Stolen Tyme

by S. L. Ziegler

  “So you want me to highlight this part, too?” Naomi asks, holding a piece of paper up.

  She’s been my rock. If she isn’t packing, she’s here, doing whatever it is to lessen some of the stress from my shoulders. Honestly, the thought of her leaving crushes me.

  Four days.

  That’s all I have left with her. After that, she’s gone, to a place I can’t follow.

  We haven’t mentioned one word about it. But I see the longing on her face, the extra touches we give each other. We can’t ignore it, but we both made the silent choice to sweep it under the rug, until we’re forced to face it.

  “Yep.”

  “Did you really pay seventy-five thousand for that SUV she drives?”

  “Was it that much?”

  “Yep, plus seventy-seven cents if you want to go that deep.”

  “Then, I did.”

  Naomi drops the paper, her face stern. “Xavier, you have forked out a lot of money for all of this. I mean, the stack I went through alone is almost a quarter of a million, and I’m not even up to April yet.”

  “If it meant seeing Charlie, I would’ve given her everything.”

  “I know. God, this is insane. You haven’t toured in years, not one album. A single here or there has to help, but I mean, if she keeps this up, Zoey will have everything and Charlie, Xavier.”

  “Naomi, we haven’t talked about money because it means nothing to me. I don’t care. But you forget, for ages I was in the business and I did great, invested better, and I’ll be fine.”

  “You invested even with…you know…?” She trails off, because you know is the years of drug abuse we always skip over.

  “Drugs? Yes. I have a person who manages my finances for me—for a while, I let him do everything, but I’m involved now, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.” Money makes me itch; it can be like a drug to some people. It changes them, turns them, makes them do things they normally wouldn’t consider doing.

  “Good to know.”

  “My eyes are going to bleed and we need to leave to go to your party soon.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “You do. Your dad is throwing you a going away party.”

  “It’s still crazy he’s semi okay with everything.”

  “Glad I got invited.”

  She smiles. “Me too.”

  I clear my throat. “I wanted to give you something.”

  Her dark eyes stare into mine. “X, you don’t need to do that.”

  “I did, so it’s pointless now to argue with me.” I shuffle in my seat as I pull the tiny bag out of my pocket, before putting it in her hand.

  Nervous energy rushes around, about what she’ll think, as her tiny hands open it, painfully slow. It’s her sharp intake of breath that hits my heart—that proves I picked the right present to give her as my goodbye.

  My final goodbye to her—to us—before she leaves to live and grow into her own life.

  Her mouth is wide open, and her eyes begin to water. “X, what in the…” She places the silver ring on her thumb.

  “I wanted you to have a center too. You always twist mine, figured it was time to give you your own.”

  She’s out of her seat before I can blink, her body wrapped against mine. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done. I’ll never take it off.” Her words linger away as she kisses my whole face in excitement.

  I twist her ring around, wishing with everything in me her words are true. Yet I know better. Naomi will leave me, build her own life, follow her own dreams just enough for me to be a blip on her radar.

  But Naomi is anything but a blip to me, she’s my whole damn map.

  Naomi places the salad down, glancing around her kitchen. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asks quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “I kinda don’t want to be here.”

  I laugh. “Me either.”

  “These people are boring.”

  “They’re not so bad.”

  “They’re my dad’s friends.”

  “I’m your dad’s friend.”

  “I think you’re closer to me, though.”

  I step nearer. “I am, much closer. So close.” I bend down to whisper into her ear. “I want to leave, take you back to my place, and fuck you ‘til you can’t scream anymore.”

  “I really, really like that idea.”

  She grabs my shirt, pulling me closer, yet the fraction it takes for her to almost kiss me is enough to bring us back to reality. “Shit, sorry. I forgot.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll punish you for it…”

  Glass breaks and a roar sounds behind me. “What the fuck is this?”

  Lock rips me from my spot slamming me into the wall. “I’ll ask you again…what the fuck did I just hear?”

  “Daddy, please!” Naomi screams, trying to grab his arm. Hearing her scream “Daddy” hits me.

  “How long? Be a damn man and tell me how fucking long.”

  “Xavier, you don’t have to,” she pleads, her voice the only thing I want to hear right now.

  I glance at Naomi, and I know I have to do it. Fucking nothing can be hidden anymore—no secrets can be locked away forever, the bridge is being crossed right here, with my best friend wanting to murder me with his bare hands. “Two months.”

  Lock slams his gaze onto Naomi. “That true?”

  She covers her mouth as she nods.

  He turns to me, every muscle in his neck pounding out. “Do you love her?”

  I stare into his eyes, and with a deep exhale, it’s all a lie as I shake my head. She needs to think I don’t. And that’s when I hear it, the tortured gasp from Naomi. A sense of calmness comes over me, the air is anything but relaxed, but I know I did the right thing.

  Yet it’s not the truth.

  I love her, like I should.

  Not like she wants.

  But exactly how she needs.

  Selflessly.

  Completely.

  Enough to watch Naomi turn away from me. So I can watch her shine.

