that.

  I thanked the usher that showed me to my seat.

  I glanced around nervously. I was in the first row, right by the stage. I knew that Frankie was attending. James and Bianca, too. But I sat alone, per my request. I knew that this was going to be an emotional undertaking for me, and I preferred to experience it without company. And besides, I knew I’d see them at the after party.

  It was an intimate venue, set up for an acoustic performance that I’d been told would be aired live.

  Even being in the audience made me nervous. What happened if I sneezed? Would they have to reshoot a song or just kick me out? Just thinking about it made my nose start to tickle.

  It was a powerful set they played.

  It was rock, there was no denying that, but still they had a soulful, gritty feel that gave the music such an emotional core. It was beautiful. Moving.

  They were better than they’d ever been. He was better.

  He could still suck the very breath out of the crowd, in fact he was more compelling as a front man than he’d been even before. His voice was better trained and age and discipline had only helped to refine it.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I ate up the sight like a flower soaking up the sun.

  The song had me tensing from the first note. It was slower than their usual style, with dark, haunting notes that made my breath catch.

  He closed his eyes and began to sing. Even his voice, as he sang it, was different, too. So raw, so emotional.

  I listened, entranced, and suddenly, in spite of the crowd, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

  Remember when you told me that I was yours and you were mine

  Every heartbeat, every breath,

  Our love was perfect, our vows were sacred

  And, oh sweetheart, you know I tried so hard to tow that line,

  But there was a poison in my heart,

  And a darkness in my mind

  I wasn’t there when you were drowning

  Though I’d give my soul to take it back

  You had to leave me behind

  Looking back, over the years of empty space,

  Through the harshest rearview mirror,

  Remembering the things I put you through

  Now left to wonder, who’s come to take my place

  When I looked at you the world dissolved

  My poison cured, my darkness light

  I never did deserve you, sweetheart

  But in your arms my wrongs were solved

  My head was lowered, hands clenched, face wet with tears. And somehow, in spite of the agony of it, my body swayed gently to the music, as though it was casting some spell on me, or curing some ill. Therapy via concert. That was a new one.

  Though it echoes loudest in my tortured heart

  That night was not my only crime

  Despite all the ways I failed

  I still longed to make things right

  Somehow we ran out of time

  But there was a poison in my heart,

  And a darkness in my mind

  I wasn’t there when you were drowning

  Though I’d give my soul to take it back

  You had to leave me behind

  Somewhere, in the great expanse of space,

  There is a home where souls reside,

  Yours and mine were joined together

  I have not moved from that place,

  God help me, I’ll never move from that place

  But there was a poison in my heart,

  And a darkness in my mind

  I wasn’t there when you were drowning

  Though I’d give my soul to take it back

  You had to leave me behind

  You had to leave me behind

  How did you leave me behind?

  The music faded down to just one soft guitar rift and Tristan’s passionate croon.

  Everything you promised, everything I need

  What I’m willing to give to you is what I want from you.

  Can’t you do that for me, sweetheart? Isn’t there enough of you left?

  I’d told him that exact thing once. I’d had no clue he’d remembered it; he’d been so high when I’d said it to him.

  “What did you think?” he asked gently, after the concert was done, the theatre emptied.

  I’d just been sitting there, still and silent, while everyone else had filed out.

  “That last part didn’t even rhyme,” I told him through my tears.

  He laughed, tugging me out of my chair and into his chest. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, face buried in my hair.

  I didn’t know what I was.

  All out of escape routes, my twisted brain told me.

  Conquered, my traitorous, white flag waving heart told me, but it didn’t get a vote, since it had always, always been on his side.

  “I take it you have a hand in the lyrics now?” I asked, trying to brazen through my shaky voice. “Unless Kenny wrote that and if he did, that’s really awkward.”

  “Oh, you thought that song was about me and you?”

  I punched him in the arm, and he laughed harder, and held me tighter.

  “Yeah, I’ve taken up songwriting, though Kenny still writes the bulk of them.” />
  We stood there for a long time in silence before I looked up at him and spoke, “I’m so proud of you. You were always so talented. It is a daunting thing to stare into potential like that and try to do it justice. You have.”

  His expression tightened, and he buried his face in my neck.

  That had gotten to him.

  I patted his back soothingly.

  “My only criticism is that you didn’t take off your shirt,” I told him to lighten his mood. “That used to be my favorite part of every show.”

  It startled a laugh out of him. “Did I really used to take my shirt off at every show?” he asked, like he couldn’t remember.

  That made my chest tight, thinking about all of the memories he’d lost. “Close enough,” I said lightly.

  Looking up at him, seeing the way he looked back, I started to just freak.

  I took two steps back away from him.

  I’d tried to lock my feelings away in some corner of my heart and mind.

  I hadn’t forgotten about them, had never failed to realize they were there, but I’d convinced myself that if I could just keep myself from looking directly at them, they would hold no sway over me.

  But now, now they were creeping up on my peripheral, becoming brighter, more clear, with each passing breath, until the urge to look, the pull of it, consumed more of my thoughts than just looking would, I was sure.

  Even when I’d known better, I’d just decided that those feelings could be put off. But how long could a thing like this be put off?

  I was shaking, head to toe.

  Slowly but inexorably, I was coming undone.

  I couldn’t hold it together. Not for another day. Not for another minute.

  It was happening. In spite of how I fought it, some steady unraveling was happening inside of me, had been happening. It was nearing its finish, and I was not prepared.

  Tristan moved to put his hands on my shoulders, but I warded him off with both of mine.