by Amelia Mae
“I know this relationship stuff is all fake. But we are friends. At least that much is real.”
He’s being sincere. I give him a hug. A friendly hug.
“I do, Dylan. Thank you.”
He nods.
A fan stops him to ask for an autograph and pose for a picture and my eyes wander over to Ian again. The girls have left him alone and he orders a drink from a passing cocktail waitress.
“He deserves someone good.” I don’t meant to say that out loud, but Dylan definitely heard me.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
It’s all going down.
I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Like I’m spiraling downward into a pit of insecurity and depression. I haven’t felt this way since Evan and I broke up, I quit the pharmacy program, and I bombed my first audition all in the span of a few days.
I don’t deserve Ian. I don’t deserve Dylan’s friendship. I don’t deserve acting. I’m not good enough for any of it. All I really deserve is the tequila hangover I’m almost certain to have tomorrow.
“What’s going on, Cora?” Dylan asks. I guess I’ve been quiet for a really long time.
I find Ian again. This time we make eye contact. He smiles at me, despite being surrounded by a room full of people and cameras. Then we go back to ignoring each other.
I hate it.
I can’t fucking stand it.
But this is what it’s always going to be like.
“There are cameras here,” I tell Dylan, feeling like my veins have been replaced with live electric wiring.
“There are always cameras,” he says, like I don't already know, “So?”
“So… let’s put on a show.”
“What?”
I grab Dylan and kiss the hell out of him.
Cell phone cameras capture the moment. I have no doubt it’ll hit social media in a few minutes.
I can feel Dylan tense up as I deepen the kiss. He’s trying to pretend he’s enjoying this, but it feels forced.
Well, fuck, it is forced.
And I know that Ian is watching. I can feel his eyes on me.
It’s not that I want to hurt him. It’s that…
I want to prove to him that I’m no good before he sees it for himself.
Before he realizes that he only wants me because I’m some pretty girl he's fantasized about since he was a kid.
I want to ruin myself for him so he doesn’t have to.
Before I get my wits about me or know which end is up, my kiss with Dylan is interrupted. I stumble backwards, unsteady on my heels.
I straighten up just in time to see Ian’s fist connect with Dylan’s face.
“You swore you wouldn’t try anything,” Ian yells.
“I didn’t,” Dylan yells back, his hand over his nose.
“Asshole,” Ian practically spits at him. He cocks his fist again despite the fact that there’s blood on his hand.
“She kissed me, fucker,” Dylan says, hurling his fist at Ian. He clocks Ian in the cheek and a full-on, testosterone-fueled brawl ensues.
Some bouncers pull Ian and Dylan off each other and give them a minute to calm the fuck down. I watch on, horrified.
On of the hangers-on, a chick with fire-engine-red hair, leans in. “Take a break, bitch,” she whispers to me.
I can’t argue with her.
It’s my signal to leave.
I hide out on the bus and close myself off in the private room where no one will be looking for me.
I lie on the bed and fight back tears.
Oh hell, I don’t have to out on a happy face for anyone right now.
I go ahead and cry my eyes out.
I cry until I hear a knock at the door and he doesn’t wait for an answer.
21
Ian
I don’t know what to say to Cora. A million things are running through my brain. Things like What the hell? and Are you crazy? and I’m gonna kill Dylan and Jesus, fuck, what happened?
But I get one look at her tear-stained face and I can’t will myself to be angry.
“Hey,” I say gently.
She frantically wipes her eyes and gasps for breath in effort to calm herself down. She didn’t expect me.
“Hey yourself,” she finally replies.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she answers, too quickly.
“What happened?” I ask as gently as possible.
She struggles for words. Nothing comes out.
“You hated the song?” I suggest.
“No,” she says solemnly, shaking her head. “I love the song. Really.”
“Then what?” I ask, "Something happen at that audition?”
She fixates on a small corner of the floor. Bingo.
“Don’t want to talk about it,” she says, timidly. She curls up on the bed. Tries to make herself smaller.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“I don’t think so,” she finally answers, her voice barely a whisper, “I’d give anything to not feel the way I do right now.”
I don’t know what happened at that audition, but I’m so angry I could strangle whoever it was that made her feel this way. God, when Cora’s happy, I feel like I’m on top of the world. When she’s crying, I feel like I’d move heaven and earth to get her to smile again.
Holy fuck. This is what it feels like to be in love.
It’s hell. And heaven. Painful and wonderful at the same time.
She needs out of her head. I know it. And I think I know what to do about it. If I’m wrong, I trust her to tell me to fuck off.
I strip off my shirt.
I swallow hard. I narrow my eyes. I take control.
She looks at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks.
I slide off my shoes, socks and jeans. No boxers.
I’m completely naked in front of her.
And I’m hard. I can’t help it. I’ve got this hair-trigger erection like a horny teenager when I’m around her.
“Use me,” I command.
