by J. R. Rogue
“Okay yes, you.” I heard my friend’s voice from behind me. I began walking around the stage, pacing. A young girl in what looked to be her early twenties began speaking.
“When did you write your first poem?” He eyes smiled at me. I felt a warmth work through me.
I thought back. It felt so long ago. “I was, honestly, I don’t remember. Maybe nine?” Writing about pain no child should know but that too many knew. They needed to know they weren’t alone.
More hands shot up. Another fan was chosen, a woman about ten years or so older than me. “Will you be writing another trilogy series?”
I was prepared for this question. It was asked online constantly. I wanted to be honest. No bullshit. “At this point I don’t know. I’m just going to let my writing guide me. I’m going to go where my heart leads me. If I feel a new story, then yes. Right now I am going to focus on my poetry and this collection.”
More hands. “What made you decide to focus on poetry?”
It was a simple answer. A one word answer. Chace. “Well,” I paused. “Someone. I met someone this year who gave a new meaning to my life. Someone who gave me a newfound confidence in myself.”
I saw movement next to the stage and looked over. My mother was here. She had my book clutched to her chest and her suitcase parked next to her. She gave me a reassuring smile. I took a deep breath and tuned back to the crowd at the sound of Gemma’s voice choosing another person.
“Is it the person you dedicated the book to? Chace?” It was out there for the world. His name.
“Yes,” I nodded.
More hands. “Are all the poems about him?”
I looked over at my mother briefly. “No. Not all of them. I touched on many kinds of love in this collection. The love I have for my family is in there. For my friends. And the love I have for you all. Those are all in there as well. I learned a lot about that four-letter word this year. I’ve always known the love of family, friends, and my fans, but I had never been in love. That changed this year.”
I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I knew I shouldn’t have dismissed my relationship with Tristan so close to the movie premiere, but I was tired of faking it for the camera, faking it for the world. It was the truth, and I needed to stop hiding. Chace was the first man I had ever loved. I wanted him to be the last.
The questions lasted just under a half an hour. They were much of the same. Tristan’s name was not brought up, much to my relief. I suppose no one wanted to be the one to bring it up. Instead, I was asked what I would be wearing to the movie premiere this Friday. I was always happy to talk fashion. I would take that over drama any day.
We took a short bathroom break between the questions and the reading. I was able to talk with my mother. To hug her. It had been so long since she had been to a signing.
When I made my way back to my seat on the stage, nerves set in again. I clutched my book in my hands. Gemma informed the crowd I would be reading only ten poems, reader-chosen, so that we could get to the signing portion of the event.
I hoped they would take it easy on me. I hoped they wouldn’t pick only the words that said his name over and over.
“Page 68,” the girl said. I knew what poem that was. I didn’t need to turn to it, but I did anyway, for show. I felt a little frozen. I felt myself go back to the day I wrote it. Not long after I flew home.
I had been home a little less than a week. My phone stayed off for days. So many people were pissed at me. My mother. Kat. Gemma. My brother. They wanted to kill me. I just needed the silence. I needed to be alone.
I hated myself. My reasons had been endless. I hated myself for running way, again. I hated myself for not fighting for Chace. I hated myself for falling in love with him.
I did not need the pages. I looked up from my book, into the crowd, and my eyes caught on blue. They caught on someone who was not there before. How the fuck was this happening? Chace was standing at the back of the crowd.
All I could see was azure. His eyes were all I knew. I needed to start speaking. I needed to recite this poem, but he was in the room with me. And all the air had left with his entrance.
The side of his mouth turned up. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I returned his smile and my eyes welled. I smiled like a goddamn idiot. I knew it. I knew I looked like a fool. I surveyed the crowd. Some of them were looking back at Chace. I looked up into the light above me for a moment, willing the tears away. I looked back down into his eyes, cleared my throat and began speaking.
The room remained silent as each poem fell from my lips. I tried not to fumble over the words in his presence. After I had read the last one I heard the murmur of voices in the crowd, they broke my concentration on the piece I had just recited. I looked over at Gemma and my mother. Their eyes were wide. They were trained on something behind me. I turned around, and felt my heart sink.
Tristan made his way up the steps to me, smiling and waving to the guests. The crowd erupted. The noise was deafening. He reached for the microphone in front of me, pulling it from its cradle.
“Hello everyone,” he greeted. “I’m sorry to show up like this. I won’t take long. I know you’re all eager to get your books signed by this beautiful woman right here. I just wanted to stop by and tell her how proud I am of her. If you haven’t read this wonderful collection of words yet, just know, you are going to be blown away. I have never in my life met a talent like her. I am so happy to have her in my life.”
I felt sick. I couldn’t move. I looked back at Chace. He was gone. No. Please, no. Not again. FUCK!!! I jumped from my seat and made my way to the side of the stage. Gemma and my mother caught me.
“You can’t go. You still have to sign,” Gemma pleaded.
I could hear Tristan talking to the crowd. “He did it again. He keeps fucking everything up. I have to find Chace,” I said through clenched teeth, pushing past her.
