by Cassia Leo
I wipe my face clean and pull my messy bed hair into a ponytail. Then I head out of Chris’s room. I wait in the corridor for a moment until he comes out of the restroom. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of ragged pajama pants and his hair is sticking out in all directions, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He presses his lips to my cheekbone then whispers in my ear. “You’ve broken me.”
I turn on my heel and disappear into my room, closing the door quietly behind me so Jackie doesn’t know I’m upset. Then I lie in bed and cry for the millionth time in the last six days, since Chris and I — mostly I — decided we should break up. I don’t think I could have imagined a worse way to spend this summer.
When I head downstairs twenty minutes later, I see Jackie has made Chris’s favorite breakfast: Denver omelet, bacon, and hash browns. Chris looks up from his plate when I enter the kitchen.
“You’d think I was on death row,” he remarks as he stabs his fork into a piece of omelet, but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth.
Jackie has her back to us as she washes dishes at the sink. I go to her and tap her shoulder. “I’ll do those.” She shakes her head, but she doesn’t speak. “Jackie, are you okay?”
That’s when she sniffs loudly and I know she’s crying. I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my cheek against her shoulder blade. Her shoulders slump as she stops pretending to be strong.
Finally, she turns around and kisses my forehead. “I have to get going. I know you two want to be alone today.”
I nod and try not to cry as I think of the implications behind her words. Jackie’s leaving to spend the day at Carolina Beach. She’s staying the night at an inn on the coast, then returning tomorrow afternoon. Chris will be gone by then. She’s leaving so Chris and I can spend our last day together alone. At home.
Jackie and Chris say their goodbyes outside. When he comes back inside, the sober look on his face is something I’ll never get used to. I’m used to seeing Chris with that charming crooked smile. The mischief in his eyes. This dark, dull look is not the Chris I’m used to. Maybe I have broken him.
We shower separately and he lies on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, while I brush and blow-dry my hair. When I’m done, we take Mr. Miyagi for a long walk around the neighborhood. I have to stop myself from wondering if this is the kind of thing we’d still be doing when we’re in our seventies.
We spend the first five or six hours of our last day together in silence. There’s really nothing more to say. We’ve spent the last month talking, screaming, crying, cursing. There’s only one thing left to say, and I’m not sure either of us has the courage to say it.
I sit on the sofa for a while, watching Chris as he tries to play with the dog on the rug. But Mr. Miyagi is either too tired from the long walk or he can sense that Chris is trying to say goodbye. He’s not interested. This is too much for Chris.
He stares at the dog for a while, lost in thought. “Why are you making this so hard?”
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the dog, so I don’t respond.
“Say something, Claire. Anything. Just fucking say something.”
I cover my face with my hands and gulp large breaths, trying not to completely fall apart. The sofa cushion tilts as he sits next to me and gravity pulls me into his arms. He holds me so tight it hurts. But it’s not enough to drown out the pain in my heart.
I don’t know how long we sit like this, but sometime just before sundown we head upstairs to my room. This is it.
“You know we’re both going to regret this,” he says as he cradles my face in his hands.
“I know, but I don’t care.”
He kisses me and my entire body relaxes as I lie back on my bed. This is what Chris and I are meant for and I need it just one more time before it’s over. I need to feel him moving inside me. I need to feel the weight of him on top of me. I need to feel safe with him one last time.
He lays his palms flat on either side of my head then runs his tongue over my top lip. A chill passes through me and pulses between my legs.
He pulls his head back and looks me in the eye. “I love you, Claire. I’ll never stop loving you.”
I grab the back of his neck and pull him to me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he grinds against me. There are too many layers of clothing between us. I reach for the button on his jeans and he moves my hand away as he kisses my neck.
“Slow down. We have all night.”
His hand slides under my shirt as he gently sucks on my earlobe. I lift my back so he can undo my bra. I hastily peel off my tank top and bra then toss them aside. His fingers move lightly over my stomach until he reaches my breast. I draw in a sharp breath as his mouth covers my nipple. He licks me slowly and torturously, moving from one breast to the other as his hands unbutton my shorts. I lift my hips so he can pull them off, but he leaves my panties on. He takes his shirt and jeans off and tosses them onto the floor before he settles himself between my thighs again.
I can feel him stiff between my legs as his bare chest slides over my breasts. He kisses me and I gasp as his tongue parts my lips and thrusts inside my mouth. I clutch handfuls of his hair to keep his head still. I don’t want him to move. I don’t want to ever stop kissing him.
He grinds himself against me and my panties are soaked with my need for him. “Please, Chris,” I whisper against his lips.
He kisses my neck as his lips travel down to the hollow of my throat. His tongue traces a line straight down my center until his face is between my thighs. He pulls my panties off and pauses for a moment. I look down to see what he’s doing and he’s staring at me.
“I’m going to miss this,” he says, before he kisses me so lightly I can barely feel it.
