by L.H. Cosway
“So I can ruin them?”
I stared at him, troubled. This sort of talk came and went with him, but he hadn’t been down like this in over a year. We didn’t talk about it much anymore, because he seemed to have found a balance in life and was doing so well, but he suffered from bipolar depression and took medication to keep his moods in check. It was another of the reasons why he didn’t drink. Alcohol made him too wild and unpredictable.
“The only reason you’d ruin them is so they wouldn’t get the chance to ruin you first. You’re a pre-emptive striker. I’ve seen you do it.”
“I don’t know any other way to be.”
“You say that, but it’s not true. You think you wreck people, but you never wrecked me. In fact, my life’s been so much better because you’re in it. You make me laugh every day, listen to me whine about my relationship woes, help me whenever I need it. You’ll find a woman worth loving, and it won’t be Alicia. That one has enough issues of her own. And when you find her, Julian, you just need to love her the same as you love me…but you know, with sex and all that romantic stuff.”
He laughed and waggled a brow. “You trying to tell me something, darling?”
I shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “You were always my first choice,” I teased. “Unfortunately, you only ever saw me as a little sister.”
He scowled, but a smile edged his mouth. “You’re a dirty liar.”
I grinned. “Hush! I’m trying to make you feel better.”
We laughed and then grew quiet. I allowed my eyes to trace his pretty face and wondered if this whole thing with Alicia was indicative of a bigger change in him. Perhaps he was finally ready to find someone, someone to love who would love him in return. Suddenly overcome with emotion, I pulled him into my arms, squeezing him so tight I heard a little oomph of breath whoosh out. He didn’t complain, but simply took my comfort willingly.
***
The following day I was eager to find Damon and see how he was feeling. I hoped beyond hope that he was over all the drama of yesterday and that we could just go back to how we were before. I needed to touch him, kiss him, absorb his scent. It was a fierce and disconcerting need, almost overpowering in its urgency.
I wasn’t sure who had done it, but it seemed to have been spread around the cast that I wasn’t the dirty cheater Blake had claimed me to be. That was one good thing at least. I even got a few commiserating looks. Making my way to Damon’s dressing room, I found his door open, but when I stepped inside, Alicia was there. They were sitting by the table facing one another, and she was leaning forward with her hand on his knee as though to comfort him.
Oh, hell no.
“You’ve got some steel panties, showing your face,” she commented as she eyed me cattily.
I narrowed my eyes to slits and glanced at Damon to find he was frowning at Alicia. “Rose is welcome in my dressing room any time she likes,” he said sternly, and some of the tension left me. Alicia pouted and gave him a hurt look. It was as fake as her hair colour probably was.
“But how do you know she’s not lying about Blake? I don’t see why he’d say something like that if there was no truth to it,” she said, like the little devil on his shoulder. Damon stiffened.
“He said it because he’s got a drug problem,” I interjected. “Yesterday he was high and feeling in the mood to cause trouble. That’s why he said it. And anyway, you’re one to talk. You used my best friend for sex and then dropped him as soon as you were done.”
I couldn’t tell what made me angrier, her constant attempts to steal Damon or the way she’d treated Julian. Alicia sat up straighter, her mouth tightening. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under, because right then she appeared to want to throttle me for saying that aloud in front of Damon. Little did she know, I’d already told him all about her affair with my friend.
“Julian’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” she said, eyeing me coldly.
I gave her a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “No, actually, he can’t. In fact, you should probably be across town consoling him right now, rather than putting all your effort into Damon when he doesn’t need it.”
She sneered at me. “And why should I do that?”
I levelled her with a long, hard stare. “Because no one deserves to be treated like an object, and that’s exactly how you treated Julian.”
A moment of quiet ensued as we stared each other down. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of remorse in her eyes. She glanced at the floor, then picked up her handbag, rifling through it as though searching for something. “What did he say to you?” she asked quietly, and I was surprised by the delicate catch in her voice.
“Why don’t you go and ask him?” I suggested, not backing down.
She sniffled and stood, glancing at Damon one final time. “If you need me, come find me.”
Her offer made me furious. I locked eyes with Damon, and he must have seen it because he told her coldly, “I won’t need you.”
She reared back like she’d just been slapped, and, without another word, turned on her heel and left the dressing room. The door slammed with a loud thud, and I felt a small moment of victory that Damon had stood up to her. We stared at one another for a long time. When he opened his mouth to speak, I thought he might say something about yesterday, about Blake, but he didn’t. Instead, he surprised me with concern for my friend.
“Is Julian all right?” he asked, and I could tell he genuinely cared.
I stepped forward and gestured to the chair Alicia had just vacated. Damon nodded his permission for me to sit.
“He’s okay. I just get so angry when stuff like this happens because he truly doesn’t deserve it. Julian was never dealt the easiest cards in life.”
“No?” said Damon.
I shook my head, struck with the sudden urge to tell him everything. I held Julian’s pain in my heart daily. Perhaps sharing it with someone would lessen the burden, and I knew Damon would never tell another soul. I inhaled a deep breath before I spoke.
