by Nora Flite
Share how great our creation will sound.
Then you'll know.
You'll understand.
Dropping the mic, I stormed backstage to the chorus of squeals and cheers. I hadn't even known what I was going to say, but it had come out.
And it felt so right.
I hadn't created a new song in some time. I certainly had never let anyone write one with me. This would be beautiful; Lola and I were going to break the god damn world. I didn't care if we left it burnt, barren.
I only needed a fragment if I was with her.
The rest could fade away for good.
“Drez!” Breathing heavy, Colt stopped beside me. “Holy shit, man! Were you serious out there?”
“Of course I was.” Reaching back, I felt my empty pocket; reminded myself I had no cigarettes. Old habits were hard to break, worse than the craving. “I want to write a song with her.”
“Why didn't you say anything before this?”
Tilting my head, I considered my explanation. Talking about Lola's growing haters came too close to legitimizing them. “Guess I didn't think I had to.”
My drummer reached for me, then pulled up short. Maybe he sensed the seething that still boiled in me, maybe it was something else; I was relieved either way. It was best that I didn't need to shove him off. “Fine. It doesn't matter.”
“It does matter,” Brenda snapped, hands choking her hips as she walked up. “Drezden! Did Lola even know about your plan?”
“No. I didn't know.”
Staring over their heads, I saw the young guitarist was in earshot. Lola had her purple stratocaster in her arms, the color merging with her shirt.
Standing tall, she pushed Colt and Brenda aside. “You really want to write a song with me?” she asked.
“I meant everything I said out there.” I wanted to read her mind. Instead, I endured a long minute of her unblinking silence.
Abruptly, Lola melted. “Oh, Drezden. That's—I just...” No tears escaped, but a wet-warmth twinkled in her blue eyes. The skin on her cheeks and nose flushed, redness brought on by her delight, not her desire.
I could grow to like that kind of blush.
Ignoring the busy backstage, I pulled her against me. I'd have crushed her, but I was too aware of her guitar between us. “That means you want to do it, I take it.”
“Yes!” Laughing, shaking against my ribs, Lola stood on her toes and kissed me like she'd never known the pleasure. Her nose pushed on mine, our foreheads touching. “God, I can't wait to do that with you. It's a dream for me, writing a song with Drezden Halifax.”
A dream with me. My arms wound around her shoulders possessively. I want all her dreams to be about me.
Her dreams... and her reality.
Someone coughed politely; Brenda, trying to be subtle. When I did nothing but wrap my lips on Lola again, our manager groaned. “Okay, you two, break it up. Or don't, whatever. I've got a whiskey-sour with my name on it waiting at the bar.”
“I'll join you,” Colt said, faking the sound of throwing up. “Come on Porter, don't gawk at them. They might be into that.”
When I heard the fading laughter of the trio, I finally leaned away from Lola. It was a mere few inches; it felt like forever. “You want to get out of here?”
From her depths, a ghostly sadness came to the surface. It lavished in her wide eyes, tugged at my center. “I want to tell you what I promised.”
Nodding, my hands came to rest on her wrists. “Then I want to hear it.”
Linking our fingers, she led me out into the night.
****
We could hear the sounds of people partying. The noise sank through the walls of the bus, a cruel reminder that out there, the world was full of joy.
Inside, sitting on Lola's bunk, we were coated in black soberness.
“So those girls slashed the tire,” I whispered, fighting down the waves of resentment. It had been my suspicion, Lola's recounting had confirmed it. “Some insane stalkers think they own me, that if you were gone, I'd waste my time with them?”
Sitting in my lap, her head on my chest, Lola stroked my palm. “Shh. I don't know what they think. Just that whatever it is, they don't want me around you.”
Burying my nose in the top of her hair, my eyes fell shut. “Too bad for them that I always get what I want.” Feeling Lola burrow against my warmth was pure joy. However, I wasn't naive. I knew she had wanted to talk to me for a reason. “There's something else.” Recalling how we'd shouted at each other before the show summoned a flinch. “Something that you said was complicated.”