  “Get the fuck out of here. And next time you think about making amends, do it with someone else’s daughter. Because if you step back in my line of sight, I guarantee I won’t let you walk away.”

  My hands shake as I try to start the ignition.

  “Xavier, wait. Please.”

  I sigh, my head falling to the steering wheel. “Naomi, you need to go back to your dad.”

  “Fuck my dad.”

  I shake my head; she doesn’t get it. “No, he’s looking out for you.”

  “He’s not, it’s him. His pride is hurt, that’s all. He knows it’s you I’d rather spend time with. Just let me come with you. I’ll get a place of my own and stay here, help you with Charlie.”

  “No.” My tone is flat. I’m not giving in. Not going to let her talk her way into staying.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do, you don’t belong here, and certainly not with me. One day, Naomi, you’ll look back at this as a blip on your timeline. You’ll laugh and tell your friends about the time you spent the summer in bed with your dad’s best friend. That’s what this was always meant to be. We were never supposed to last. You know that. You’re too young right now. Live your life, go and make memories. Find out what you stand for. Find yourself.” I take a deep breath and reach for her face. My hands tremble with each tear falling from her eyes. “You can’t do that here. And I’m not going to ask you to try.”

  Placing her hands on mine, both our silver rings shine in the sun. “But, Xavier, I want to. If I can’t have us, then I don’t want any of it. Please, if this is about my dad, I’ll make him understand.”

  I drop my touch from her. “It’s not about him.” I move my hands between us. “This will fade. What you’re feeling for me will die. Go to New York. Make that stage yours, because you have it in you. Just believe it. But you can’t be with me.”

  She inhales deeply, her eyes glossing over. “You came in, brea
king my walls down, and now you are asking…no, telling me these feelings will go away? They won’t.”

  “They will. Trust me, I have years on you; I’ve been where you are.”

  “This is about my fucking age? Really? Blame it on something else, because you knew that before anything started.”

  “I never said that. Just listen—”

  “No! You listen to me. I love you. Even if that wasn’t supposed to happen. It did. I. Love. You. And I know you feel it, too. You’re scared with everything that happened. That’s all. But we can get through it together. Anything as long as you’re right there.” Her head collapses on my shoulder, her body shaking against mine.

  I squeeze her, breathe her in one last time. “You don’t love me. You can’t. Sometimes these things just don’t work.” Naomi lifts her head, her eyes never blinking as they search for the truth in mine. But I don’t let her find it before I continue. “You can’t.”

  My love for her is making me push her out the door. I’ll let her go; time changes everything. I’ll never forget her, but I can’t be what she needs now.

  She steps out of my hold, like I’m on fire, shaking her head, tears rolling down her face. “No, I do. You may want me to walk away from you, but you deserve to know the truth. I love you. That won’t change. And, Xavier, I would hold on to you, to my fucking heart if I thought I could convince you to love me back, but I hear your goodbye. You want me gone. Consider it done.” Her voice is clipped with an edge I’ve never heard from her before. The look on her face falls; there’s nothing left for me. It’s a double-edged sword.

  “I’ll leave in four days. That’s what you want, right? The feeling of us, what we had, will be a memory. That’s what you want. That’s what you said. So, it will be just that. I thought I had something special, but I was wrong. Have a good life, Xavier.”

  With a drop of one last tear, she leaves me, alone in my car.

  And I let her go.

  This is for her. The selfish part, the user, the junkie in me wants to ran after her and hold her in my arms forever. But she needs this. To live her dreams—dreams I can’t share with her, because if I follow her, I won’t be the man she fell in love with.

  We were just a secret affair.

  And we were always just on borrowed time.

  Part II

  Stolen Tyme

  The continuation of Borrowed Tyme.

  Chapter 1

  Naomi

  7 years later

  * * *

  The limo is at a dead standstill, stuck in the heavy traffic that always accompanies these damn award shows. The never-ending stream of bright-red brake lights ahead calls for my focus. I should be ecstatic that I’m here; however, that’s the opposite of anything I’m feeling. My body’s drained, my mind weary, and my eyes are barely cracked. I twist open the top on the caffeine pills, pop one into my mouth, only to wash it down with yet another energy drink.

  Running on caffeine and no sleep.

  My life.

  Not much more keeps me going most days.

  It’s what I’ve lived on for the past few months. Hell, the last seven years.

  My assistant, Tara, clears her throat, bringing me out of my exhausted haze. “You do know that was the second one you took in the last twenty minutes?”

  I lay my head on the warm leather seat, the crunch of hairspray crackling in my ears. “I know, but I’m no good to anyone if I won’t be able to move my mouth to get the song out once I’m on stage.”

  “No, you’re no good to anyone if you die of a heart attack. Not to mention, that’s your fourth energy drink since you got off the plane less than two hours ago. They have warnings on those things for that very reason. I’m thinking mixing those and the pills are a big fat negative in the grand scheme of things.”

