by Avon Gale
The way Sawyer flinched, Vix knew she had her answer. Her concern blossomed fully into anger. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re convinced my need for the D is so strong, I can’t resist it when it’s offered, even if I happen to be sleeping with someone else. Jesus, Sawyer, we’ve been over this.”
“Lie to me and tell me you didn’t think about it,” Sawyer snapped right back. “I heard you. You didn’t say no, Vix. Not right away.”
“You must have missed the part where I told him that it was an attractive offer, but I was going to have to pass because I had other plans,” Vix said. “The only reason he asked me again before I left was because you hadn’t said more than two words to me all night. And, hey, speaking of that—you know what would have been awesome? You mentioning this to me instead of sulking.”
“I wasn’t sulking,” Sawyer bit out. “I was staying out of your way.”
“Because you thought I couldn’t control myself.” Vix was angry again. She held her hands up. “I’m a slutty bisexual, after all.”
She waited for Sawyer to say something, to argue, but Sawyer said nothing. She stood with her back to Vix, staring at the curtain that was drawn over the window, a deeply ugly pattern of orange and sickly brown.
“Why do you care?” Vix was annoyed by Sawyer’s sudden refusal to talk. “This is only your summer vacation, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Sawyer. “It is. Only it doesn’t feel like very much of a vacation at the moment.”
Vix couldn’t argue with that. She contemplated Sawyer’s back as Sawyer contemplated the window. “Then I guess that means we should stop this.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said, without looking at her. “I guess it does.”
“Probably for the best.” Vix wanted to pull Sawyer’s hair and make her do something, react in some way. Argue. Tell Vix that no, it wasn’t for the best. Not give up when things didn’t go the way she wanted.
That’s what she does, though, isn’t it? It was an uncharitable thought, to be sure. Vix wasn’t feeling very nice.
“Probably,” Sawyer agreed.
Vix waited a few more seconds, but when Sawyer didn’t so much as move, she turned and left the room. The sound of the door clicking shut was louder than any shout, echoing in the quiet hallway. They might—might—be able to go back to being friends, but Vix doubted it. The door shutting felt way too literal, and it depressed the hell out of her.
There was only one thing left to do.
“You look pretty bummed,” Jax said, sitting on the seat of his open van, smoking a cigarette and listening to a Johnny Cash song. “How can I cheer you up?”
Vix went right to it. “I’m not here for sex. I’m here to be sad about a girl.”
“Hey, I’m pretty good company when it comes to heartbreak,” Jax offered. He also waved a flask at her. “Got some bourbon, if you want. It’s the good stuff, so I save it for special occasions, but I’ll share.”
Vix didn’t generally like whiskey, so she felt bad taking a swig of what was sure to be very good and expensive bourbon. Still, she took a drink out of the flask, then passed it back to Jax, who slipped it in his pocket. Vix leaned against the van and lit a cigarette, quiet. Jax sang along with the Johnny Cash song and let her sulk.
“She thought I’d fuck you because I missed dick, and Sawyer has some . . . let’s just say her ideas about what it means to be bisexual are way too tied up in this mythical binary-gender thing,” Vix said, after the cigarette, the night air, and the small amount of whiskey mellowed her out. “And she thought she was giving me space because she doesn’t ‘own me’ or some shit.”
“Yeah that’s so . . . Wait, what’s wrong with that?” Jax peered at her through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “I mean, the space thing. That’s good, ain’t it?”
“I wasn’t going to sleep with you, that’s the problem. And she assumed I was because you have a cock.”
“I’m the villain in this story and I don’t even get laid,” Jax lamented. He paused. “I bet I can turn that into a song.”
Musicians. Vix spared a brief smile and then sighed hugely. “I just get so mad when people think bisexuals can’t be faithful, or that we have this narrow definition of gender based entirely on genitals, or that we can’t be with one person without yearning for another. It’s so . . .” she waved her hand around, narrowly missing hitting the side of the van with her cigarette, “simple, you know? I get that Sawyer is new to a lot of this but I don’t know how to make it any clearer. ”
“Yeah, I get that,” said Jax. “Half the time the girls I date break up with me because they assume I’m gonna cheat on the road. I don’t know if that’s because I’m bi, though. People have ideas about musicians. The other half, they break up with me ’cause I’m never there.” He shrugged. “Sucks either way. Have her read some of Mary’s books, yo.”
