Leslie tugged her arm. “Hey, you okay?”
“Nervous as shit,” Lauren said.
“Me too,” Leslie agreed. “But just think, in an hour, this will all be over. Plus, you’re great. We practiced.”
“I know. It’s the speaking part that unnerves me. I don’t mind singing. It’s sharing why I’m singing it.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“You’re nervous too?”
“Hell, yes!”
And the girls grabbed each other’s hands until one of them was called.
The students were mostly in pairs or groups except for Leslie and Lauren. As the class progressed, the performers all made their way up to the front of the class, one presentation at a time. They were good. Some better than others. One girl blew them away as she played a Jewel song on her violin, pausing to sing A Capella in between. Lauren felt proud to be in such talented company, but it also made her question if she was good enough to be among them.
When Colton and Angela rose to play their song, Lauren stilled. She had butterflies for him. He strapped his guitar on, and Angela got behind the piano. They played a song Lauren had never heard, but it was haunting. The way they harmonized and looked at each other, Lauren wanted to climb under a rock and disappear. Their connection was obvious. Palpable. They looked as if they might be in love. Maybe they were.
Colton had rock star written all over him. Lauren couldn’t help but stare at his muscles when he played, his black t-shirt slightly tucked into his tight, black skinny jeans. His cross tattoo flexed on his forearm, alarmingly sexy, his face serious, a crease between his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to hit the higher notes.
Angela and Colton hugged when the song was over, the class cheered, and Lauren was overwhelmed by the sight of their talent and the sight of their closeness. She felt a punch to her stomach as she thought about the fact that they had been, probably still were, intimate with each other in ways Lauren could only dream of. Angela was probably the person Colton spent his entire weekend with.
“Well done,” Professor Blake said. “Share a little about your song with the class.”
Angela spoke first. “Well, we both really like alt-rock, and that’s what inspires us when we write our own music, but the lyrics of this song really hit home for the both of us.”
“Why?” Professor Blake probed.
Colton cleared his throat, and a hush came over the classroom. He didn’t speak a lot in the class. “We relate to the themes of poverty. We both come from broken families. Neither one of us thought we’d make it to college. If we graduate, we’ll both be the first to graduate in our families.”
“You’ll both graduate, Colton. This much I know.”
Colton tried not to smile at the professor he had so much respect for, failing miserably. Colton knew he was still here because of Blake. And his thoughts then went to Lauren. I wouldn’t have met her if I had dropped out the way I wanted to.
Blake continued. “Is there more either of you would like to share about your song?”
“The line in the song that quotes Langston Hughes? The line…‘Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?’ That line resonated with both of us,” Angela said. “It doesn’t matter where we’ve been. It’s where we want to go now. We won’t give up on our dreams, just because we might not have money…” Colton followed Angela’s stare directly to Lauren, and he felt bad.
“And what are those dreams?” Professor Blake asked.
Colton heard himself speaking softly. “I want to be a better person…at least, better than my father is.” He found Lauren’s eyes, too. “Sometimes, I get sick of the pain.”
Angela stared at Colton, a look of shock on her face. She grabbed his hand in hers and looked at him. “Making it big…that might help. Getting rich. No more troubles then, right?” She let out a laugh, and the class laughed along with her, breaking the all-too-thick tension that had settled in the classroom. The class had probably never seen this side of Colton he realized. Angela may not have either.
“You think money solves all problems?” Professor Blake didn’t let her off that easy.
“Damn straight,” Colton said, trying to recover from his emotional lapse. The class roared again.
“Okay. Okay. Nice work, you two. When you’re rich and famous, try not to forget the little people along the way. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you do make it big. But I would bet a million dollars that when you do make it, you’ll see that money and happiness are not synonyms. Don’t be so naïve to think so.”
Lauren was grateful he’d said that. If they only knew how true that really was.
Still, Lauren had welled up as the class stood, silent, in awe of Colton and his vulnerability. She wished she could go to him. Hug him. Kiss him. Take away whatever pain he was referring to. Something. She wished she knew all his past. She knew something about his father going to jail. She knew he got tattoos to take away some of his pain. But she wanted to know so much more.
“Lauren?” Professor Blake interrupted Lauren’s thoughts.
She groaned audibly, thinking how vulnerable she was going to be herself in just moments. “Is it really my turn already?” Lauren asked, unable to make eye contact with the professor.
“Yes, Lauren. It will be fine. I promise.” Professor Blake turned to the class. “Let Lauren know that we’re here to support her, not judge her.”
A few students offered words of encouragement. She looked over to Colton, but he wasn’t looking in her direction, and she hated herself that she cared. His focus was on Angela.
She stood up and spoke, her voice shaky. “I chose this song because, like the last group”—she looked directly at Angela and Colton—“this is what I love in my spare time. I love singing. I love performing in musicals. I would love nothing more than to make it on Broadway someday. I just tried out for Les Mis…”
A student from the back asked, “Did you make it in?”
Lauren reddened. She hadn’t expected to be interrupted. She spoke softly. “I won’t know until next week.”
“Well, good luck,” another student offered.