His fingers part my flesh and he kisses me tenderly, teasing me with feather soft licks. The pleasure builds inside me and I grip the blanket underneath me to keep from writhing.
“Oh, Chris,” I moan.
His tongue flicks and torments me into a frenzy and soon I find my release as my body convulses with ecstasy. He lays a soft trail of kisses over my belly and kisses each of my breasts before his mouth is on mine again. He kisses me tenderly as the tears slide down my temples and into my hair.
He pulls his head back and looks down. His boxer briefs are gone and we both watch as he enters me slowly, my mouth opening wide in a silent gasp. I wrap my legs around his waist, beckoning him farther inside.
He takes his time, sinking in and out of me with the ease of a boat bobbing on a calm sea. That’s what I am right now. I am a calm sea because the storm hasn’t arrived yet. I know everything will be different when Chris leaves, but right now I want to enjoy this small sliver of peace.
He kisses the tears as they slide down my temples. I tighten my arms around his shoulders and crush my lips against his as we both let go … forever?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chris
Forever Lost
“Are you calling me from a pay phone?”
Claire’s voice sounds like a beautiful symphony on the other end of this staticky pay phone.
“I lost my phone at the airport, but I had to call you as soon as I got here.” I look around my new L.A. neighborhood. A hot, simmering concrete jungle; lifeless and loveless. “I miss you so fucking much.”
“You've been gone ten hours.”
“Worst ten hours of my life.”
She’s silent for a while, then she lets out a soft, forced chuckle. “Hey, want to hear a funny story? Your mom came home this morning with a sunburn. A bad sunburn. So I went to the drugstore to get her some aloe vera and the clerk — ”
“Claire, I don't think I can do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be without you.”
Silence again. I’m getting so fucking tired of silence.
“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” she says, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I think you need to give yourse
lf some time to adjust first. Then we can talk about it. You can’t throw away all those years of hard work.”
It’s hard to argue with Claire when she’s right. But I still fucking hate that she’s right. I want to throw it all away.
“I love you.”
“I should go. I have to take the dog for a walk.”
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still wearing your ring?”
She lets out a soft sigh. “I can’t do this, Chris. It hurts too much. Goodbye.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Claire
Forever Torn
August 20, 2012
My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I know it’s going to be him. I haven’t heard from Chris since the semester began last week. He’s been spending fourteen hours a day in the studio. Or so he says.
I slide the phone off the nightstand and stare at Chris’s name flashing on the screen. Then I take a deep breath and touch the green button.
“Chris.”
“Were you asleep?”
“No, I’m just studying.” Lie number one.
“Do you have time to talk?”
“Not really. I’m trying to finish a paper.” Lie number two.
“You don’t have ten minutes to talk? I want to hear about your week.”
I pause for a moment, trying to gather the courage to say what needs to be said. Then I realize I will probably never have the courage. So I might as well just say it.
“Chris, you have to stop calling me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too hard.”
“But we agreed to stay friends.”
“Friends,” I repeat this word with a level of disgust that surprises even me.
“You don’t want to be friends with me?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it’s useless. “I don’t think that’s possible for us. Friends tell each other things, Chris. And … I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”
There’s a long, heavy silence where I begin to believe he may have hung up. Then, “Claire?”
“Chris, please. I’m sorry. It just hurts too much. And I want you to do what you want. I don’t want to worry about who you’re fucking or — ”
“ — I’m not going to — ”
“ — Chris, stop.”
“I’m coming home.”
“Stop! Stop calling me … Please!”
“Claire.”
“Stop saying my name. I have to go.”
I end the call and throw the phone at the wall so he can’t call me back. Then I pull the covers over my head and allow myself to cry. I tell myself that this will be my last day to let myself remember Chris. My last day to revel in the memories and soak my pillow with the tears. This will be the last day.
Tomorrow, we will no longer be Chris and Claire, past, present, or future. Tomorrow, the process of forgetting begins. I don’t know how I’ll forget the most amazing years of my life. But there’s no other way.
I can’t let Chris throw away everything he’s worked so hard to achieve. Not for me … or anyone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chris
Forever Shattered
I stare at the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. I mean, I knew this was coming. I could hear it in her voice. She’s not the same. Neither am I. The distance has killed who we were.
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter in my shitty L.A. apartment. Then I back away from it, as if it’s a ticking time bomb. I bump against the oven behind me and that’s when I feel it. In my back pocket.
I slide my hand into my pocket and retrieve the glass heart Claire gave me last year. I’ve carried it with me every day since the day she handed it to me in Moore Square. I read the words engraved on the surface: ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.
She wants nothing more to do with me. She probably stopped wearing my ring the day I left.
Fine. If that’s the way she wants it.
I hurl the heart across the room and it hits the wall and shatters on the floor in front of the refrigerator.
I came to L.A. because I wanted to follow through on everything I’ve been working toward since I picked up my first guitar twelve years ago. I never would have quit school and worked my ass off the past three years if I thought this would never happen. But … I would have thrown it all away for her. For us.
