Falling Stars (The B–Side)

by J. L. Brooks

  This succession continued multiple times, each man larger than the last, each unmet release driving me to madness. I was tired. I couldn’t bear another round of this torture. Screaming, my voice was captured in my throat unable to escape. Only cries of pleasure crossed my lips in their place while the beautiful music played at a near deafening level. I managed to shake my head back and forth enough on the pillow to free my blindfold, revealing my precarious position. Under a bright spotlight, I could see my bindings and the redness against my flesh from pulling against them. My thighs and abdomen glistened with the wetness of each man’s presence. Statues of flesh stood against the wall, the same size and features, yet with different girths and lengths of manhood, ready for their place in the rotation. They held no expression of impatience, knowing I was helpless and would accept them without retribution. Feeling my eyes fill with tears, I turned my head to the empty row of chairs on the right, yet they were no longer empty. In the middle sat Hunter, fully clothed, and holding his mask in his hands, watching as I was violated.

  I screamed for him repeatedly, and once again lustful moans erupted instead. His jaw was clenched with his eyes full of fury, but he too was bound to the chair, unable to reach me. A man broke away from the group and picked up the blindfold, slowly sliding it down over my eyes while giving a mischievous laugh.

  Waking up with a start, I was in the bed, my sheets soaked with sweat and tears. My body was on fire and retching in preparation to vomit. Fucking tequila. As I rushed to the bathroom, the nausea caused by the dream rolled over me until I calmed down and realized where I was. The hot shower did little to clear the fog in my mind. I could still see ghostly residues and bruising. The dream was so vivid and unexpected I knew it had to mean something to come. Piecing it apart, I imagined Freud would be proud of the phallic symbols. The strange men, each eliciting a deeper level of pleasure but never providing satisfaction—that was quite easy to decipher. No other lover had compared to Hunter. A great deal of it was cerebral, unable to let go in the moment. I controlled my orgasms; no one else did. In doing so, every man who touched me was inadequate, therefore disposable. Being restrained and on display could be interpreted as a reflection of my professional life. There was so much more I wanted to do, but I was always bound to the demands of the market. The frustrations that imparted could account for the way my screams went unheard. Everyone thought I was happy, because that is all I let on. The endless line of people waiting to take advantage of me was previously mistaken for popularity and desire to help me ascend, yet I knew better. They were all wolves, hiding behind masks and placid expressions, getting what they wanted and moving on.

  And then there was Hunter, showing who he was and watching it all take place as the sole witness to my calamity. Of course he couldn’t help me in the dream; he couldn’t even do it in the waking hours. Rather than continue to scrutinize my decision to fly out here, I knew I couldn’t do this to myself. Hunter had made his choice, and it wasn’t me. I had been there before and survived; it wasn’t worth destroying myself over. I understood how disappointed both our families would be that I was coming back without him, but that was not my fault.

  I checked out of the hotel and returned to the airport. Sitting in departures, I watched as people came and went, so sure of where they were headed. Glancing across from me, I noticed a pretty woman staring. I smiled and lowered my head back down. Feeling her eyes on me, I peered once again to confirm she was about to approach me. She seemed innocuous enough with her petite frame and shoulder length brown hair. Sensing her nervousness, I gave a broad smile and waved her over.

  “Oh my God. It really is you! You’re Lila Keaton! I am such a huge fan! Were you here for the Arial Assault show? Of course you were!”

  Her enthusiasm was a bit more than I was prepared to handle, but I knew to be gracious. Her name was Tammy and she asked politely if she could sit down. I smiled and removed my purse from the seat next to me. The conversation was light as I kept it strictly books and listened to her share her favorite parts of my stories and other authors she enjoyed. I felt my body unwind as we reflected on our favorite characters and book boyfriends. Having a real conversation about shared passion for literature was something I did not get to have very often. I was so detached from my readers outside of signings and social media, the impact of one on one interaction was exhilarating. I glanced at my watch and realized my flight was about to leave, yet I could tell she was not finished. This opportunity was much more important and reminded me I was still someone special. Slipping my ticket back in my purse, I grinned and nodded towards the bar.

  “Won’t you miss your flight?” Tammy asked with concern.

  “There will always be another one, right? I will get there soon enough.”

  She giggled in delight as I helped her carry her bags into the open seated area. Tammy and I talked over beers for two hours, and by the end of our short time together, she felt like my best friend. Hearing about her ill mother and long hours finishing pharmacy school while working full time was humbling. Who was I to be upset with my lot in life, especially when hearing firsthand how much my words affected someone? “You are my release,” she said. For some reason she didn’t bring up Hunter again, perhaps sensing it was personal; however, she did pry as to when my next book was being released. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t written a page in nearly seven months and had no clue.

  “Soon,” I told her, and with that she was satisfied.

  “Thank you, Ms. Keaton. I can’t wait to tell my friends about this. Can we take a picture?”