“Thank you.” She looked up to eager eyes, supportive eyes. She could do this. They wanted her to succeed. Even Colton was looking at her now, a small smile gracing his lips.
She sat down by the piano and started to play and let herself go, let herself feel. In her mind she could see and feel everything, like a movie reel playing it back for her, the last time she sung for her sister, Shelby.
“Play for her, Lauren,” Lauren’s mother said, stroking her hair. “You know how much she loves to hear you play and sing.”
The windows were open, the sun strong, beaming into the room. The curtains swayed with the wind. Such an ironically sunny day.
Shelby couldn’t even lift up her eyes at that point, her chin touching her collarbone, wet from drool, but Lauren played softly to each tranquil breath of breeze that came into the room, the song that would be Shelby’s dirge.
The memory of that day, the last day Lauren would ever sing for her sister, the last day her sister would ever take a breath, pushed all of Lauren’s emotions to a crescendo behind her mind’s eye, and tears poured forth before she could utter the last lines of the song for the class. She opened her eyes and looked directly at Colton, and sang, “I love him…I love him…I love him…but only on my own.”
The room was silent as Lauren stood. Do they hate me? Have I gone too far? She wiped the tears from her face as quickly as possible, and Leslie rushed to her and threw her arms around her neck.
“You were amazing,” Leslie said, tears falling down her own face.
As Lauren looked around the room, she noticed several students getting up out of their seats to come over to hug her. Some of the class stood on their feet and clapped and cheered, while murmurs of, “That was unbelievable,” and, “Wow,” were heard.
When everything died down, Lauren began to make her way back to her seat.
“
Stay right there, Lauren, if you don’t mind. You have clearly touched a deep part of us. We could feel your true and genuine emotion as you sang and played Éponine’s song. Take a couple moments to compose yourself. You’re safe here. Take your time. Why have you chosen this piece? What does it mean to you?”
The moment she dreaded was upon her, and Blake noticed.
She looked out at sympathetic eyes, and she somehow did feel safe. Everyone was in this together, and she knew that. She’d never once talked about her feelings about what happened to her sister. Her parents liked to bury emotion, and when Shelby died, Lauren was all they focused on. Making sure Lauren was safe. Making sure Lauren had the best. Of everything. Making sure Lauren was healthy. And happy. And popular. And clothed right. Got top grades. Had the right boyfriend. But somehow, with all that, she’d never be Shelby. She’d never be their real daughter. How much will I tell them?
She didn’t dare look at Angela or Colton. She knew she’d lose her nerve to say anything at all. She spoke, looking down at her fingers, fidgeting, as she warred with just how much she would say. Her essay had said it all.
Right then, right now, she didn’t know if she had the courage to share it all with her classmates, her being adopted, because her parents couldn’t have kids; Shelby, the miracle baby who died; and the guilt. Oh. The guilt of being the one who lived.
“The song, for me, might not be what people think.”
“Go ahead,” the kind professor said. “We’re listening. Take your time.”
“The whole story, the whole musical, the history of the French Revolution, that kind of pain and anguish, is powerful, to begin with. To lose the love of your life, knowing that love will never be returned, it’s a feeling I know all too well.”
“Can you go deeper?” Professor Blake asked. “It’s okay if you can’t.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve never been in romantic love until maybe recently. And it hurts to think you may be falling in love with someone and know that it’s not mutual. It’s devastating. I can really understand Éponine’s emotional turmoil now. But that’s not the love I usually think about losing when I hear or sing this song.”
“No?” Professor Blake seemed surprised. Shocked even.
“No. I think of my younger sister, and when I sing the words, I love him, I really mean, I love her.”
“What happened to her?”
Lauren welled up. “She died of leukemia when she was thirteen.” She heard gasps and a still, suffocating silence filled the room. “I’ll never be able to see her again. And even though I know it’s only in my mind, I do talk to her. I do picture her arms around me…I miss her. I loved her so much.” Lauren stopped. She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t tell her whole story and said no more.
“I’m so sorry, Lauren. Thank you for sharing,” Professor Blake said softly, tenderly, sincerely. “That’s what I’m talking about class. Putting yourselves out there. Being uncomfortable. Taking chances.” He looked to Lauren. “You have everything it takes to make it, Lauren. You have a rare gift.”
She whispered, “Thank you,” and shuffled back to her seat, taking residence back with her classmates as the next group made their way up front. She was glad it was over. It felt both draining and cathartic.
When she looked over to Colton, she realized both Angela’s and his seats were empty. Had he stayed to hear my story? Did I make him feel too uncomfortable? Had I shared too much? She sighed and watched the excruciating slow tick of the clock for the remaining interminable minutes of the class.
CHAPTER NINE
Lauren got through the rest of her day, feeling emotionally drained. She’d planned to eat dinner with Brian again that night. She could use a friend. As she walked home and up to the path to her dormitory, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be Colton. And he wasn’t alone. Oh great, she thought. She couldn’t take any more crying today.
She made sure to avoid eye contact with him, as he stood far too close to the girl from the first-floor dormitory. The girl giggled, patting his chest playfully with small hits, throwing her head back, making her blonde hair cascade down her back. Yeah. He’s a real laugh riot.