My mother caught me. “Hun, you can’t leave. You have a commitment here. We will figure it out. I’ll call him,” she said, squeezing my arms.
“Please. Please tell him I did not ask that idiot to come here. Oh my fucking hell, Mom. Did you know Chace was going to be here?” My voice had reached an inhuman pitch.
“Yes. I’m so sorry. He flew with me. He wanted it to be a surprise. We are going to fix this.” She had her reassuring mom voice on. I reached for her hand.
“Please. Please call him. I can’t do this again. I can’t lose him before I even get him back.”
“I’ll call him. You just stay here. Sign those books. This is your moment. I am so proud of you.”
She pressed a kiss to my forehead, grabbed her suitcase, and walked away. I stayed frozen to the stage and watched her go. I was terrified.
The signing was a blur. I was a zombie. I was ashamed of myself by the end of it all. I was not who they came to see. My sorrow was painted on my face. My rage towards Tristan was there too. I tried my best to smile at the cameras and chat though. My mind was gone. It was off chasing Chace.
After, I found a message from my mother on my phone; she was unable to reach him. All hope was lost. He probably changed his flight, flew away from the mess of us. Just like I had done months ago. I couldn’t even blame him. It was a scene straight out of a typical romantic comedy. Except I wouldn’t be getting my cookie cutter bullshit happy ending.
I called my doorman to let my mother in and informed her I would meet her back there in a couple hours. I walked the streets. I had a limited amount of time with her, but I needed to be alone. I did not want to put myself through the readings the next two days. I thought I could separate myself from the heartache in those pages, but now it was wide open once more. The wound was fresh. A crimson ribbon floating in the November breeze behind me.
I was done with Tristan. I would no longer spare him. I would no longer try to be civil. We would never be friends. I found him lingering around the bookstore after the signing and I let him know. I think, in his eyes, I finally saw his resign
ation.
I wandered the streets. I wandered my mind. The madness would be back again. The melancholy. My music was gone. Again. Fucking. Again. Life was black and white cylinder solitude.
Eventually I found myself back on my street. I wasn’t aiming that way intentionally, but here I was. I needed to get home anyway. My mother was surely worried.
My leaden feet carried me up the steps. I opened my door to darkness. The soft light of my nightlight in the kitchen glowed. Why was my mom hanging out in the dark?
“Mom? Where are you?” I rounded the corner, into my kitchen. It was not my mother standing there. I choked on my breath. I pressed my palm to my chest.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. Your mom let me in,” Chace said in one breath. His palms in the air, greeting me.
“It’s okay, really.” I didn’t know if I had actually said it out loud. I must have because he nodded.
“No, it isn’t. Look, I know we broke up a long time ago. Honestly, I don’t even know if we were a couple. And if you’re with Tristan now, I understand.” He shook his head, bit his lip, and continued. “I let you go. I didn’t try to stop you. I regretted it. I came home the day after you flew here and I hated that house. I hated not having you in it. I called you. I called so many times. Your phone went straight to voicemail. I tried for days and I couldn’t get through. I should have believed you then. I did believe you. Still, I let you go. I was just so damn scared. I probably pushed you right back into his arms. But when you texted me the other day, I couldn’t breathe. I figured your mom had an advanced copy of your book so I asked her for it. I read the dedication. And I knew.”
I read the words in my head. The ones I hoped he would find. The key to finding the ones I had hidden, back beneath the floorboard.
‘For Chace.
I hope one day, again, you’ll find me.
You’re the only one who knew where to find me.’
“I went back to that spot. I found the poems you wrote while you were in Missouri. Then I read what was published. Was it true? Was everything you wrote true?” His whispery voice fluttered to me. I was always flustered and fumbling around him.
“Yes. Yes yes yes.” I took a step towards him.
“You were in love with me?”
“I am.” I didn’t know a before.
“You are now?”
“Yes. I am not with Tristan. That performance was just another of his stunts. I am so fucking in love with you.”
It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. He stared back into my eyes. I saw his hand clench the countertop. I wanted him to cross the space in between. I wanted him to reach for me, but we just stood there, like two people who had never touched, both scared to make the first move.
It needed to be me. I had spoken the words, but words were nothing, if not followed up by actions. I had fantasized about having him here in front of me every day since I left Missouri. I wrote him back to me over and over. I wrote it so many ways, but none were like this. Reality has a way of being so much more beautiful than the pictures words paint.
I walked slowly around the island, to where he stood, leaning against my counter. He was still, his jaw locked, his hands tense on the granite behind him.
He did not move. He just watched. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he wasn’t ready even though he flew thousands of miles. I reached my hand out, and lightly set it on his own. He turned it over and grabbed on, pulling my hand behind my back. He stood over me, using his other hand to tip my chin back. I looked into his eyes.
“I don’t know what it feels like to not be in love with you,” he whispered. His lips were on me all at once. My hands fisted in his shirt. He backed me up into the island, his hands making their way to my hair. It was as if we never parted. The hole inside of me was instantly filled.
I started grinning wildly, halting our kiss. Chace pulled away, smiling back.