  I leaned in and pressed my cheek to hers as she grinned and raised her phone up to take a selfie of us. This stranger had unknowingly helped me recover the missing piece of inspiration. My story with Hunter didn’t end the way I wanted it to, and that had to be okay, because I could change it. If not in reality, certainly on paper. Dinah Vogel would never touch the story, but I could do it. I had to. Knowing better than to counteract the lost motivation, I tossed my ticket in the trash, rented a small SUV and hit the road. I didn’t have to go home. I didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything. Without Hunter, I wasn’t alone; I was free. I had a month to write the story before school started. If it was my destiny to stay in Cleveland, I would return with the work unfinished. If this really was in the cards, I would have a finished manuscript ready to shop and a different course to follow in life.

  My courage took me swiftly out of Denver and west onto I-70 through Vail and into the heart of the mountains. I stopped for the evening in Glenwood Springs to give myself a chance to soak peacefully in the thermal waters. To prevent my mother from calling the police to report me missing, I sent her a brief email.

  Hitting send allowed the breath I was holding to release and a fraction of tension to disappear from the muscles wound so tight I feared they would snap from stress. I started on the book with a bottle of small batch tequila sitting near the blank computer screen as I tried to use every ounce of fortitude to type the first word. The tears poured hot down my cheeks as letters finally crept from my fingertips, my lips following silently along as they marked the digital white pages.

  Chapter 1

  I am convinced true love is nothing more than a fairytale we are sold on as children to prolong the inevitable truth. Your heart will be shattered into a million pieces, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. So why if this inescapable fate is so tortuous, do we desire it more than anything else in life? Because we are fools.

  And so began the story of us. My readers did not want this type of raw honesty. They wanted the rough sex and a blissful conclusion. Heaven forbid I leave a cliffhanger and not have the sequential titles ready to hit shelves in an acceptable manner. Deleting the scornful chapter, I began again with a more pleasant start, captivating and steamy.

  Chapter 1

  I must have been staring too long. If a thin rope of drool fell delicately along the corner of my mouth to my chin, I would not be surprised in the least.
It was impossible to make myself turn from the gorgeous man behind the decks who was so flawlessly hypnotizing the crowd with the sensuous music. I watched as his fingers followed each rotation of the record, gently holding it in place over the felt disc and waiting for the right moment to integrate it into the mix. He looked up and smiled, catching my gaze and subsequently dissolving my panties with his vibrant green eyes. Even in the dark club, they penetrated through the dimly lit dance floor. Immediately I was craving for him to penetrate something else. Fueling the fire in my core, I closed my eyes and languished in the pleasure he evoked. My hips swayed back and forth as I lost myself in the music. In my mind he was behind me, manipulating my body the way he did the equipment he knew so well. He would pound hard into my pussy with as much force as the bass coming from the speakers. With one look I knew he would fuck as well as he played. Dark, dirty and loud.

  Sigh. For as fluffy as it sounded, it was completely true. The first time Hunter laid eyes on me, I felt as though a sledgehammer had hit me smack between the eyes and all I could see was stars. I was blinded by any flaw he possessed and only wanted to take him captive at any cost. Was it worth it? Absolutely. The few fleeting moments of bliss were worth the months of misery that came after. To know what it was like to have someone love me completely—even in this moment I would never regret it. What I would mourn was possibility. Through my words I could give those young lovers the life they never had. Forever in ink and wooden fibers, they could live happily ever after on the shelves of libraries and private collections.

  It was no longer the story of us; it was the story of them. This was much easier to write, because I was in control. The characters laid anchor in my soul and took up residence until the work would be complete. For so long, inspiration had avoided me as if I were the plague and not worthy of its precious gift. Throughout the night I checked out of reality and allowed the word count to soar. Ten thousand words later, the clock read four in the morning. It wasn’t too shabby for the first night. Shutting the laptop down, I kissed the surface and rested my cheek on the warm plastic. Knowing I would be hurting in a few hours, I crawled into bed and smiled before passing out cold.

  With the shades drawn I was unable to tell what time it was after waking up. The digital clock on the nightstand read three forty-two. I had slept for nearly twelve hours. The headache I was anticipating was absent. Just a slight grogginess from boozing it up in the high altitude and not drinking enough water remained. Two tablets of ibuprofen and a few sports drinks were all that was necessary to rejuvenate my body for another round of grueling work. I forced myself to sit in the communal pool to loosen the muscles in my back and shoulders. Being that it was late summer, there were only few children; mostly adventurous travelers and retirees lounged in the sizzling waters.

  Occasionally a stranger would strike up a conversation, almost all of them asking where I was headed. My shrugs drew looks of concern or laughter. I did not appear to most as the lone trekker type. Eventually I decided after hearing so many wonderful stories about Moab and Arches National Park that it would be my next destination. It was out of the way enough to allow me to write uninterrupted, yet not too far. After spending another two days and hitting nearly thirty thousand words on my manuscript, I packed up the SUV and headed further west.

  Once it was decided where I was off to next, I inquired as to where I should stay. The Red Cliffs Lodge was highly recommended, and after a little investigation, every other place paled in comparison. As its name implied, a rustic timber building sat at the base of a massive red cliff, surrounded by gorgeous vistas along the Colorado River. A private stable was available for trail rides, and as the grounds also included a winery, museum and more, nothing was left to desire. Although I wasn’t really interested in doing those things, it was nice to know the amenities were available in the event I changed my mind. I chose a private cabin with a patio that faced the river; the inside had a simple kitchenette, living space and a large whirlpool tub in the bedroom.

