Wasted Heart

by Nicole Reed

  I look over at Rhye, watching for his reaction. Is he going to be ready to play tomorrow? He looks over at Ryan and nods his head in agreement. He’s back to being unreadable, and I don’t know if he means it or just agrees, not having any plans to play.

  “Let me meet with my team in my office. You two guys figure out who is going to perform first, and then, I want you both to make it an early night,” Ryan says, not looking at me but directly at Rhye.

  The three of them carry on their conversation as they leave, each telling us goodnight. Once the door closes, the silence is deafening. I continue to stand, not knowing whether I should sit or not. My nerves explode within me, but I’m still sure of one thing. Him. It doesn’t mean I expect him to remotely feel the same. My hands fidget in front of me, and I lean from one foot to the other.

  He sits still, arms crossed, staring up at me. His demeanor stays the same… cool, calm, and cocky. After several minutes, it doesn’t seem like he is going to say anything, so I clear my throat.

  “I can sing first if you would like,” I say, not meaning any of it. What I want to say is, “Do you feel it? This connection that ties us together. Does your heart hurt at the sight of me because you want to be with me instead of apart? Do you think you could love me? Ever? Because I would wait. Forever. It’s not a choice for me anymore. Keep your cool, Syn,” I tell myself. I don’t want to seem like the inexperienced nineteen year old that I am.

  He continues to gaze at me with a sneer marking his face. Abruptly, he stands to his feet, and I automatically jump back, my backside smacking into the wall. I see his smile at my reaction. He enjoys it. Devours it. He swaggers towards me, licking his lips. The sight of him is mesmerizing. Has anything ever been so overtly sexual, or is it just because it’s him, and my body reacts to everything that is Rhye?

  Once he reaches me, he crowds my space, aligning our bodies mere inches from touching. I raise my head to peer into his rich, brown eyes, loving that he doesn’t tower over me. My thoughts are chaotic; however, my body is oddly calm yet more alive than it’s ever been. There is an electricity between us, currents of energy sparking from me to him.

  “There you are,” I think to myself as I see him when I look into his eyes now. He is amazingly beautiful. I tightly grasp the sides of my jean shorts in my hands, physically restraining myself from making first contact with him. I know whatever this is between us has to happen on Rhye’s time. I watch him lower those pink lips of his closer to mine, only breaths away.

  “Do you like it hard?” he whispers, licking his bottom lip then tugging it with his teeth.

  What? Wait. What? I can’t follow his words when everything is drowned out by his presence. My body is in overdrive, chills marking my skin from head to toe.

  “Do I like what?” I ask, my voice trembles.

  “When you get fucked. Do you like it rough? I bet, behind that good girl act, you like to get down and dirty,” he says, placing his hands on either side of my waist and squeezing gently.

  I shiver at his touch, not really understanding what he is saying because I’m lost in him. He rubs his hands up and across my sides and abdomen, tickling and touching. Leaning his mouth down, he nibbles on my neck. Every nip of his sharp teeth is soothed by a lapping of his tongue. I lean my head back, granting him full access.

  I moan, grasping the tops of his arms to steady myself from the avalanche of lust burying me by the minute. His lips softly move up to my ear. A tender bite to my sensitive flesh and another groan escapes me. My nipples harden into little pebbles, and my girly parts blaze with need, pulsating with every streak of lightning that storms inside of me. I feel his fingers tracing the waist of my jean shorts, and my body quivers with want. I’m aware of him unsnapping the top button, moving his hand lower. The zipper must catch at first because I feel him strongly tug at it, but only seconds later, the cool air touches my sensitive skin.

  “I’m going to fuck you against this wall. Get you out of my system,” he says, sounding as though he ran miles before covering my mouth with his.

  There is nothing romantic about our first kiss. He attacks my mouth, the gnashing of his teeth against mine sharp. He shows me no tenderness, no finesse, as he forces his tongue between my lips. This epic moment is ruined by his carelessness. As soon as I realize what he is saying, I try to pull back, only to be trapped by his strength. Something inside of me cautions not to fight, assuring that he won’t hurt me, at least physically.