Vix smiled a bit at that. “You’re not a cheater,” Vix pointed out. “You’re just never home.”
“No, but I mean, it’s all symptoms of the same disease, ain’t it?” Jax’s smile was as harsh as his voice. “I’m never home, and whether whoever I’m dating thinks that means I’m straying on the road or is sick of communicating through text messages or seeing me once every two months, either way, I’m alone at the end.”
Vix gave him a concerned look. There was a lot more melancholy in his voice than she was used to, which made her wonder if he’d recently ended a relationship. They’d never hooked up when he was dating someone, but his proposition didn’t mean that he wasn’t single now. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Jax squinted and pointed at her with his cigarette. “This conversation is about your problems, not mine, Vix.”
Huffing, Vix ground her cigarette out under her boot. “The thing is, she’s . . . she’s going back to school, Jax. I got mad when she said this wasn’t her life, but why? Why did I get mad when she’s right?”
“Because, Vix,” Jax said. “You like her. And not like how you and me like each other. You like her like . . . you like someone.”
“I can’t believe you write songs for a living.”
“Look,” Jax said, clearly exasperated. “I’m older than you by a lot—fuck, I really am, aren’t I?—anyway, I’m older than you, and I know things. About liking people. But also about relationships and how they don’t work if you get mad and say things you don’t mean.”
“This is not helping me.” Vix wasn’t following Jax’s logic, but maybe that was because the whiskey was making her light-headed and she was tired.
“You mad at her because she thought you might want to fuck me since we’ve hooked up before? Really? Or are you mad that she cared and got jealous?”
“It’s weird, but believe me, I know I have no right to say that, and I’m trying to do the right thing here and give you your space.”
“I guess I’m mad she cares,” Vix mumbled. “Because maybe I do. Care. Ugh.” If she hadn’t, she would have done exactly what Sawyer thought and hooked up with Jax. And Sawyer was mad that she hadn’t because she didn’t want to get hurt, which made sense. And Vix was mad that Sawyer was leaving, and everything was terrible. What happened to uncomplicated?
“There you go.” Jax nodded sagely. “’M’sorry about that, because feelings are terrible.”
“How do I stop caring, Jax?” Vix sighed, kicking the heels of her boots against the asphalt. “How do I stop having feelings?”
Jax threw his head back and laughed. “If I could figure that out, Vix, I’d have written a lot fewer songs.”
Vix glared at him and lit another cigarette. “Put on some more sad music and be quiet so I can mope.”
As dawn finally broke through the clouds, Vix fell asleep curled up in the passenger seat of Jax’s van, listening to Johnny sing about lines and rings of fire.
The next week was the most miserable of Sawyer’s life. As dramatic as she knew that was, she couldn’t help it. It sucked, and nothing made it better.
She’d spent the night of the
ir argument—she thought of it more like Their Argument, a song title, with the crescendos ending at a single percussive note of a door closing—in bed, staring at the ceiling and crying. It felt so juvenile, but she did it anyway. She would think about going and finding Vix, seeing her with Jax, and then hate herself. Then she’d stop crying and get mad, but she wasn’t sure at whom.
Herself, for being dumb enough to fall for someone she shouldn’t? Vix, for fucking around with Jax—but only after Sawyer admitted she didn’t want her to? But Sawyer hadn’t admitted that, had she? She’d agreed they should stop sleeping together and stared at the world’s ugliest curtain until she’d started crying, approximately two seconds after the door closed.
Sawyer didn’t see Vix until the next day in the van. Vix showed up looking tired and still wearing the same clothes as last night. Sawyer had thought about vindictively leaving Vix’s duffel bag in the hotel room, decided she wasn’t that person and never would be, and brought it out to the van. Vix mumbled, “Thanks,” and Sawyer nodded, and that was the sum of their interactions for the next few days.