“When he was a little boy, Julian’s mother was an alcoholic and would leave him alone in the house for days on end. She’d disappear with whatever man had caught her eye that week, and he’d have to fend for himself. But it was worse when she brought the men home, every one of them a new kind of scumbag eager to unleash abuse on the boy with a mother who didn’t care what they did to him. He’s suffered terribly with depression all his life because of it.”
Damon stared at me sadly and asked, “Does he take any meds?”
“Yes. He’s been on an even keel for the last few years, but I’ve been seeing troubling signs in him lately. I’ve even checked his pill bottles to make sure he hasn’t stopped taking his medication. It all started with this ridiculous fling with Alicia. I told him from the start she’d only hurt him, but he wouldn’t listen. Now I fear he might start back at his old habits.”
Damon took my hand into his, his warm touch soothing to my frantic heart. “Old habits?”
I let out a breath and worried my bottom lip. “He started using heroin when he was seventeen. It went on until his early twenties, when I finally managed to convince him to go into rehab,” I explained, feeling a little like history was repeating itself with Blake. “He’s been clean ever since, but it was only a few months after he got out of the clinic that he started selling his services as an escort. He told me it was either sex or drugs, that he couldn’t live without both. And I understood his reasons, knew he needed the stimulation of at least one of those things to stem the horrors of his past. At least if he was smart about it, the sex wouldn’t kill him like the drugs could have. It was the lesser of two evils.”
Damon squeezed my hand as he surmised, “And you don’t want him to go back to the greater evil.”
“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t.”
“Come here, petal,” he said, voice gruff as he pulled me over into his lap. I didn’t resist, needing his warmth right then. Damon ra
n his hand up and down my back as I buried my face in his neck.
“I’m so sorry about Blake,” I murmured after a time, voice watery. “I’m sorry he lied and you had to go through all that.”
“Hush. It’s over now,” said Damon.
He held me for a long while, until one of Jacob’s assistants gave a quick knock on the door, calling Damon to the stage to begin the day’s rehearsals. Reluctantly, I crawled from his lap and we walked to the stage in quiet, lots of crew members passing us by, looking harangued with preparations for the opening night. When we arrived, the entire cast was sitting on the stage floor as Jacob stood before them.
“What’s going on?” I whispered under my breath to Damon.
“No clue,” he whispered back.
Apparently, Jacob wanted to give us all a pep talk before the show went to a live audience. On Friday the theatre would be packed with journalists and other press, all out to see if the stage adaption of Moulin Rouge was up to snuff. It hit me then that I still hadn’t spoken to Jacob about finding someone else to play Nini. After he finished his speech, I got up and hurried over to him, but he was already surrounded by a number of people, so I had to wait for his attention. A familiar hand touched my elbow, and I turned to find Damon at my side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, eyes flittering across my face as he studied me.
“Yes, fine,” I lied.
“You seem anxious.”
“I’m fine, really,” I lied again, not entirely sure why. I guess I just didn’t want to start venting my worries about performing on stage to him, since things were still tentative between us. He eyed me closely, and seemingly my lies were pointless, because he saw right through them.
“You don’t want to be in the show,” he said, that perceptive gaze still on me.
I frowned and looked at my shoes, my lack of a response saying it all.
“I think you should do it,” Damon went on. “I think you’ll be wonderful.”
His words reinforced my confidence slightly, but I still didn’t fully believe him. “I can’t.”
“None of the other dancers will do the part justice like you can, Rose. I’m telling you, if I can go on live television to be interviewed in front of millions of viewers, then you can play this part. It’s a waste if you don’t.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.
“Don’t say anything. Just leave it one more night. If you still feel the same way tomorrow, then I won’t get in your way when you tell Jacob. But please, just give it one more day. For me.”
God, would there ever be a time when I could refuse this man? I stared at him, nodding my head before I even made my decision. “Okay, one more day.”
He squeezed my elbow, a small smile gracing his lips. How I’d missed that smile. It had barely been twenty-four hours, but it already felt like a lifetime.
“Good. Now, can I ask another favour?”
“Of course.”
“I’m have a radio interview this evening. They’re sending a car over at five. Will you come with me?”
Again, I couldn’t refuse, nor did I want to. I’d do anything to spend more time with Damon, to get back to the blissful place we’d been in before Blake decided to come along and ruin it.
“Yes, I’ll come with you, Damon.”
I always will.
Twenty-Five.
*Rose*
“Are you nervous?” I asked him as we sat in the back of the car on our way to the studio for his radio interview.
“Strangely, no.”
I turned to face him, my eyes wide. “Really?”
He nodded. “Aye. There’s less pressure with no cameras. I only have to worry about talking and not whether I look awkward or hostile or uncomfortable or…constipated.”
I laughed loudly, unable to help myself. My knee knocked against his in the process, and butterflies flooded my belly at the simple touch. “Well, you wouldn’t want that.”
His answering smile was fond, and it made my insides flutter.
A quiet elapsed, and I fiddled with my hands in my lap. I felt restless. It was a pleasure to be this close to him, but an agony not to know if he’d let me touch him. If he wanted me to. Damon’s leg moved so that his thigh rested fully against mine. I couldn’t tell if he’d done it on purpose or if he just needed more leg space. He did have very long legs.