Now I see that she won’t let me. Maybe this is easier for her than it is for me. Maybe I was just weighing her down. Taking up her time when she could have been studying or partying. Maybe she’s been wanting to breakup for a while.
Staring at the shattered heart, I get a sick thought. Would Claire and I still be together if I had given her an engagement ring instead of a promise ring?
I shake my head at this craziness.
Claire promised to love me forever. I knew forever was too good to be true.
Chapter Thirty
Claire
Forever Aching
December, 2012
Senia’s three-year-old sister, Sophie, has become very good at working the TV remote. Watching her flipping through the channels, her chubby finger pressed on the “plus” button, all I can do is smile. She’ll find some cartoon show eventually. Or she’ll get tired of holding down the button and give me the remote so I can find the cartoons.
A few seconds later, my prediction comes true. In the worst way possible. She gets tired of pressing the button and she drops the remote into my lap.
“Cartoons,” Sophie pleads.
But I can’t move. My eyes are glued to the images on the screen. A celebrity gossip show.
“Rocker Chris Knight has been spotted around town with Nicole Priestly, star of this season’s blockbuster, Alive. Rumors are flying that they were spotted making out in a booth at Triple X, a swanky new restaurant-slash-strip club in West Hollywood where all the young celebrities are hanging out these days. Knight’s publicist denies the two are anything more than friends. Hmmm… I don’t remember the last time I tasted the inside of my buddy’s mouth.”
God, I’m such an idiot!
“Cartoons!”
I’ve spent the last five months basically lying in bed feeling sorry for both of us. Feeling like we’ve both suffered with the most difficult decision I ever made; a decision I know I’ll always regret. And there he is, shoving his tongue into someone else’s mouth. Probably shoving other things in other places, as well. I wouldn’t call that suffering.
I knew Chris would move on eventually, but seeing it happen right before my eyes is something else. Now, this nameless girl I imagined him screwing has a face. A very famous face. Imagining his hands on her. His lips on her. His … Ugh! It makes me sick.
“Claire! Cartoons!”
I can’t watch TV anymore. That’s the only way to avoid this torture.
I pick up the remote and change the channel as Senia walks in with two ice cream sundaes; one for me and one for her.
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Claire, you have to eat. It’s the holidays.”
“Ice cream!” Sophie screams.
“This isn’t for you,” Senia says, and Sophie’s bottom lips juts out. Senia rolls her eyes and sets the sundae down on the coffee table in front of Sophie. “You can have a few bites.”
Sophie digs into her ice cream and I watch in complete wonderment. How could something as simple as ice cream turn a bad day into a good one for a child? What would turn my bad day into a good one?
Don’t answer that question, I chide myself.
Chapter Thirty-One
Chris
Forever Restless
The buzzing noise seeps into my dream and it takes a moment for me to realize it’s my phone. I snatch the phone off the bedside table, squinting at the bright screen, and groan when I see the phone number.
“Yeah. I’m awake.”
“I s
hould hope so. It’s past noon.”
I pull the phone away from my ear to look at the time: 12:34 p.m.
“What’s up?”
“We need you to come in tonight around seven to re-record some vocals on ‘Firefly’.” I can tell by the almost bored exasperation in his voice that Gene Hadley is getting tired of re-recording vocals because I was too parched and hungover on the initial recording. “Get some rest and drink plenty of water.”
He hangs up and I stare at the screen for a moment as the calls disappears. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and the first thing I see is a black bra on the floor. With great trepidation, I turn my head and peer over my shoulder. I wish I could say I’m surprised to find a thin brunette tangled in my bedsheets. Her left breast is exposed and her pouty lips are slightly parted as she sleeps.
I don’t remember what time I got in last night, but I do remember bits and pieces of the party in Tristan’s hotel room. Despite the problems with recording, I managed to convince Gene to allow Tristan and Jake to play bass and drums on the tour that kicks off at the end of this month. Tristan and Jake flew out a few days ago and we celebrated having the band back together last night.
It looks like I got a suite in the same hotel for me and … What’s her name again? Laura? Lara? Lorena? I can’t fucking remember.
I rise from the bed slowly and she begins to stir. I freeze for a moment, but she settles down quickly and continues to sleep. I tiptoe out of the bedroom and into the sitting area. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the minibar, I sit down at a glossy mahogany writing desk.
How can it be that it’s been five months since I last saw Claire and hers is still the first face I see in my mind when I get the urge to write a song? My memories of Claire are relentless. And no amount of alcohol or sex can erase her.
Picking up the hotel pen and pad of paper, I close my eyes and allow myself to remember. The first thing I see is Claire sitting in the shade of a giant oak tree in Moore Square, smiling as I sing to her. I press the pen to the paper and write the first lines: We kissed under the trees, and talked about missing things. I wish I could have held you in; held in the heat of your breath; held onto you and I at our best.