  His hand reaches around to grasp my butt, squeezing tightly as his other hand slides up to my neck, holding it forcibly. He presses his ravaging mouth against mine again, and I deny entry or at least try to.

  Yanking away from me, he snarls in my face, “Quit the tease show. I don’t have time for this shit. Are we gonna fuck or what?”

  I search for something to say in the midst of everything that is happening. “I thought…,” I begin, completely cut off by his harsh laugh.

  “Yeah, don’t think. I’m only in it for the pity fuck,” he says.

  I can’t disguise the look of incredulity in my eyes. His words smack me in the face, and I try not to let the pain of rejection show. I’m obviously stranded. On my own. In love. His actions and words speaking clearly of his indifference. Even now, he stands here unaffected while my entire world is hanging in the balance.

  “C’mon, Syn. Live up to that name of yours. Save the innocent act for your fucktard cowboys,” he says, leaning down to try and kiss me again.

  I move my head away, holding back from slapping the living tar out of him. Never, not once, was Tag less than a gentleman. Even when he hurt me with his actions and words, he did it gently. He would have never spoken to me like this. No one ever has, and by God, no one should ever be able to.

  “Let me go,” I say, pushing him away harder, finally budging him backwards. I don’t give him a chance to think for one more second that treating me this way is acceptable. Slapping at his arm, I yell, “What is your problem?” I pull my shorts together and button them.

  “I don’t need this shit,” he says, shrugging and turning to walk out of the room.

  “Stop right there!” I yell, my anger finally piquing. He pauses, bowing his head for second, and turns around. His face is scarlet red, and a constant tick in his jaw shows me he’s pissed. Good! Join the club. “What was that?” I ask, holding my shaking hands up in question.

  He doesn’t answer. He stands silent, staring angrily at me.

  “Whatever you think about me, know that I’m not that kind of girl.”

  A bitter laugh escapes him. “You are all that kind of girl. If you’re wanting someone to beg for it, you’ve come to the wrong place. I don’t have to.”

  “Beg for it?” I ask, repeating his words. Okay, I feel my own face flush with anger. “I’ve never wanted you or anyone else to beg for it. I want…,” I start, but can’t finish. “Just you,” I ache to tell him but don’t.

  “You want, what?” he asks, looking surprised at his own question. “You don’t know me. Someone like you never could.”

  What do you have to lose, Syn? It’s not like he seems to care at all. “I want to know that guy that got lost in his music, but seemed to find himself at the same time,” I say, seeing the look of rage contort his face at my admission.

  “You didn’t see shit,” he says between clenched teeth. Moving forward, he holds his index finger directly in my face. “You keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

  Slowly, I reach up and wrap my fist around his pointed finger, gently bringing it down. Our eyes connect, and I see the surprise at my action; it clearly confuses him. His facial expression is almost comical. I can’t say what possesses me, my need or perhaps my inner woman, but I stand on the tips of my toes. My body raises to be almost eye-level to him, and I slowly press my lips against his.

  Our eyes lock in a silent battle when his mouth doesn’t automatically open for me. Shyly, I move my lips, slipping my tongue between his. I watch his eyes blink, turning those
brown orbs from hostile to intense. His deep moan sends an electric shiver down my body, and finally, his tongue conquers mine. His taste, which is uniquely him, brands itself in me. I know I’ll never want another. Closing my eyes, I try to match his roughness with gentleness, patience to his impatient demeanor, and love to his indifference.

  I shift my body, fitting myself completely against him. Abruptly, I feel the loss of his lips. I open my eyes to see him pulling away, shaking his head. He doesn’t look at me as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust.

  “Stay the fuck away from me,” he says angrily before turning to leave, not caring enough to look back. I jump as he slams the door on the way out.

  Bringing my hand to my chest, it takes a minute to catch my breath. Everything is happening so fast. I’m dizzy with these immense feelings of trepidation and excitement, scared almost. How can I feel this way when he obviously doesn’t? Why do my feelings seem to grow despite his rejection? I glance towards the door. The loss of him already weighs heavy on my soul.

