by Jillian Dodd
“I see hair.”
“You have to look at each strand. See how a few of the ends are broken-looking? It’s not healthy. I need a haircut. I can’t be seen on Damian’s tour with split ends.”
“You know, you worry a lot about how you look.”
“Well, of course I do. I always want to look nice. This summer, I’ve been totally slacking in that department.”
“You’re pretty without makeup. Without your hair all done. You’ve looked fine all summer.”
“Well, thank you. But I like the way I look when I wear makeup. When my hair is done. What’s wrong with wanting to look your best?”
“I don’t know. Just seems superficial. You need to chill.”
“FYI, Brooklyn. Hair is not supposed to look chill. It’s supposed to look pretty. Chill hair means bad hair, and I refuse to have bad hair. And I refuse to have split ends.”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at me.
“I’m calling Kym.” I grab my cell and hit Kym’s number.
She answers, “Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“I have split ends and I’m going to be in Berlin tomorrow. Can you help me?”
“Of course, I can. Hang on. Let me look up a contact.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Okay. Let me make a call, and I’ll text you with the information. What time do you want to be seen?”
“How about two? That will give me plenty of time to get ready.” I look down at my toes and frown. “Honestly, my toes are really sad looking too. I’ve just been painting over them.”
“I’ll get you set up. What about Brook? Does he need anything?”
“B, do you need a haircut?” I ask him with a smirk. I already know the answer.
He shakes his shaggy hair at me.
“No, he’s good!”
Friday, August 12th
Hands all over your ass.
11:15pm
We’ve been following Twisted Dreams on tour for a little over two weeks now. And although our summer has been amazing, Brooklyn is starting to get on my nerves.
Or maybe I'm getting on his nerves; I’m not sure.
We didn’t fight all summer. Our time at the beach was perfect—easy and carefree.
We’d get up at dawn, surf, and then come back and eat breakfast. We’d lay in the sun until late afternoon, then go back to our room, have sex and take a nap. Then we’d hang out with some of the new people we’d met, have dinner, and go to bed early. It was perfect.
But now, he keeps getting mad at me for no reason.
Damian grew up like I did. Lots of traveling and visiting movie locations. Some of the places we've been have been gorgeous and opulent. Other places, not so much. I think we've both learned to function in any type of environment. Following Damian on tour, we've stayed at a wide variety of hotels, from modest ones in smaller cities to an opulent, modern one in Berlin.
No matter where we went, B complained.
Complained about my luggage. Complained about the food. Complained about the crowds. Complained about my clothes. Complained about my shopping.
So maybe I went a little crazy buying leather goods in Italy. I mean, it's Italian leather! Where else am I going to get it? So I bought a few pairs of Italian shoes. And so what if I maybe splurged on a gorgeous handbag?
When I told him it was okay to splurge on it because it’s a classic style that I’ll totally cherish forever, he laughed at me in a haughty way and told me only diamonds last forever.
I grinned at him and told him he had a good point, and that we should start shopping for diamonds immediately.
It shut him up for a while.
Now we’re in London, which is our last stop before B and I head home. It was also one of the biggest venues Twisted Dreams has played.
I was so excited for them!
I dressed appropriately for the concert last night.
I wore an adorable Dolce & Gabbana black mini loaded with spangles. Gorgeous black leather motorcycle jacket. Hot pink band t-shirt with huge letters that spell out ABBA and VOULEZ VOUS, which is the start of the French lyrics in one of their songs asking if you want to sleep with me tonight. And killer hot-pink glitter platform wedges.
I looked totally like a groupie.
B complained that my shirt was suggestive, my skirt was too short, my hair was too big, and my makeup was too thick.
Fine.
So he may have been right about that. The hot pink glitter eye shadow and the thick fake drugstore eyelashes may have been a bit much, but it looked so cute!
And I didn’t look out of place at all. I fit right in. If anything, with his khaki shorts and Billabong T-shirt, he’s the one who looked out of place.
Tonight we're at a disco. A real European disco with raging techno music, crazy lights, and glow-in-the-dark splatter paint. Troy is the guest DJ and later the band is going to “surprise” the crowd with a three-song set.
I asked the concierge at our hotel where to buy club clothes. He said that wasn’t a typical request, so he called in a young bellman, who sent me to a store full of sparkly spandex and cheap club clothes.
I found a black and acid-green tutu that was love at first sight. The sales girl with multiple piercings and tattoos assured me it would look awesome under the lights. She paired it with a tough-looking black corset. The corset has leather straps criss-crossing the front, which makes it look like something a dominatrix might wear. She suggested platforms to go with it, but I had snagged a pair of YSL black platform ankle boots from the swag closet for the trip and knew they would be perfect.
I thought B would compliment me on my bargain shopping. I was shocked at how cheap the whole outfit was!
Troy whistled at me when I walked out of our room, which pissed Brooklyn off right away. And as moody as he’s been lately, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good night.
It all started to go downhill when he decided he didn’t feel like dancing.
How can you not feel like dancing at a place like this?