  Living off of fruit, trail mix and jerky had taken its toll on my stomach. Allowing myself to indulge at the restaurant, I forced myself into town to stock up on supplies for the remainder of the week. At night the sky was so volcanic, it was a bit overwhelming how close the stars appeared. The coyote’s song and river rapids crashing along the rocks were the only noises I listened to while working on the patio at night.

  On the second day, several mountain bikers arrived to stay at the property. A group of six or so, they split up on either side of me. The men would wave as they traveled back and forth to each other’s cabins.

  I had not paid much attention to what they looked like, so completely engrossed in my writing was I when their presence interrupted my thoughts. A set of headphones buffered the ruckus and allowed me to fall back into my groove.

  The next morning one of the men had taken a particular interest in me. When he pulled out a wooden chair on the patio with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and sat down uninvited, I was forced to study his features. Butterflies tumbled in my stomach the moment I looked away from the screen. His skin was a deep golden color from hours under the summer sun. Long sandy blond waves with summer-bleached highlights were pulled into a messy ponytail, and perched upon his head was a pair of polar-lens sunglasses.

  The man looked like an Australian surfer god. Strong calf and thigh muscles flexed with each movement of his bronzed legs. He wore casual strap sandals, plaid shorts and a black hooded jacket. I had to stop myself from appearing shocked.

  He grinned and perfectly straight white teeth blinded me. Reaching out his hand to greet me, he waited until I removed the headphones and slipped my fingers against his palm. Magnetic shivers coursed through my veins with the simple gesture. Holy Fuck. Shaking my head, I realized my hand had lingered a bit too long and laughed as I pulled away.

  He introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Grant.”

  “Lila,” I replied.

  “Lila . . .” My name rolled seductively across his tongue as he felt the words dance around. “I like that.”

  Twitching my nose, I grinned. “Well that’s good, because I don’t plan on changing it any time soon.”

  He made me nervous the way he scrutinized me in silence. Cocking his head to the side, his eyes darted around momentarily before coming back to meet mine.

  “I noticed you are alone,” he said.

  Taking a sip of my own coffee, I peered over the lid.

  “Don’t most serial killers refrain from making their intentions known, preferring the charming route?”

  Grant laughed heartily and leaned in closer to speak. Resting his elbow on his knees, he rubbed his thumbs along the surface of his mug.

  “It’s just rare. I’ve been coming out here for years, and I am curious—that’s all. I’m harmless, I swear.”

  “I bet you could do some damage,” I muttered.

  He appeared to be unsure if he heard me correctly, but I simply winked and closed the lid to my laptop.

  “I’m starving. I am going to scrounge up a granola bar or something. I’ll be right back.”

  Grant stood when I did and reached out to lightly touch the side of my arm.

  “Hey wait, come eat with us. The guys are already down at the lodge, but I told them I was going to invite you.”

  “You were confident I would accept?”

  “I hoped you would.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I have been checking you out, and you’re pretty hot, so it never hurts to ask, right?”

  I blushed at his admission. I couldn’t remember the last time I had someone pursue me, much less someone so attractive. Hunter was the exception, and he didn’t exactly pursue me.

  “Well, thank you for asking. I appreciate the company.”

  Grant had a familiar presence, which was both comforting and unnerving. As we walked down to the restaurant in the lodge, the basic questions one asks were not so simple. Starting with “Where are you from?” and
“What are you doing in these parts?” turned into a two-hour round table discussion about each person and how they came together for these summer trips. The way he joked with the guys reminded me of Eli and how much I missed him. They were all friends in college and went different directions afterwards, which is the norm. I kept my end vague and redirected questions back to the group.

  Finding that their lives were missing the camaraderie, they pledged to spend two weeks a summer together in Moab. A few were married, and to the chagrin of their wives, it remained stag only. Grant was not married, and he surprised me the most.

  “You are not a kindergarten teacher!” I screeched loudly at the revelation.

  The guys howled with laughter, causing him to shyly smirk.

  “Why can’t I be a kindergarten teacher?”

  “It’s not right. I can only imagine the entire class of moms fighting to have their child in yours. And parent teacher meetings—I am sure a sexual harassment video has to be shown beforehand. Seriously.”

  More laughter erupted, and one of the guys who I now knew was named Mark hit Grant in the back.

  “You are a pussy magnet. Damn, never lost it.”

  Grant’s expression grew horrified at his friend’s lewd comment. The rest of the table waited for my reaction and grew quiet. Looking poignantly at the friend, I shrugged and picked up my coffee.

  “It’s okay, I write erotica, and I talk about pussy all the time. It’s kind of a prerequisite.”

  The tension grew thick as the men processed my response. They all had shit-eating grins as they looked to each other.

  “Are you serious?”

  I nodded to a cell phone on the table.

  “Look up Lila Keaton. It’s true. But I am harmless, I swear.”

  Repeating Grant’s words back was not so innocent. The flirtation began with stolen glances and averted gazes.

  Immediately the phone was picked up and passed around for proof.