Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart

by Tiffany Truitt

  “Annabel?”

  “Hmm?” she asks sleepily.

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” I try to explain. “About the internships. It’s just, well, I don’t think I’ll get them. Would you be okay with it if I didn’t?”

  Annabel lifts her head up and rests her chin on my chest. “Is that what you’re so worried about?”

  “I don’t care what the rest of them think. Only you. I couldn’t stand it if you were disappointed when I didn’t succeed,” I admit.

  “I was just upset that you wouldn’t try. That you refused to give it your all. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who doesn’t see the potential that you see in them every single moment of every single day?”

  Did Annabel Lee just tell me she loved me?

  Annabel’s face pales as if she’s suddenly realized what she just said. She quickly sits up and starts to pull on her shirt. “I think I’ll go get a fire started. Maybe fry some eggs.”

  “Annabel.”

  A roll of thunder can be heard far off in the distance.

  “Do you think it’s going to storm again?” she asks, trying to change the subject. “If it continues to rain, do you think they’ll cancel today’s shows?”

  I won’t force her to talk about it if she doesn’t want to. Maybe she said it still high from the euphoria of making love, or maybe she said it because her walls were down? Either way, I won’t make her say it again until she’s ready.

  “They’ll still go on as long as it doesn’t lightning or full-on pour,” I answer, handing Annabel her shorts.

  “Good. I’m looking forward to using the overcast to get some good shots today. How about you write, and I’ll go make sure we’re properly fed,” she suggests, handing me my laptop.

  “Sure thing,” I say, managing a smile.

  The thunder rolls again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Annabel

  “You sure you want to go to this show?”

  “Totally sure,” I reply, trying to force as much bravado into my words as I can muster.

  “You don’t sound so sure,” Kennedy notes. He crosses his arms and gives me that look that lets me know he can sense bullshit.

  “Okay, so maybe I’m not entirely sure I want to do this, but I am entirely sure I’m willing to give it a try,” I amend.

  “If you need some encouragement, we’ve got plenty of stuff to help you out,” Marcus, one of our travel mates, offers. By encouragement, he means drugs and lots of them.

  “Now, that I am sure I don’t want to try,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “No worries, girlie. Just thought we’d offer,” Marcus says, throwing his arm around a barely clothed girl who wasn’t in the van with us. “The set’s getting ready to start.”

  It was now or never. “I want to do this, Kennedy,” I assure him. “Let’s go,” I say, holding out my hand.

  Kennedy takes it and tugs me close to him, wrapping an arm around my waist. “If you want to leave at any moment, just say the word, and we can head back to the tent.”

  “But you wanted to see Diplo,” I remind him. “I can put up with a few hours of anything.”

  “Yeah, but there’re also things I want to see in that tent, so it’s a win for me either way,” he says, leaning close to my ear and slightly grazing it with his mouth.

  I shiver. “Work now, play later,” I say, giving his ass a small pinch.

  The moment Diplo comes on stage, the crowd goes wild. Kennedy uses our press passes and gets us close to the front, which only slightly makes me feel like a complete fraud, since I don’t know anything about this particular performer.

  Once Diplo steps behind his computer, people begin to really lose control. While it becomes apparent that quite a few in the crowd are on something, it’s more than that. Something in the music reaches for them, unleashing some hidden part that is reckless and free. They move without any care as to how they look. People start grabbing those around them, not truly giving a damn if they actually know them or not, and start dancing together.

  I, on the other hand, do not dance. Instead, I’m transfixed by what’s taking place onstage. At first, I didn’t think Kennedy would be a fan of EDM, since most of it is created on a computer. It seemed like a complete bastardization of music itself. But there’s something a bit hocus-pocus about it all. Like a marriage between science and math and music. How sampling and cutting the right segment of a song and adding it to the right beat at just the right time with the right speed and the right duration all come together to create this new thing, this new creature.