I decided not to push the subject, but I was still going to have fun and dance. So I went and danced with, well, everyone, because that's what you do at a club. You dance. I mostly danced with the guys from the band, until they had to go get set up.
I’m dancing with a cute guy who has an adorable British accent when Brooklyn marches out on the dance floor, grabs my arm, and pulls me away.
I think something is wrong, so I go with him.
He pulls me over to the table where he's been pouting and says, “That’s it. We're leaving."
“Why? It’s early. The band hasn’t even played yet.”
"I'm not gonna sit here and watch some guy put his hands all over your ass!”
“Then come dance with me, and you can be the guy putting his hands all over me.”
"I hate this techno shit."
“Well, I love it, and I'm having fun. I've missed going dancing with . . ." I stop. I almost said Cush. I realize that I do miss dancing with Cush.
“With who? When did you go dancing?"
"I dance, B. I take classes. It's just what I do."
“Guys have their hands all over your ass in class?"
“Don’t be stupid. Just dance with me. You can't leave yet. It's just getting going. Troy will have this place in a frenzy pretty soon. It’ll be awesome.”
He gives me a mad face. “I’m not stupid, and since when do you know so much about Troy?"
“He used to DJ at a club. I went there to dance. It’s not a big deal.”
“Well I’ve had enough, and I’m leaving. You coming with me?"
“No, I'm not. We came to listen to the band. To have fun. Maybe you should try it."
"I'm out of here. When you're in places like this, when you dress like this, you kinda turn into a bitch."
He might as well have slapped me across the face. I recoil.
I take a deep breath, turn my back on him, and walk my ass back out on the dance floor.
Saturday, August 13th
>
Our room feels very empty.
2pm
I didn't get back to the hotel until nine this morning. Brooklyn didn’t speak to me when I walked in our room, so I shut the curtains, crawled into bed, and went to sleep.
When I woke up, he was gone.
Our room feels very empty.
Kinda like my heart.
I took a shower and cried the entire time. My emotions have ranged from really sad and hurt to really pissed off.
I don't understand how he can think I'm a bitch. I've been nice to everyone. I love him, but I'm not happy sitting on the sidelines. What's so wrong with wanting to experience life? I think he was being a dick for not dancing with me.
I get the tears out of my system, dry off, put on a fluffy white hotel robe, and order room service.
I'm sitting on the bed eating when Brooklyn walks through the door.
I don't say a word to him. I can play the I’m-not-talking-to-you game too, even though I really want to tell him what a jerk he was last night.
He sits on the bed gently.
“You look beautiful. That's how I like you. Hair wet, no makeup on.”
“I’m glad you like me with no makeup on, but if you love me, all of me, you have to like me when I wear makeup too. And I appreciate your sweetness now, but last night you were a dick."
This immediately pisses him off.
“Well, maybe if you weren't letting guys put their hands all over you, I wouldn't have been a dick."
“And maybe if you would have danced with me, your hands would have been the only ones on me."
"I don't like that music, and I don't like that kind of dancing,"
“Is it because you can't dance? I'd teach you. I mean it's not hard."
"I can dance fine. I just don't think it's fun. I like listening to Twisted Dreams, but that techno shit gives me a headache."
"You sound like an old man. Even Tommy likes to dance."
“See? See that tone you just used? That's your bitch coming out."
“No, B, that’s my pissed coming out! You upset me last night. You wouldn't dance with me. You got pissed I wanted to dance. What happened to all your let's experience life stuff? You didn't even try to experience it or have fun. You sat on the sidelines. I don't want to sit on the sidelines of life. I want to be in the game. I thought that's what you wanted too. And I'm not being a bitch. I was nice to you. Nice to everyone I met last night. I made some new friends. The guy I was dancing with when you left was really cool. I met his friends later, introduced them to the band, and they took us all out for breakfast at this great little family-owned diner where we had the most amazing breakfast. Homemade scones that melt in your mouth. You would have loved it. Damian thought they were really cool."
“Were they all guys?"
“Not that it matters, but no."
Brooklyn lets out a big sigh. He’s frustrated. Probably because he knows he’s wrong.
“You want to keep fighting about this?" he finally asks.
“Not really.”
He runs his hand through his long shaggy hair. “I think I'm just ready to go home. I live on the beach; it's what I love. All this big city stuff drives me nuts. I feel like I can't breathe."
"I like both. I had a great time on the beach, but cities can be fun too."
"I can see that,” he says quietly. "I'm sorry, okay. You're right. I was being a dick."
I smile and feel so much happier. I was really worried this might break us up. Not that we're actually going out, but whatever we are, we've been together.
“It’s okay. We've been together pretty much day and night for a couple months. And we’re traveling. That can be stressful sometimes."
Brooklyn says flatly, “Not when you carry good luggage."
Sunday, August 14th
Explode with desire.
7:30am
I get woken up by Brooklyn, who is pushing on my shoulder.
“Ummm,” I say, tossing the covers up over my head. “I need a minute.”
And oh, my gosh, do I.
I close my eyes and will myself to go back to the dream I was having.