“They didn’t ask Alicia along for the interview?” I queried, breaking the silence. Why on earth I thought it was a good idea to bring her up, I couldn’t say. I was so bloody nervous it was ridiculous.
“No, just me,” he answered.
“Oh.”
More silence.
“Have those, um, photographers been around your house again?”
At this Damon smirked, turning his body to mine. “You’re full of questions today.”
“Sorry. I always ramble when I’m anxious.” I clasped my hands more tightly in my lap.
His gaze traced the line of my nose before resting on my lips. “Why would you be anxious?”
I let out a shaky breath, and he started rubbing my knee. It felt too good. I loved how strong his fingers were, the magic they could work.
“Why would you be anxious, Rose?” he asked again, this time with his mouth a hair’s breadth away from my ear.
“B-because I’m not sure where we stand.”
“We stand where we always have,” he replied. “Side by side.”
His words made my breath catch, and in the next second he bent to take my earlobe between his lips and suck. It took all my strength not to moan and arouse the attention of the driver. I shifted in place as Damon’s hand moved further up my thigh. I’d been starved for his touch, and now that it was happening I felt almost drugged on it. I twisted and buried my face in his neck. He let out a low, humming sound like he approved. I was just about to lift my head to kiss him when the car stopped and the driver announced we’d arrived.
My legs felt wobbly as Damon helped me from the car, so turned on I could barely see straight. The next half hour was a whirlwind of activity as we were welcomed into the studio and Damon was briefed on how the interview would run. All the while he kept his hand on my lower back, or on my elbow. At one point he even laced our fingers together, and I swore my heart flew right up to the ceiling in elation.
I was allowed to watch the interview through the glass windows of the studio. Damon sat on a chair across from the host as the audio was piped through speakers in the room I occupied.
Right off the bat, I knew the interviewer wasn’t going to give him an easy time. The show allowed callers to phone in at the end and ask questions, so who knew what sort of stuff Damon was going to be faced with. Sure, he’d claimed in the car he wasn’t nervous, but I felt nervous for him. I didn’t want anyone asking him things that were too personal, like the stuff that had happened with his dad.
“So, you’re doing Moulin Rouge, what’s that like?” the interviewer, whose name was Troy Livingston, asked tartly. I could already tell he considered himself a funny guy, as well as edgy and post-modern. His voice held a hint of sarcasm, which got my back up. Damon, however, seemed to take it all in stride.
“It’s a bit like having an acid trip in a turn-of-the-century boudoir while there’s a burlesque show going on upstairs,” he deadpanned, and Tony laughed. I exhaled in relief that he’d decided to go along with the tone rather than getting pissed. In fact, as I watched him sitting there, I noticed a difference in him. He seemed more at ease with himself, almost like when we were in Skye. I hadn’t seen him this relaxed or confident around strangers before.
“Sounds like a party I’d like to attend. But, not to sound rude, we’re all wondering if you can hold a tune. I think I can speak for everyone when I say nobody wants to suffer another Russell Crowe ‘Javert.’”
“Are you asking me to sing?” Damon asked with a wry expression.
“If you want to belt out a few lines, I won’t stop you,” said Troy.
Damon chuckled, the low, husky sound incredibly sexy as it rumbled through the speakers. I shivered a little where I sat just beyond the glass window. “I think I’ll leave your listeners guessing. If they’re really curious, they can come and see the show.”
Ha! Nice save. I was sure Jacob would be thanking him for the sneaky plug.
“Well, maybe that’s for the best. People might start saying the only reason I do this job is so I can have grown men serenade me in the studio,” Troy joked.
“It’s not?” Damon asked dryly.
Troy only cast him an amused look before changing the subject.
“Ah, so here’s a good one,” he said, flicking through a few papers where seemingly a bunch of potential questions had been written down. “If you could star in the remake of any film, past or present, which one would you choose?”
Damon looked thoughtful for a moment. “If you’d asked me that a couple weeks ago, I probably would’ve said Nil By Mouth.”
“Excellent!” Troy enthused. “I take it you’re a Gary Oldman fan, then?”
“Oh, aye, huge fan.”
“Didn’t you star alongside him in that one film, the sci-fi thriller?”
Damon grimaced in self-deprecation. “I did. Admittedly, not my best work.”
“Ah, come now. I don’t think I can name a single successful actor who hasn’t been in their fair share of stinkers.”
Damon laughed, and again I shivered. He was becoming more free with his laughter, with his smiles, too, and it made me happy to see him opening up to people. “True. Well, anyway, the other answer to that question is Singin’ in the Rain.”
Troy let out a big, boisterous chuckle. “For real? How do you go from gritty East End reality to a fluffy 1950s musical?”
Damon’s expression was calculating. “I have a close friend who’s crazy for Gene Kelly. As a challenge, I’d like to remake the film and have her admit I did better than the original,” he answered, his eyes flicking to mine for a brief moment. They held a mischievous glint, and I knew he was goading me. No way, I mouthed at him as I shook my head. Gene was a mainstay in my heart. As far as I was concerned, remaking any of his films was sacrilege. Still, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