  It’s all about control. Every note is control personified. And yet, as I look out at the crowd, it’s also about a complete lack of control. I glance over at the man bouncing around next to me, and we suddenly make sense. We only work best when we work together. One needs the other to fully reach their potential.

  I grab Kennedy’s shirt and yank him to me, crushing his mouth with my own. I move my body up against his to the beat of the song. He grabs my ass and pulls me closer. We start to grind against each other, and I think I’ll stop breathing from the heat and the music and the feel of him.

  Over his shoulder, I spot a bit of woods. I grab his belt and start to pull him toward them. “Annabel? Where are we going?” he pants.

  “I double dare you,” I tease.

  Once we’re nestled in the darkness of the tree line, the music still guiding our actions, I go to work undoing his belt.

  “Annabel.”

  “I want you right here. Right now.”

  That’s all it takes to convince Kennedy. He pushes me back until I’m against a tree. He lifts up my skirt and yanks my panties down, fumbling to put on a condom. Once he’s in, he begins to thrust so hard it lifts me off the ground. In the quickest of moments, he grabs my legs, and I wrap them around his waist.

  My back rubs against the rough bark of the tree, but I don’t care. I grab a fistful of his hair and pull. “Faster. Harder,” I beg as the tempo of the song reaches a near-dizzying speed. He’s so big and strong inside me that I swear I can feel him reach my ribs.

  I pull his face toward mine and run my tongue across his lips. He nibbles on my bottom lip before kissing me. My throat. My shoulder. My chest.

  The rain that has teased us all day begins to fall. The wetness of my dress combined with the hard edges of the bark begin to make my back raw. “My back,” I moan. “The tree.”

  He pulls out immediately and sets me back down on the ground. “Are you all right?” he asks between labored breaths.

  I nod. Somewhere between the music and us, I hear my phone ringing. “Ignore it,” he urges, reaching for me. He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I don’t have time for any of that right now. No time for that old life. That old me. I just want to exist here and now with this man. I feel so empty without him inside me. “Don’t stop,” I plead. I turn around, resting an arm against the tree. I lift up the back of my dress, and Kennedy takes me from behind. His movements are less frenzied now. He places both of his hands on my waist, and gently pushes in and out. He kisses up and down my back. A hand sneaks around and finds my clit. Slowly, as slowly as he explores inside me, he rubs.

  “I dare you to tell me what you want me to do,” he grunts.

  “I want you to make me finish,” I gasp. “I want you to make me come,” I beg. He grows larger inside me at my words, and I wonder if it’s possible to be entirely consumed by someone. “Fuck me,” I urge, unable to take the teasing anymore.

  His hand moves back to my waist, and he begins to pull me against him as he thrusts forward. So fast and hard we move toward and away from each other that I think we both might shatter.

  And we do break in a way. The way poets and musicians have written about for thousands of years.

  As we stand wrapped up in each other, leaning against the tree and trying to catch our breath, the drizzle of rain has turned into a downpour. I close my eyes and lift my head toward the sky, letting the water caress me as
he did.

  “I love you, Annabel Lee,” I hear from the darkness.

  I open my eyes and stare at him. “I know you may not want to hear that,” he continues. “I know you may regret saying it to me this morning, but I love you.” I shake my head in disbelief. How have I spent so much of my life without this boy? I reach up and pull his face down to mine and kiss him.

  “I love y—” I whisper against his lips when my phone starts ringing again in my purse, which now lies on the ground next to our feet.

  “Go ahead, get it,” he says, sensing my hesitation to interrupt this moment between us.

  When I pull my phone out, my stomach drops. Five missed calls. Suddenly, the world doesn’t seem so safe and wonderful. It has become something else in only a matter of seconds. The music that once pulled me toward Kennedy now taunts me. Reminds me that nothing is finite. Soon, the song will end as they all do.

  “Annabel? What is it?” Kennedy asks.