  “She’s fucking crazy if she thinks she knows me. What game is she trying to play?” I mumble to myself, storming out of the building. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I retrace my steps last night to that bar. I need a fucking drink. Hell, I need a fucking hit. That is what I need. My hunger returns with a vicious appetite. I need something to take the edge off.

  “Hey, Rhye,” a voice calls from the other side of the street.

  I look up to see a small guy with a camera hanging around his neck. He swiftly moves it up and obviously clicks away. Not the dickhead paparazzi. My answer is my middle finger as I keep walking. I really don’t need this now. I’m covered with them in L.A., and these motherfuckers are leaches.

  He must be scouting someone bigger because he doesn’t leave his post, which is fine by me. I slip into the bar which seems even busier tonight. Keeping my head down low, I make my way back to the same barstool at the end. The bartender sees me and nods his head from the other side of the bar.

  “Same?” he asks, smiling my way.

  I nod, hoping he can hurry the hell up. Turning around, I notice the same band setting up again. The owner must really like them. From what I heard last night, they’re not half bad.

  “Anything else I can get for you?” the bartender asks, laying down a bottle of Jack and a Coke. He leaves out the shot glass that I didn’t use last night.

  For two seconds, I think about asking him, “You seen Molly?” The first second, the question burns on the tip of my tongue, but by the second, I think about my mom. Fuck! Shit! Goddamn it! I twist the cap off of my good, old buddy, Jack Daniels, and chug it back. Forget washing it down. I savor the burn, praying for a quick buzz.

  “Hey,” the bartender says, leaning towards me, “The guys in the band are huge fans. When they heard you were here last night listening to them, they about lost their shit. Do you care if I call them over? If not, it’s cool man.”

  “Do I look like I fucking want to talk it up?” I think to myself, but nod my head instead. I’ve got some black head space going on. That means it could be a shitty night if I don’t change it real fast.

  “Cool. Thanks, man,” he says, walking away.

  I swallow back mouthfuls of the booze, the taste wearing away with the burn, willing my stomach to keep back the rot gut.

  Syn. What the fuck? What did she say? Oh yeah, she “saw something in me.” I shake my head thinking about her dumbass comment. She should be seeing this big dick. That’s what she should see. Damn, the girl looked like she didn’t know the score. Is this chick for real? I can get pussy where and when I want. The only “seeing” a girl will be doing with me is an up close inspection of my cock. Goddamn it. There is nothing special about that backwoods, little, country piece of ass. Those eyes though, the way she stares with them, will freak you the fuck out. I admit, she’s got a tight bod, nice tits, and round ass; however, I can get that shit anywhere. I don’t need her, and I sure as hell don’t need her “seeing” anything in me. Creepy chick.

  I drink several more large swigs of the booze. The thought of her should be dimming instead of building in my head. It’s like the more I drink, the more crystal clear she becomes in my mind. What? The? Fuck?

  “Hey, man. Todd Sellers with the band Dark Nights. Huge fan,” a voice says on my left.

  I turn to see the lead singer leaning against the bar next to me. Thank fuck. Anything but thinking about Syn.

  “Thanks. Y’all guys were the shit last night. I really enjoyed what I heard,” I tell him, sitting the bottle of Jack down.

  “That’s awesome. After the show, Brad, the bartender, said we missed you, and we were all bummed. I think you missed us covering one of your songs towards the end.”

  “Ah, damn. I must have,” I say, really meaning it.

  “Yeah, the Mavericks’ music always makes it on one of our set lists. The crowds love it. We can’t wait for some of your new shit. Is that why you are in Nashville?”

  Nodding my head, I answer, “Yeah. I’m working on a new record,” I state, suddenly realizing I’m okay to even say those words.

  “Fuck yeah, man. Who are you working with?” he asks, seeming more excited than I am.

  “Ryan Poole and his crew.”