“What?” she asks.
Her eyes roam over my body. It’s working. I feel her anticipation. Fuck, I can practically feel her breath on my skin as she gets up off the bed.
I don’t wait for her to answer.
“Whatever you’re feeling, just… take it out on me. All the aggression. Everything. Do anything you want to me,” I seethe out, my eyes half-closed. “Hit me. Fuck me. Scream at me. Up to you.”
I lean up against the wall.
She stares at me, like she’s unsure of what to do. For a second, she just breathes. Then she looks at me like she doesn’t know if she wants to cry or if she wants to slap me in the face.
She kisses me.
Hard.
Hard enough to bruise my lips.
And she drags her fingernails down my chest. She scrapes me. Not like she wants to hurt me. But like she wants to mark me.
Good. I’m a fucking freak. I like the pain. Right now I want her to go crazy on me and draw fucking blood if it’ll make her feel better.
I bring my hands to her hips gently.
“Me too,” she gasps, “I need to hurt too.”
No way in hell I’m hurting Cora. But I will fuck her senseless. Take her hard and fast like I’ve always want to.
I pick her up. I throw her down onto the sheets, climb on top of her and pin her wrists over her head.
Her lips are puffy. Her makeup smeared. She takes a few deep breaths, her chest heaves with desperation.
I swear, I’ve never loved her more.
“Tell me to stop,” I hiss, “Or I fuck you into the mattress.”
She looks up at me like she might challenge me. Or fight me. Then she zeroes in on my neck and she fucking bites me.
Sinks her teeth into my flesh and growls.
Fuck yes.
There’s nothing in the world like good, angr
y fucking.
I push her dress to her waist, tear off her panties and shove two fingers inside of her. She moans. She’s dripping wet. She’s as turned-on as she is enraged.
I give her all of my weight and thrust my cock balls-deep inside her with one forceful stroke.
“Ugh,” she gasps.
Her eyes are hooded. They roll back into her head. Her mouth is open.
I hold her down and make her take everything I want to give her. Everything that I can do to make her feel good.
She’s pushing against me, trying to get out from underneath me.
God, I love the idea of Cora riding me.
She flips me onto my back and climbs on top, still with me inside her, an evil grin on her face.
I give her ass a hard spank.
She yelps, surprised, but not angry. If anything, it spurs her on even more.
“Harder,” she orders.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes,” she cries, “Harder. Make it hurt.”
She grinds her hips into mine, finding the speed and pressure she likes. Good, I think, take what you want. Cause what I want is to hear that crack my palm makes when it smacks your ass.
Another spank. Another.
She gets even wetter. Rides me harder.
She moans my name.
She kisses me deeply. Thrusts her tongue in my mouth and it wrestles with mine. She lifts her hips and then drops down on me over and over again.
My control, if I ever had any, is lost.
“Fuck Cora,” I pant, “I can’t hold on much longer.”
“Come for me, Ian,” she whispers. “I need to feel you come. Please.”
The please sends me over the edge and I come like a damn freight train. She practically shrieks out her orgasm, her hot, wet pussy bearing down on me.
She claws at me. Swears. Moans my name.
Gives me a hard, greedy kiss and sucks on my tongue.
Completely loses herself.
We lose ourselves in each other.
I’m fucking shaking.
Several minutes later, I still can’t move. I just hold onto her, going soft inside of her, listening to her heavy breathing.
I ease her onto her back.
God, she’s so beautiful all spent out, her long black hair fanned out like a dark halo. Her eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep. I hold her underneath me and kiss her softly. Slowly. Deeply.
Desperately.
Because I feel her slipping away.
22
Cora
Ian’s gathered me close to his chest and put his strong arms around me. I feel his breath steady on my shoulder. His heart beats against mine. His skin is all warm. It’s so safe and comforting.
Well, it should be.
I press my eyelids together, trying to rest, but I can’t. So I just… look at Ian. His eyes are closed. He’s in a deep sleep.
I want to savor this moment. Relish it. Enjoy being like this.
But I can’t.
Ian’s flawed too, sure. I’m not blind. I haven’t painted him into a saint or something. But he’s kind. And generous. And gorgeous. And perfectly imperfect.
And he wants me. But, really, does he?
He wants this version of me that he remembers from high school. This ambitious, tenacious, vibrant girl that I haven’t been in a long time. He’s so lost in his fantasy that he can’t see me for who I am.
A cocktail waitress.
A failing actress.
Not even a has-been. A never-was.
And every moment that I’m soaking in the warmth of his body, the feelings of comfort and security that he’s offering me, I’m letting him believe that I’m someone I’m not. Someone worthy of his love.
I pry myself from Ian’s arms. He shifts and mumbles something, but doesn’t wake up.
God, I hope that this isn’t the end for me and Ian. I hope that one day, when I’ve made myself into a worthy individual, we’ll somehow find each other again.