I was dancing in the club with the English boy. I could see Brooklyn still sitting at his table, looking bored and irritated, when I felt a pair of familiar hands on my hips and turned around to face Cush. Cush gave me his naughty grin and started dancing with me. He never even said a word. We just danced. I had danced with the English boy most of the rest of the night and he was adorable, but he didn’t make me hot. Like, I never felt attracted to him. I just assumed it was because I’m in love with Brooklyn. I mean, I shouldn’t be attracted to anyone else ever again.
But in my dream, Cush’s hands felt so good on my body. First his hands were on my back. Then they trailed down my arms. Then he pulled my ass in close to him and put his leg between mine. I was grinding on his leg and was as close to his body as I could possibly get. My hands were low on his back, practically begging him to get closer. But it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get him close enough, and all I could think about was getting him into bed.
When he put his mouth on my neck and slowly sucked on my skin, I felt like I might explode with desire. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone more. His tongue slowly slid up my neck, and I could feel his warm breath on my ear. “I can’t wait,” he whispered into my ear.
Then the club faded away, and we were outside in an alley. He pushed me up against a brick wall, reached under my skirt, and ripped a hole in my pantyhose. Then he pushed my panties aside and was inside me before I could even take a breath. I never once worried about anyone seeing us in the alley and, as turned on as I was, I’m pretty sure I didn’t care.
My insides are still throbbing.
I relive the dream in my head over and over. The way I was grinding on his leg. The way he dragged me into the alley. The sound it made when he ripped my hose. The ravenous way he was kissing me.
“Keatyn, you’ve got to get up. We have a flight to catch and you’re not even packed,” Brooklyn says loudly.
I open my eyes and look at the clock.
I am beyond horny.
“We have plenty of time, B.” I give him what I hope is my sexiest smile. I also sort of pull my tank top down so that one of my boobs is exposed. “Come here.”
He plops down on the bed next to me, which is exactly what I hoped for. I wrap my arms around his neck and immediately attack his neck with kisses.
“What are you doing?” he says.
“Just saying morning,” I whisper, in between sucking my way down his neck.
I reach for his pants, but he pushes my hand away. “Don’t. We don’t have time for that.”
“There’s always time for that,” I say, as I attempt to unzip them.
“Keatyn, stop screwing around. Get up and get packed.” He quickly gets off the bed.
We had sex almost every afternoon at the beach. Lately, it’s dwindled to about once a week. And it’s been over a week.
Since the last thing I want to do is start another fight, I get up as he requested. But then I strip off my clothes, grab one of my suitcases, and lay it across the bed.
Naked packing. Surely that will get to him.
I walk back and forth from the closet to my bed throwing clothes into my bag.
Brooklyn is watching me, but he looks irritated by my nakedness, not the least bit happy or turned on.
By the time I’m done packing, I’m pissed. I throw my three suitcases in front of the door and turn my back on him.
“You know, you used to be fun,” I say. Then I go in the bathroom, curl every strand of my hair, and put on all my makeup.
Fuck it.
Tuesday, August 16th
So this summer was amazing…
7pm
Brooklyn was snarly the first half of the trip home, so I just stuck my nose in a book and read. Then I crashed. When I woke up, he pulled me into his arms and started talking like nothing had happened. Like w
e hadn’t fought.
He never apologized for being a jerk. Well, actually, I guess he did, but then he followed it up with the slam about my luggage, which pretty much negated the apology. But then he kissed me sweetly and told me he loved me, and I pushed it all out of my mind.
He asked me to go to dinner tonight, so I threw on a pair of cute white shorts, a little tank top, and some short boots. When I opened the front door, I was shocked to see him dressed up in a pair of chestnut dress slacks and a soft khaki polo.
“You look really nice,” I tell him. And he does. His light brown hair has been trimmed, taming his curls. His face is tan and handsome, and his eyes look super blue. “Why are you all dressed up? I thought we were just grabbing some dinner.”
“We’re celebrating. You better go change.” He gives me a devious little smirk. Like he knows a secret.
“What are we celebrating?”
“Since when have you ever turned down the chance to get dressed up?”
I laugh. “Probably never.”
He grabs my hand and leads me back to my bedroom and into my closet. “You sit. I’m going to pick something out.”
I don’t sit. I stand close to him. Look into his eyes. Knock on his head. “He looks like my Brooklyn, but I don’t think it’s really him. It’s like aliens swapped his brain for someone else’s.”
He pulls me in for a kiss. Then he walks me backward toward my chair and makes me sit.
“I thought you’d like this.”
“Oh, I do. That doesn’t mean I’m not shocked.”
He looks around my closet. “You have a hell of a lot of clothes.”
“Um, maybe?”
“Point me toward the dresses.”
I point to a long rack behind him. “The casual ones are there. The formal ones are behind the tall cabinet doors.”
He starts flipping through the rack of casual dresses. “A lot of these still have the tags on them.”
“Yeah, well, I bought some summer stuff, but then I wasn’t home all summer. Pick something with a tag, please. I feel like wearing something new.”