She went lifeless in my arms; only the gentle thumping of her heart near mine reassured me she wasn't a corpse. “Yeah. It's something—I don't know how to start.” It was clear she was struggling internally.
Reaching down, I brushed hair from her forehead. “Start where it makes the most sense.”
When her arm lifted, I thought she was reaching for me. In the low-light of the bunk, Lola's tattoo was a smear of black and grey; the castle hardly visible. “You asked me about this.” Her voice sounded far away. “The night you saved me from the security. You wanted to know what it meant.”
That's right. I remembered that night, our eventual tumble into the bathtub, very well. “You told me it meant nothing.”
“I lied.”
“I know,” I responded gently.
Spreading her fingers, Lola touched the tattoo in reverence. Twisting it, she showed me the underside. Then, gripping my hand, led me to feel her skin. It was like brail in places; the scars told a story. “In high school, I was bullied. It pushed me over the edge, tempted me to... to cut myself. Pain was the only thing that gave me control.”
The image of how I'd caught her biting her own tongue flashed in my head. Pain for control. Pain so she could play her music with me near her.
“It was a hard time.”
“School?” I whispered, thinking of my own teen years.
“Living,” she said flatly. Meeting my eyes, Lola dropped her arm. “People were awful to me from the start. I had a shitty life. This tattoo represents that.”
Bile crawled upwards, searing as much as the hate I felt for the unnamed targets that had made this girl's life hell. “Who was so cruel to you?”
She didn't pause to think. “My teachers. The people in school, the town. And mostly... my parents.”
There was an echo inside of me. A chunk of my being that felt the utmost empathy. I knew what having an awful parent was like. Fuck, I knew it more than anything. “When you told me your parents wouldn't come to see you perform last night, it had nothing to do with flying.”
Lola's snort was unadulterated derision. “Yeah. They never gave a shit about my music. I don't think they care what I'm doing right now. If you called them, asking about me? I bet they'd just hang up.”
They hate her? Too many sharp, jagged feelings were consuming me. If her parents never cared about her, then... her relationship with Sean... the pain and hurt she felt when he shrugged her off... It clicked, I got where her attachment came from. The brother who had taught her guitar, who'd pushed her to audition for my band.
He was the only person she'd had before me.
“Why do that?” The thoughts in my skull were fragmented. “Why get a tattoo that reminds yourself of such an awful time in your life?” Who would choose to make it so easy to remember the bad moments? My scar itched; toxic, mocking me.
“It's there to keep me from falling back into being that person.” Pulling her knees to her chest, Lola pushed on me ever harder. “Running from the past is cowardly.”
Now it was my turn to go stiff. “There's no good in embracing the bad parts of the past.”
Shifting in my lap, Lola faced me fully. I expected her to tell me more, but the question in her expression was... out of place. Her plump lips parted, no sound falling free.
What does she want to ask me? What isn't she saying?
Then it was gone, left unsaid.
Stoic determination bloomed in its place. “Drez,” she said quietly, “I was really messed up, before. I got this tattoo to remind me of my past... and of my decision to change. Once, when I was helping Sean out at this tiny little hole of a club, I found a CD. That CD changed everything for me.”
Staring straight into her face, I spotted the shy smile that grew. The quaking of my heart made my voice hoarse. “My music?”
“Your first CD, yeah.”
My nostrils flared, hands demanding to feel her, to drag her to me so I could taste that fucking, wicked little mouth of hers. How connected are our lives? The realization bubbled, explained so much to me and so little all at once. She found my first CD, she heard my lyrics and changed her life. This amazing, insanely wonderful girl...
She's been meant for me from the start.
There was so much in my heart and head. The deep tragedy I'd seen reflected in Lola's soulful, crystal eyes made sense. The pull between us clicked together. Now, I knew why I'd felt I knew her so intimately.
I was linking her hard past with my own troubles, similar issues with family. At the same time, I was battling her decision to display her wounds with my choice to bury mine. Our souls were so similar, our beliefs contrasting.