But that’s too crazy to ever be possible.
I pack what I can in the dark. I leave a lot behind, but I don’t care.
I take a long, last look at him, tears prickling the corners of my eyes.
I creep out out of the bedroom and into the main area of the bus, past the bunks and into the living room. I assume I’ll be alone, but Dylan is on the sofa, headphones in his ears, watching a movie. He’s got a bruise under his eye, but the swelling has gone down.
He takes the headphones out when he sees me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, barely able to make eye contact.
He looks hurt, but he understands.
“I’ll handle it,” he says, “The breakup I mean.”
We both know what he really wants to ask. And I think we both know that I don’t have an answer to that. Not a good one, anyway.
“You need anything?” he asks, “Money? A ride?”
“No,” I tell him, “I’ll be okay.”
“You sure you can’t make it till the end of the tour? We’ve only got four more days.”
I shake my head again. “I understand about breaking my contract…”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money, Cora,” he says. “I give a fuck about my friend.”
“So do I,” I say. A lot. “Which is why I can’t let him fall for a loser like me. I have to go.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him…” My voice gets weak. I’m trying not to cry in front to Dylan. I wring my hands. “Tell him I love him.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I have to go.”
Dylan nods. “I won’t stop you.”
23
Ian
I know the second I wake up that I’m alone. The bed is cold. My arms are empty. Only the smell of sex and green apple shampoo linger behind.
There’s no chance I’ll find Cora in the kitchen making French toast in my tee shirt this time.
She’s gone.
I tumble out into the main area and over to the couches. Jack and Shawn have headed out for lunch, but Dylan is hanging out. His face looks better, thankfully. I owe him a hundred apologies.
“I’m…” I start.
He puts up a hand. Save it.
This isn’t the first time Dylan and I have fought and it won’t be the last. We always recover from it.
He looks at me like he knows everything.
“Where’d she go?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“You let her leave in the middle of the night? Alone?”
“She’s an adult,” he replies, “I couldn’t stop her.”
He’s right. “Do you know where she went?”
He shakes his head. I take a seat at the table.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“No.”
“Want a beer?”
I do, but I shake my head no anyway.
“I hate asking this, but if you want to take tonight off and deal with your shit alone, the drummer for My Hero owes me a favor,” he offers.
“Let that idiot near my kit,” I spit out, “Not a fucking chance.” Besides, pounding the shit out of the skins is the only thing that makes sense right now.
Lucky for me, the last four days of the tour are in the New York/New Jersey area and we have shows every night. It’s going to be a wash of sound-checks, press events and concerts, so thankfully, there won’t be much time to do anything else. Like be in my own head.
“Should I call her?” I ask.
Dylan considers the question. “Eventually,” he answers, “She loves you, Ian.”
“Does she?”
He nods. “But she’s got some stuff she needs to prove to herself first. She needs time.”
“How do you know?”
“Been through it with a girl like this before,” he says with a shrug.
Ah, the infamous Jane Doe.
“I just wish… I don't know. I wish I could… fix everything,” I tell him.
He looks at m
e like he understands.
I climb into my bunk and pull the curtain closed. I’m in no mood to face the world, so I stare into space for awhile, but eventually have to get ready for the show.
Dylan practically pushes me into the shower, then forces me to eat something.
I obey.
But when I tell him I’m going back my bunk for a minute before we leave, he knows I’m going to text Cora. He looks at me with disapproval, but doesn’t try to stop me.
Ian: Are you okay?
A few seconds pass. Then the three little dots appear while she types.
Cora: Yes.
Ian: Where are you?
A minute passes. Then another.
Finally, the three little dots appear again.
Then disappear.
Then reappear.
Fuck, I hate these three little fucking dots.
Cora: Hotel
Ian: Seriously? That’s all the answer I get. Hotel?
Cora: I’m sorry.
Ian: Sorry for what? Sorry for that answer? Sorry for leaving?
Cora: Sorry for everything.
Ian: Can we talk in person? Please.
I wait for a response. None. Not even the three little dots, like she was trying for formulate a reply, but changed her mind.
Ian: Are we over?
She takes forever to respond.
Cora: I can’t ask you to wait for me.
Then nothing.
Dylan pulls back the curtain on my bunk and rips the phone from my hand.
“You can have this back after the show tonight. I’m not going to let you sit around all day and pull this masochistic bullshit,” he says forcefully.
I’m not listening. “She says she’s sorry for everything? What’s everything? Like, she’s sorry she even got on the bus? Or did the video?”
“I don’t know,” he answers.
“Is she sorry she slept with me?”
“Let’s not do this right now,” Dylan says, “Go take a walk or something.”
“No,” I stammer, “I need to figure this out. I’ve wanted this girl since I was in fucking high school. I finally get her. Now I’ve lost her.”
Dylan sighs. “You haven’t lost her,” he starts, “Because you never had her.”