  I turn around, unable to face him. I can’t look at him. Not when I’m making this call. With a trembling hand, I call Mom. Kennedy grabs my arm and turns me around to face him.

  As my mother tells me the worst, I’m forced to stare at him. The boy I chose over her.

  I think I manage words. My voice sounds all muffled in my own ears. There may have been an “I’m sorry” or a “What do you need?” but I’m not entirely sure if I said them aloud or only in my head. Kennedy reaches a hand toward me, and I back away. I stumble into the tree, and I’m reminded of what we were just doing during all those times my mother tried to call me.

  I feel ashamed and dirty and angry.

  I’m not quite sure if Mom or I hang up first. I fumble to get my phone back in my purse and start walking away from the concert.

  “Annabel! Where are you going?” Kennedy calls after me.

  Hadn’t I told him? Surely I had.

  “Is it your grams?” he asks, blocking my path.

  Grams.

  My grandmother is dead.

  I look up at Kennedy. “You got in my head. All those platitudes and carpe diems, and I missed it. To do what? That thing we just did?”

  “Annabel.”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t. I need to go home,” I explain. That’s all he needs to know right now. It hurts to look at him. The guilt feels like an enormous rock that just sits right on top of my chest.

  Kennedy catches up and matches my pace stride for stride. “Why don’t we go back to the tent and we can talk? We can figure out a way to get home in the morning. There’s nothing you can do about it tonight.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Figure out a way to get home?” I ask. “What are you talking about?” The rock grows heavier, and I find it harder and harder to catch my breath. “You never called AAA,” I say slowly.

  “I was going to call in the morning,” he replies sheepishly.

  “You mean to tell me you just left your car sitting on the side of the road for the past two days?” I ask in disbelief. I just assumed he had taken care of it. We had already gotten in the fight, and I was already starting to feel like a nag, so I hadn’t bothered him about it. The cars were kept in a separate lot about a half a mile away from the tent. I just assumed he had seen to it, and that it was done.

  I had trusted him.

  “Who’s going to steal a beat-up old truck? I meant to call, but…”

  “You were too busy having fun, living in the moment, seizing the day?” I mock.

  “I know you’re upset right now. If you want to leave tonight, I’ll find us a way,” he promises.

  I round on him. “Are you shitting me right now? You knew this was a possibility! We both did, and I will have to learn how to live with the fact I missed her last days to fuck a boy against a tree. But what I can’t understand is how you could be so damn stupid. Didn’t you think, hey, maybe I should be ready in case Annabel has to get home?”

  “Annabel, I said I would get you home,” he replies, a harder edge slipping into his voice.

  “How? You going to make a car appear out of thin air? Hope fate just shines a little light on you and provide one? Last time I checked, anyone who would have a car is probably drunk or high or both.”

  I run a shaky hand through my hair. “Do you even give a shit about these internships?” I ask.

  Kennedy reaches up and scratches the back of his head, looking away from me. “The truth, Annabel? Not really. They aren’t going to happen, so I can’t care about them. I know you think you can control my future as well as your own, but you can’t. That’s not how life works.”

  “Bullshit,” I spit, my voice growing louder. People are starting to stare, and we’re dangerously close to becoming those people. “More than most, I know there are a great many things in life I can’t control, but I’ll be damned not to fight for the things I can. If you want to be a writer, you need to work for it. That means putting yourself out there and working your ass off. You can’t just sit back and wait for life to bend to your will. You can’t just ignore a problem and hope it will go away, or maybe you didn’t look at my scars long enough to realize that?”

  “Annabel—”

  “Do you even give a fuck about what happens to you? Or are you just content with living the rest of your life waiting for shit to fall your way? Because I can’t fight for Grandma, and the twins, and my parents, and you if you aren’t willing to help me fight. I need a partner, not another person to take care of.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kennedy

  Getting Annabel back home to Belltown was both the shortest and longest road trip of my entire existence. Luckily for me, Hannah was coming down from a real bad acid trip, and Ben was in the midst of calling a friend to come and get her. I managed to secure us a ride to the bus station. I’d worry about how I was going to get my car later.