“I know,” he said. He didn’t need to say anything else. We kissed again, frantically. There wasn’t anything more to say. Not now.
Our hands and lips were magnets, I didn’t know where he ended and I began. He walked me backwards around the island. I felt my ass bump into a barstool.
Chace reached for my hips and lifted me up onto it. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in. He pulled his mouth away from mine and I moved forward instinctively. I opened my eyes to his. To the blue, I had missed.
I had been living my life in blue hues without him. I felt music inside my heart again. He was my music. I couldn’t live without it again. I was merely madness and melancholy without him.
“Tell me again,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine.
“I am so fucking in love with you, Chace.”
He kissed me again, long and slow, his hands deftly finding their way to the zipper of my dress. I felt the cool metal move down my spine as it made its descent.
One of the most beautiful things about Chace had always been his calm. The calm that balanced out my manic mind. He was steady, and I simply flowed around him, in waves, in drops, in floods. I felt him coming undone. He had spent his whole life gluing himself back into a whole man and I felt him coming apart under my hands.
He didn’t feel scared. I always wanted control, but he had it now, even as he came undone. He had me. I felt his power. I felt his strength. He was the strongest person I had ever met.
His mouth made its way to my neck. I leaned back, inviting him in, digging my heels into his ass. I thanked myself for choosing such a billowy dress, one that did not bind my legs.
Chace’s hands made their way to the straps of my dress, pulling them over my shoulders. My breath picked up, the rise and fall of my breasts, caught his eye. My nude cotton push up bra cupped me. He exhaled, my fingers clenched on the skin beneath his shirt.
He reached his arms over his shoulders and quickly pulled his shirt off over his head. His eyes fell onto my chest again, and then his mouth landed there, he reached a hand up and pulled the right cup down. My heartbeat quickened.
He reached down, pulling the bar stool closer, away from the island. With his other hand he grabbed my wrist, and pulled it behind my back, he did the same with my other hand, securing them with one of his own, behind me.
He took his finger and brushed the hair from my neck. The long strands slipped over me, hardening my peak.
When his mouth found its way down I nearly bucked off the stool. Chace groaned and lightly nibbled, sending me further into ecstasy. He traced the tip, teasing, testing.
This was different from any first time I had ever had. The night we almost went the distance, he had been so shy, so timid. I pulled his hips closer, heat was rising. I needed a release, and we had barely started.
He had a way of doing this to me. Intimacy was foreign, and I felt it, here. There was a charge in his touch, in his breath, and my pulse tried to keep up.
I was a virgin to making love. To me, it was always just a cheesy expression. It wasn’t real. It was for romantics and silly lovers. This, was beautiful. This, I knew, would define us.
He released the grip on my wrists, both hands landed on my thighs, pushing my dress up higher, his mouth never left my breast.
I grabbed the bar behind me, laying my head back, trusting him to hold me up. His mouth left me and I straightened, looking for him. He leaned down, his fingers finding the warm fabric between my legs. He pushed it to the side and slid his finger over the center of me. Then he was parting me, it was simple. I was ready.
I had been ready the moment he touched me. His mouth was close, I could feel his breath. I was nervous. I had had many men down there, but he had me on edge. He was the only one who mattered. I wasn’t going to put on a show, dramatics, theatrics.
When his tongue found my warmth, I nearly died, silently. I clenched my eyes and felt a tear roll down my cheek. I felt clean. I felt new. He worked me to the brink then came up to rest his lips upon my neck, pulling my panties down quickly. I opened my eyes and saw his
own taking in the salt staining my cheeks.
“Are you okay?” he asked, moving his hands to my face, his eyes searching.
“Yes,” I whispered. I lied. It’s what I do. I crossed my arms over my chest. A reflex. I covered my heart and my traitor lungs.
“You’re safe with me,” he assured, simply.
I nodded in response, murdering my bottom lip, trying to avoid his gaze. I desired the ability to be open, but a fear was still living inside of me, maybe I would never be free of it. I wanted to; I couldn’t live in this skin prison forever.
“Look at me, please.” I clenched my eyes and shook my head. He tried again. “Seraphina.”
My eyes flew open and I turned to him, locking into him. He held me there. “You’re not a dirty thing,” he told me. “You’re not the things you wrote in your poetry as a child. You’re not damaged. You’re not a scar. Your grandfather was a bad man. You are nothing but good. He did not ruin you. No fucking way. I know what he did to you. I know why you had their room taken out during the remodel. I know you beat yourself up over the fact that you didn’t go to his funeral, that your mother thinks you had pneumonia and you punish yourself for that lie. I know you can’t look at tulips, his favorite flower. Your mother wanted them planted around the house. I told her I couldn’t find any. When she did and planted them, I yanked them out of the flowerbed before you moved back. I told her that rabbits got to them.”
I choked out a sob at his words and rested my forehand on his shoulder. He reached up and rested his palm on my cheek, then leaned down and spoke into my hair.
“You hold this darkness deep inside your ribcage. I know how that feels. I have it too. It isn’t the same as yours, I know that, but your darkness is fucking blinding, Sera. It’s beautiful and it’s a part of you. Use it.”