I couldn't be like Lola and wear my damage on my sleeve.
That wasn't the path for me.
Nuzzling her throat, thrilling with her beating pulse, I sighed. “Lola, you didn't need to tell me all of this. What made you do it?”
Suddenly, she couldn't look me in the eye. “I just—I think it's important to share this stuff. We should know what's made us who we are. We should... talk about it.”
'We' she says. “I thought about this earlier.” My chin traced along her jaw; I spoke against her skull, as if I could penetrate her brain. “There's a better word for us than we. Let's call it like it is, we're a couple, right?”
Lola didn't react at first. In my embrace, her breathing shuddered. “I wanted to think that way, yeah. Boyfriend, girlfriend... it's more than I ever imagined.” Around my middle, her limbs stitched into place. “I want that. I want everything that comes with actually dating you—dating Drezden Halifax. I want you to tell me everything about you.”
A wriggling line of paranoia crawled in my guts. Was I crazy, or was Lola hinting that she knew I was keeping something from her? No. She doesn't know about that. I've been careful. She couldn't have seen. But she was going to learn eventually.
Wasn't she?
I hadn't fully thought it through. If I wanted Lola as completely as I did, it was inevitable that she'd see my scar, that she'd ask about it.
I'll have to explain it to her.
Lola's teeth gnawed at her lower lip. I kissed her, gave her a new thing to chew on.
But not yet.
Not just yet.
Buried in her smell, her flavor, I begged for more time. Please, just let me have this for a little longer. Don't make me have to tell this wonderful woman what I went through.
What my father did to me and my mother.
It was as close to a prayer as I'd ever made.
****
Lola's breathing was steady in her sleep. It hadn't taken her long to drift off, but my own unconsciousness alluded me.
We were curled in the small bed, her head under my chin, her scent invading my senses. I'd have blamed her nearness for keeping me awake if I hadn't known better. The legs of my memory were running. I was swamped in the tepid images of my past, Lola's tale, and the events of the day.
The old scars on her arm had felt so rough; it made me hug her protectively. In her dream, Lola whimpered. The noise jolted from my scalp to my groin. She trembled against me, flesh smooth and hot. It took a massive effort not to wake her up with my hands down her panties.
Even in sleep, she draws me in.
Her next soft, sad mumble wasn't caused by me. Against my body, she twitched. Her muscles were exerting energy, her eyelids fluttering as the nightmare took her. Unable to look away, I strained my ears in the almost-darkness and heard her whisper.
“No,” she pleaded, “please. Don't leave me.”
Narrowing my eyes, I gripped her hips, her shoulder. I won't. I won't ever leave you.
Those beautiful lips twisted. “Please stay... Sean.”
I stopped breathing.
In the late hour, the girl I loved—loved—was fighting the devils of her mind. Not about me, but over the strife she was having with her brother. Staring at the ceiling, haunted by the sorrowful whispers she occasionally made, I debated what to do.
Craning my neck, my probing gaze fell on Lola's bed-side table. There, calling to me with promise, sat her cell phone on its charger.
The decision was solid, my body moving to slip away from Lola. I had the phone in my grip, fallen jeans gathered next. A shadow, I pushed the curtain aside, moved deeper into the bus. No one waited for me; I'd heard both band members return to their rooms over an hour ago.
Zipping my jeans, grabbing a sweater from my room, I opened the phone.
It wasn't hard to find Sean's number.
I typed fast, just my thumb doing the work. It was after two in the morning; there was a chance the guy was asleep. My message, under the guise of Lola, was sent. It simply said 'meet me outside Belly Up. We need to talk.'
Clicking it shut, I shoved it deep in my pocket. Yanking the hood over my head, I drifted out of the bus, nodding at the few security guards still on the job. They were there to keep stalkers and groupies out, not to keep me in.
The Colorado breeze was crisp, making me grateful for my sweater. Hunkering down against the far, darkened wall of the venue, I fixed my attention out on the parking lot and waited.