Colton towered over the girl, his hair falling into his face as he leaned against the cement wall of the building, casually chatting with the girl. Lauren was grateful he didn’t seem to notice her.
Lauren slunk into the dormitory, took the elevator to her room, slammed the door, hard, and flung onto her bed. She was relieved Beth had later classes than Lauren did. She looked over to a picture of Shelby and her sharing a sundae when they were young, and Lauren threw it across the room. Why? Why was it you and not me?
She tried to calm down, picking the picture back up, feeling guilty over acting so immaturely. She began to undress, feeling claustrophobic, overwhelmed with the heat of her tears and grief, when the door flung open. Half-naked, she froze when Colton stood there, eyes blazing, staring at her as if he were angry.
“Colton! What are you doing? Get out!” She tried to cover herself and wiped the dry salt of her tears from her face.
“Jesus Christ,” Colton snapped and turned around. “Lock your fucking door for Christ’s sake. What the fuck, Lauren? I know you come from some Amish cult or something, but do you know how dangerous it is to just leave your door unlocked?”
“Colton! Get. Out!” She was too emotionally exhausted, and she lost all her will and crumpled onto her bed. The tears started, and she couldn’t stop them. She knew she was vulnerable. She knew she was all but naked. She knew he felt something for her. But she knew who he was. She needed to remind herself again and again that he wasn’t a nice boy. He would eventually hurt her. He already had.
He was filled with rage and lust and desire and need. He wanted her. He wanted to drink away her tears. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to scream at her for saying she might be falling in love with him in class. And he wanted to soothe her pain from her sister. He was completely out of control.
He surprised himself when he picked her up off of the bed and drew her into his arms. “Sssh. Lauren, please.”
He held her tightly, gripping her body into his, and sat back down on her bed, squeezing her balled-up, little body to his on his lap so that she couldn’t move. She was hyperventilating now, trying to breathe. He let her go and put her down on her back on the bed. His eyes couldn’t help but devour her quivering body below him. She was perfect in every way in his eyes. Her breasts were heaving through her sobs; her pale, white skin begged him to touch its smooth silk.
When she tried to cover herself up, Colton said, “No. Stay still. Let me see you.”
“Here I am. Wide open and ridiculous for all to see. A blubbering, swollen, idiotic girl who can’t seem to control her emotions.”
“No, Lauren. I see someone real.”
She squeezed her eyes shut when he sat down on the bed next to her. He slowly wiped his thumbs across her cheeks, and her eyes opened to him, green now, and alive. He brought his face within inches of hers, his lips hovering over her lips, when she finally said the words he hoped to hear. “Kiss me.”
He bore into her eyes. “Lauren, today, in class.” He paused as she closed her eyes. “Look at me,” he ordered, and he felt her quiver, saw goosebumps on her arms.
She opened her eyes.
“Were you talking about me? I need to know, Lauren.”
She hesitated, but he knew the answer.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” she finally admitted.
“That’s not good,” he said, angrily, aggressively. He stared at her, her lips, her chest, her body. “Not good at all.”
“I know,” she admitted, trying to breath.
“I’m no good for you,” he said, his face so close, he might almost be suffocating her.
He took her face between his hands and attacked her lips. And fuck did she taste good to him. She moaned loudly into him as his tongue found hers. She panted and mewled, writhing beneath him as h
e pressed his entire body on top of her, owning her mouth, owning her body, owning her soul. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Sexy,” he said, pausing in between kisses as she panted.
“I want you. I want you, Colton.”
He growled and found himself going lower with his mouth. He kissed her chin, making his way onto her neck. Her pulse pumped her blood furiously, and he kissed the spot, alive as her eyes.
He made his way down even lower, removing both her breasts from the confines of her white, innocent, cotton bra as she let out a slight whimper. “Oh, god.”
He looked up at her for permission. “Yes,” she muttered as he drew his tongue across her nipple. She let out a long, excruciating moan as he gave the same treatment to her other nipple. She bucked and writhed beneath him, and he placed his hand across her lower belly to still her movements.
“Colton,” she begged. “Please.”
“Sssh.”
Colton understood what she needed. Her body was like his guitar, and he could feel each chord, each string, each note in her body’s reaction to him. He could hear the tune of pleasure escaping her mouth into his, and he knew she wanted him to reach the bridge between fantasy and reality, a place where pleasure reigned, and judgement ended. He wanted to pleasure her. Devour her. Take her.
He wanted her to lose control. To him.
He continued to play her body, teasing her—alternating between her nipples, her lips, her neck, her collarbone. His fingers began to move across her belly, and he felt her tighten and squeeze her body, letting out a deep, guttural groan. Her body shook and trembled, as he moved his fingers slowly under the front of her panties, tickling the soft fuzz he found there.
“Colton. Oh”—she inhaled sharply— “God.” She was shaking now, her breath coming in fast, labored hiccups.
Colton went lower and stroked his finger, and she arched her back up off the bed and screamed, a quiet agonized scream. It brought a smile to his face. “You’re so wet, Princess.”
Play Only For Me: (A New Adult Romance) Page 8