  Over the twenty-four hours we spent on a multitude of buses, Annabel barely spoke a word to me. I kept waiting for her to yell or cry. Cuss me out for my forgetfulness. But she didn’t, and that was profoundly worse than any yelling. Every hour that went by without us exchanging words was painful, and yet every hour I didn’t figure out a way to fix it seemed like time was slipping through my fingers.

  Once we arrived back in town, I borrowed Mrs. Peterson’s car and drove Annabel home. The whole way there I was sweating. It was just like that time I visited Annabel in the hospital when she was sleeping. I just sat there and stared at her, sweating; I wasn’t sure how to fix her. How to help. Anything I could say felt meaningless, and anything I could do just didn’t feel like enough. It was easier to run back then; I could still run now…but I wasn’t that schmuck anymore.

  Parked outside her house, I take her hand in mine. “Annabel, please talk to me.”

  “About what?” she mumbles as she unclicks her seat belt.

  “Anything. Everything. Just talk to me.”

  “I really should get going. I’m sure my parents need help with the arrangements.”

  “Annabel, come on.”

  She sighs. “What do you want from me? I don’t have anything to talk about, and I do have a ton of stuff to do.”

  I swallow. “Yeah, okay. Call me later? Tonight?”

  “Maybe. I’ll call you when I can,” she says quietly, turning her face from me and staring out the window.

  I grip her hand tighter. “Call me tonight, Annabel.”

  She nods before pushing open the door.

  She doesn’t call me.

  …

  Three days and I haven’t heard from Annabel. The first day I chalked it up to her wanting her space, and I tried not to freak. The last thing she needed was my blowing up her phone with texts and calls. The second day, I wasn’t as chill. Four calls and countless texts, and the girl still didn’t respond. Yesterday, I wrote the tome of all emails. No reply. But I wasn’t giving up, and I wasn’t walking away. When I got up this morning, the only thing I felt was determination. I was going to get her to talk to me.

>   I take the steps leading up to her house two at a time. I attempt to pat down my hair. No doubt it looks crazy, as I haven’t showered in two days. Too busy trying not to worry that my relationship with Annabel was ending before it really got a chance to begin. I ring the doorbell several times before I realize no one’s home.

  “They’re at the funeral,” an older gentleman from next door calls out.

  I mumble a thanks and beeline it to my car. Peeling away from the curb, I gun it to the cemetery. She’ll need me today, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to mess this up, too.

  Nearly anyone who’s anyone is at the grave site. Grams was a well-liked broad. It takes me a few moments to locate Annabel in the sea of mourners, but then I spot her bright, fiery red hair. It’s the same color red as the light in the darkroom. Looking at her parents, I wonder where the red hair comes from, as both of them have jet-black hair. Next to the casket is a large picture of Grams as a young girl, and I spot the familiar red that I have come to love so much.

  Of course Annabel would get her hair from Grams. She’s like her in so many ways. I take a moment to bow my head, close my eyes, and pray. I thank God for giving us Grams, the woman who helped shape the girl I love. She’s responsible for putting us together, and I owe her so much.

  I owe it to Grams to try to get Annabel Lee back. Man, I fucked it all up. Just like I did all those years ago. Why was it so hard for me to just get it together?

  Once the service is done, the people slowly start to disperse. There is lots of hugging and crying. All the while, I stand on the outskirts of the crowd, unable to see anything of Annabel’s face. I wait until almost everyone is gone before I go to her.

  “Annabel,” I call out.

  Her back toward me, Annabel goes stiff at the sound of her name. Slowly, she turns around to face me. Her face is drawn and tired. Dark circles rest under her red and swollen eyes. I want to pull her into my arms. Whisper over and over again that I love her. Let her know I’m here for her. I’m really here this time.