  Tara—my sweet, amazing-at-everything girl who never needs anything extra to keep up her high energy—doesn’t understand the fight against exhaustion I’ve battled each and every day. Four red-eye flights across the country in two weeks, interviews in the mornings, meetings with investors in the afternoons, and performing sold-out shows at night…it’s all wearing me thin—painstakingly thin. And tonight, the fatigue is rearing its ugly head at an all-time high.

  I’m cracked.

  But Tara, she can go on and on with the same amount of sleep I receive, and it never affects her. And I kind of hate her for that as much as I envy her.

  Rolling my eyes, and with a slight shake of my head, I reply, “Yes, Mom.”

  “I’m serious, Naomi. You’ve been a bulb on a flashlight for too long. If you knew how to say no, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “I have this performance, and then I’m done for a month.” I’ve said that on repeat in my head for weeks, but they’re still foreign words to me.

  A break for a month.

  I haven’t taken more than one day off since I moved to New York seven years ago.

  All my days, each minute—every second—is accounted for, a goal I personally set for myself. When I hit one goal, I move to the next, each being tougher to grasp than the last, yet I refuse to give up until I accomplish it. It makes laying my head on the pillow at night that much easier. If I have a reason, I find a way.

  Even with everything I’ve done, there’s still something missing—empty—almost. So I push myself harder and stricter, thinking I’m just one step away from complete happiness—yearning for it. Only it’s never enough. No matter how many goals I put a checkmark next to, that flame of accomplishment never burns brightly enough, never feels quite right.

  But I keep trying and trying some more.

  I was pushed to live my dream, and I wouldn’t do it half-heartedly.

  Now, I have it all. Everything I wanted. However, as the harsh reality sets in, it seems to be just one more lie I’ve told myself—more foreign and useless words.

  I made burlesque mainstream. I’ve performed in countless shows on Broadway, written three of my own scripts, starred in countless major shows in Vegas, won nine Tonys, and designed burlesque clothes for a company I founded and grew—only to sell it for more than I ever thought I would. Now, I’m up for a Grammy for a single I did with Dylan Harris, the hottest male singer around.

  What more could I ask for?

  That question—the distinct, yet simple question—should have been obvious. It is to most. Yet for me, it’s been the hardest to answer, one that in the silence of the night keeps me from fully feeling a sense of contentment. Maybe it’s the mother of all goals, one that a simple checkmark when I achieve it simply won’t be enough. Something has always been absent, but the emptiness seemed to vanish while I busted my ass for it all to begin with.

  Being truthful with myself, the reason I want to do this doesn’t exist for me—in me—anymore, and it hasn’t for a long while. I just haven’t voiced that out loud to a single person. It’s my secret to keep. Because when—if—I do, it will all be for nothing. The sleepless nights, lonely hours, the money, the fame… It would’ve all been for nothing.

  I’m starving for something. Something I can’t taste. Something I can’t have. Something that will never be in front of me again.

  “Your break is writing a show you’re contracted for,” Tara said softly, her eyes narrowing my way.

  It’s the same thing she’s said since I told her I was taking a small vacation.

  “I know, but at least I can get some sleep and not have to worry about anything else.”

  Not to mention, I don’t need a bra, clothes, or makeup to write.

  “I guess that is a foreign concept to you.”

  It is. One that sounds like pure bliss and magic right about now.

  As we inch closer, the tint on the windows blocks the bright flashes of the photographers waiting for me to exit the vehicle. Ever since my single with Dylan hit the radio, they have been hounding me. Paparazzi show up everywhere I go, shoving cameras in my face. Reporters ask questions about “our relationship.” The one we don’t
have. I’ve met him three times—hell, we didn’t even record the song on the same day or even on the same coast. The music video was done on a blue screen without us touching or being in the same time zone. But that’s the press, always pulling—prying—for something that isn’t there. Anything to make a dollar to sell shit that isn’t true, but at least they make my life sound fun. I’m envious of the life they portray me to have. If they knew what I really did behind closed doors, they would be bored to death. And that won’t make them a damn penny.

  The limo comes to a halt. The waiting gets my heart beating rapidly against my chest and fills my body with jitters as I anticipate the door opening. It’s the waiting that gets to me.

  I detest the part where I’m put under a microscope for everyone to see.

  Loathe it.

  Despise it.

  “You don’t look so good, Naomi.” Tara’s hand lands on my back, her voice low and laced with concern.

  I swallow hard, ignore the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, and puff out my red pin-up style dress to get the air around me to move. “I just think…it’s just…maybe the heat is getting to me. I’ll be fine.” Famous last words.

  The door is pulled open, and the flashes blind me as I try to step out.

  Something isn’t right.

  This isn’t nerves or jitters.

  It’s more. Far more.

  Walking the red carpet, I feel like I’m going a million miles a minute. I purposely slow my pace.

  Pose, smile, picture.

  A few more steps.

  Pose, smile, picture.

  A few more steps, and I’m hit with the reporters for the show.

  “Naomi! Over here.”

  “Ms. Minter, can I ask you a few questions?”

  With each person that yells out, the dizzier I get, and the farther away people seem. The thud of my heart beating—which was loud and clear when I stepped out of the limo—is now faint and fuzzy.