Oh, they performed on stage together—but the magic of it was missing. It felt like all those concerts at school when the rush of first performances were over and it all became rote. But that wasn’t how you played rock music or the fiddle, and Sawyer gave good face but her heart wasn’t in it. Except for the sad songs—of which, she noticed, Vix sang a lot. Sawyer found she could still play those, and in fact, they sounded better than they ever had. At least her stupid choices and her heartache were good for something.
The guys knew better than to say anything, and Vix kept up her late-night driving while Sawyer slept in the back. There were no hotel stops, and they went in shifts to the truck stops to do laundry and shower. Without Vix, the tour became a grueling repetition of sleeping in an uncomfortable van, washing her clothes alongside truckers, and keeping to herself at music venues. That part was all right. Sawyer would find somewhere quiet and work on the song she’d been slowly writing in her head, the one she’d never get to play for Vix. The song for Vix’s words, which were no longer hers.
It lasted until they were in Sacramento. They’d been polite to each other in that way girls who weren’t getting along were polite, and Sawyer was so mired in her mopiness she didn’t think anyone else had noticed.
The rest of the band had noticed. And once they were at their venue, the Ace of Spades, they did something about it. Two seconds after they’d deposited all their stuff in the venue’s greenroom, Jeff cleared his throat loudly, and Kit and Connor moved in front of the door.
“Okay, ladies,” Jeff started.
“Oh, boy,” Vix groaned. “I already don’t like where this is going. Mind your own business, Jeff.”
“Nope,” said Jeff, arms crossed. “Or wait—I would, if you’d kept your business on your own time and not ours. But we’ve been here before, Vix, and we’re not going to go through it again. So you two need to get this shit figured out so we can play music. Because that’s what we’re all here to do.”
Sawyer felt her face turn red. Here she’d thought things couldn’t get much worse. Cue the universe, laughing at her folly.
“So we’re having a band meeting,” Jeff continued. “And by that, I mean you two are having a meeting. Whatever it is, get over it.” He glared at Vix when she tried to protest. “Remind me who, about two years ago, told me that we had to put the band over our personal feelings?”
“I didn’t want you to feel bad that I was dumping you.” Vix crossed her arms and glared at Jeff without any real heat.
“Vix,” Jeff chastised. And then, “It was mutual. Anyway, this has got to stop. You two are driving the rest of us crazy.”
“We’d rather you go back to talking about hair color and whatever else.” Kit gestured at the two of them. “The passive-aggressive shit is, like, way old.”
“You two were great friends,” Connor added, smiling hopefully at them. “We really want you to go back to that. Please. Before we rent you a separate car to drive yourselves the rest of the tour.”
“This is sexist.” Vix shot her bandmates a glare. “You’re just saying that because we’re women and not gabbing all the time—”
“We’re saying it because you’re miserable,” Jeff interrupted, clearly losing his temper. “Don’t make this about social justice right now. It’s about family. This family. Two of you aren’t speaking, and you’re hurting, and you need to at least clear the air. Okay?”
“See, it works a lot better when you ask,” Vix muttered, but Sawyer heard the tone of embarrassment in her voice.
Honestly, Sawyer was relieved. They needed to talk, even if Sawyer didn’t know what to say.
“Fine,” Vix mumbled.
They all looked at Sawyer. What, like she was going to say no? She shrugged and nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“And we’re locking you in here,” Connor added. “You can knock on the door when you’re done talking and you’ve made up.”
“I hate all of you.” Vix waved a hand. “Fine, go away.”
They did, and Sawyer wasn’t sure if she believed Connor about locking them in until she heard the click of a lock.
They looked at each other, both stubbornly silent. Sawyer sat on the couch, fingers itching to take her violin out. She didn’t know what to say.
“We don’t have to talk. They’ll get bored eventually. Also, they’ll need to get in here before the show.”