I didn't have to wait long.
In the cobalt blur of the lot, a single bulb lighting the corner furthest from me, Sean approached like a phantom. He must have been awake, there was no way he'd have come out so fast otherwise.
The dark grey sweatshirt he wore came into focus. A moment later, when I glimpsed his squinting eyes, his hushed words followed. “Lola? Lola, are you out here?”
Curling my fingers into his chest, I yanked Sean my way. He stumbled into the shadows, struggling against me with a surprised shout. “What the—what the fuck!? Who the hell—” One wide hand covered his mouth.
Wrenching him around, my muscles worked to slam his back against the cold bricks. Here, no one would see us. I knew his eyes had adjusted to the dark when they finally went wide, understanding who had attacked him. “Shh,” I growled, “not so loud. Calm down.”
There was still stiffness in his body, but Sean released my forearms. With one more pointed glare, I removed my hand. “What the shit, man,” he hissed. “It wasn't Lola, it was you actually called me out here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“About what?” Scoffing, he buried his hands in his pockets.
His casual attitude sent eager tingles down my fingers. I wanted to shove him against the wall again, even if only to see his face contort in fear. “About Lola, what the hell else?”
“That isn't your problem.” Sean's chin bent low, blue eyes that looked more like ebony fixing on me. “Lola and I—”
“Lola is my problem.” Snarling, I slammed a palm onto the wall by his head. His flinch was glorious, goading me on. “And right now, she's miserable because of how you've been treating her.”
“How I've been treating her?” Leaning forward, he jabbed me in the shoulder. “She's the one who's been ignoring me, treating me like shit!”
Our voices were rising; I had stopped caring. “You're overreacting. She's just been busy getting into the swing of being in a big band.”
Madness—disgust?—bloomed across Sean's features. “I don't know if that was a fucking dig or not, but she's in your band because I'm the one who pushed her there. So, getting into the swing of things? That's bullshit.”
“Talk to her.” It was less a request than a demand. “You make the time to talk to her an
d clear this up. She's dealt with too much to need tension between you two bringing her down.”
He leaned against the wall. “She told you, didn't she? Our parents, how those shitty kids in school bullied her. She told you everything already.”
“Yeah, she told me.”
“Well, good.” Laughing bitterly, he ruffled his own hair. “Fuck. So you know I'm the only one who ever gave a shit about her. You must think it'd be so easy for me to talk to her now and clear this up.”
“It is easy, Sean.” Watching his forehead crinkle, I bit back the razor in my voice. “If I could be the only person for her, I would be.” I'd be everything if she let me. “But she's fucked up over you being mad at her. Just—man, just fucking talk to her.”
The guitarist cocked his head like a bird. “If I don't?”
I smiled wide. “I'll break your fucking jaw. I wanted to since you kicked my amp over years back.”
He didn't laugh. His expression was purely blank. “Guess we are similar after all.”
In the chilly air, the two of us waited. I couldn't have said for what; perhaps just the chance one of us would strike first, that there'd be someone to blame for ruining this fragile attempt at an 'agreement' so the other could freely get violent.
I really want to tear his smug grin in two.
It was good he couldn't read my mind.
Sean's exhale broke the moment. Pushing off the wall, he strolled around me, speaking as he went. “I'll talk to her. Don't you dare tell her we had this chat.”
I won't, I thought privately. When Sean vanished from sight, I uncurled my fists. It had been a struggle to quell the animal in me that just wanted to hear Sean scream. To relish in the crunch of his broken bones. Never in my life did I think I'd go to this level of effort for someone. Not someone. For Lola. I just don't want anyone affecting Lola but me.
There are worse kinds of selfishness, I guess.
It was enough to make me chuckle.
Lola didn't wake up when I crept back into her room. Not when I set her cell phone back down, the message to her brother long erased. Not when I pulled off my sweater and left it on the floor. It wasn't until I invaded her bed, my pants scratching along her bare thighs, that her eyelashes flickered. “Drez?” she mumbled, rubbing at her cheek.