  “You lucky bastard. Everything that guy touches turns to gold. I’d give my left nut to work with that motherfucker,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

  Well, when he puts it like that…. I really haven’t given a flying fuck either way. I guess I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Even my mom’s situation wouldn’t have mattered six months ago to me. That’s the fucking truth. Today was the first day, in a long time, that the music mattered. In the past, it didn’t. It was just noise, scribbly lines on a paper. Being back in the studio today, the music finally made sense again. I connected with it, and it felt good. Fucking great! The only thing that ruined it was sharing the moment with her. How dare she invade my space like that? Stupid…

  “How about it?” he asks, grinning at me.

  “How about what?” I reply, realizing only now that he was still speaking to me.

  “Come play with us. One song. It would be cool, and the crowd would love it as much as we would.”

  I reply, “Yes,” before thinking it through. Why won’t she get out of my head? Goddamn Syn. I stand, only to drink the last drop of my booze. The thought “liquid courage” comes to mind. I used to say that to Jay when I would drink several shots before getting on stage to play at Vortex; however, I haven’t needed it in years.

  Jay. I wonder what she’s doing. If she is still with that Kane son-of-a-bitch. So much time has passed, but some of it still feels like yesterday. She and I getting high on Chris’s couch. Me taking her to JT’s house. Damn! Fuck and shit! Why the hell do I have to go there? None of it can be changed. Not a goddamn thing I can do about it. All three of them connected to me. Two of them dead because of my shit.

  “Rhye, man? You okay?” he asks, giving me a strange look.

  “Shit. Sorry, just got a little buzz going on. I’m good.”

  “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  No, I’m not sure I want to play tonight. I only figured out today that music does fucking matter to me and I want to be up on that stage again, just maybe not now. And I definitely don’t want to cover any of my own shit. Everything is still so fresh. I’m not ready to do that yet. The problem is that I don’t want this dude or his band to think I’m a pussy. So, I’ve got to play this cool. Plus, I’m going to have to sing one way or another tomorrow night. Something tells me Ryan won’t let me back out.

  “One song’s cool. Lead the way,” I say, indicating that I’ll follow him to meet the rest of his band members, who just happen to be sitting at a booth in the corner. It instantly reminds me of the original Mavericks. We had our own table and dared anybody to park their asses in it. We thought we were the shit.

  Once we reach them, Todd introduces me to a
ll the guys, and I guess some of their girls. I nod as he says each of their names and what they play.

  “Fuckin A. I can’t believe it’s really you,” the drummer says at our introduction.

  Todd tells them that I’m in town recording my new album and with whom, which gets a round of “holy fucks.” The next ten minutes are spent answering questions about making it in the industry and touring. Of course, afterwards comes the questions on the other bands we’ve toured with, who’s the craziest of all, etc. I give them what they want to hear, the truth with a dose of the extreme. It’s a fucking madhouse on tour, but after a while, you become sick of the road, of playing, and of each other. Up becomes down and vice versa. The only sane ones are the married fuckers that travel with their families, not that I want that, but I’ve seen it keep them grounded long after I laughed at their pussy-whipped asses.

  “What do you want to sing? We can pretty much cover all of your stuff,” Todd asks.

  “What other bands do you cover?” I ask, deflecting the question. Everyone says different band names.

  “We pretty much cover all of Pearl Jam’s songs because of Todd’s uncanny sounding voice to the legendary Eddie. I think we would all agree that we are huge Incubus fans, but Todd doesn’t have the chops for it,” the bass players says, ragging Todd. “You up for it?”

  “Fuck yeah. He’s my boy,” I reply, smiling over the choice.

  “Alright. Let’s do ‘Dig,’” Todd says. Everybody agrees and starts heading towards the stage.

  Ah shit. Yeah, I know “Dig”. It’s one badass song; however, it has deep lyrics. Following the band, they walk up on stage where their instruments are ready to go. I hear the crowd around us start to notice me standing off to the side. My name seems to echo through the room, and everyone suddenly seems to rush the stage, getting as close as possible.