“We probably need to.” Sawyer’s voice felt strange, unused. “Talk, I mean.”
Despite that, they were quiet again. Finally, Vix said, “I didn’t sleep with him. Jax. I went and drank whiskey and passed out in the back of his van.”
Sawyer stared down at her boots. “You don’t . . . you don’t have to . . . you know. Say that.” She peeked up and tried a smile. “You did smell like an ashtray; though maybe that’s what happens when you go to bed with Jax.”
Surprisingly, that got a smile from Vix—the first one Sawyer had seen in days. “Ha, probably. I didn’t— Some of the stuff I said, it was harsh. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t that harsh.” Sawyer sighed. “I probably deserved it.”
“This isn’t the time for you to feel guilty or beat yourself up.” Vix moved so she was standing across from where Sawyer was sitting. “Look, Sawyer . . . I should have said something that time in Salt Lake City. I knew you were jealous, and I let myself pretend like you weren’t because I didn’t want to deal with it and what it meant.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened, and she winced. “Ouch.”
“No, I— Damn it.” Vix’s hair was back to being a faded mess, pulled into two sloppy pigtails on either side of her head. They weren’t remotely even. She was in a black tank top and jean shorts and her combat boots. Looking at her made Sawyer want to kiss her and tell her to stop talking, to stop saying things that were only going to make her feel worse. “I’m trying to say that it wasn’t fair of me to pretend like I didn’t know what was going on when I did. And . . . not listen when you tried to tell me why you wanted me to sleep with Jax.”
“I didn’t want you to,” Sawyer said. “I only wanted you to do it if you wanted to and weren’t, because of me.”
“I didn’t want to because of you.” Vix sat next to Sawyer. “I should have said that first, and I didn’t. I should have told you that yeah, I’ve hooked up with him but I wasn’t planning on it since we were . . . y’know. Together.”
Her familiar scent, and the warmth of her body, was making Sawyer dizzy. She was also not breathing nearly deep enough, so it might help if she started doing that. She wanted so badly to say something, but she was afraid of what it might do. Things were supposed to get better, not worse, between them after they had this talk.
“And, I mean, I realize . . . this is new to you, and I wasn’t thinking about how you might feel knowing I’d hooked up with Jax before.”
“Well,” Sawyer broke in. “I suppose I shouldn’t ha
ve expected you would just because of that . . . I think I wanted you to do it so that I didn’t expect you not to, then get hurt if you did.”
Vix nodded. She looked down at her hands. Sawyer had painted her nails in Denver, and they were chipped, the dark-blue polish staining the nailbeds where it’d worn away. “Yeah. I think I knew that. And I didn’t want to admit it. Because if it was just about sex, I wouldn’t have thought twice about asking you if you’d mind, if I’d wanted to sleep with him. I guess I didn’t want to admit that it was more than that, because I know you’re leaving. So I didn’t want to expect something and get hurt, either.”
“Well.” Sawyer gave a small laugh. It felt good, but it hurt at the same time. “I guess we could have saved ourselves and the band a week of misery if we’d said all this first.”
“Right? What are we, boys?” Vix elbowed her. “I miss you, Sawyer. Like, this last week has sucked. It’s so lonely driving at night without you up there talking to me. I miss your handwriting in my notebook.”
Sawyer’s body was suffused with warmth at that. “I miss you too.”
“And I know we said . . . Look, can we be friends again? This tour has been awesome with you, and I don’t mean the sex. That was great too, but—”
“I like you,” Sawyer said, because she had to now or she wouldn’t say it at all.
Vix blinked at her. “I like you too. That’s kind of what I’m saying here, Sawyer. Do you need me to sing it with some metaphors?”
“No, I mean— Well, wait, yes, that’d be lovely, but that’s not what I mean.” Sawyer exhaled and looked at Vix. “I like you. As in . . . if I were passing you a note in high school, it’d say, ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no. Not maybe.’”
“I like that you added the all-important maybe-codicil on there.” Vix scooted a little closer.
