Wasted Heart

by Nicole Reed

  Reaching his hand out to me, we shake. “It’s a deal, but how about breakfast first? I’m starving.”

  I agree, and we stop by a small café a block from our apartment building for coffee and pastries. We sit outside at the small bistro table and chairs. At first, Josh tells me about growing up in Texas, and then we both discover we enjoy people watching as Nashville wakes before our very eyes. After we finish, we head back to our building and share the elevator up.

  Walking down the hallway, Josh clears his throat before saying, “Listen, I meant what I said earlier. You can’t change someone that doesn’t want to change. Please be very careful who you give that beautiful heart to. Okay?”

  I sadly smile at him. “I wish it was that easy.” He nods and leans down to give me a quick hug.

  “I’m across the hall if you need to talk. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I say before reaching down to retrieve my key and opening my door. “See you tonight.”

  “I’ll be there,” he says, turning to unlock his door.

  I walk into my apartment to get dressed for rehearsal with the band today. Josh was exactly what I needed this morning, an ear to listen. Not that I feel any clearer on what is going on. In fact, he said the opposite of what I wanted to hear. I need to slow things down and see where it goes from here. If it can possibly go anywhere.

  My fingers strum automatically over the guitar strings. I start every fucking song that I’ve ever played, most I even wrote, and nothing happens. The words are trapped in my throat, refusing to be released. I can’t stand this gut-wrenching pain at remembering the times Chris and I played them together on stage or killing time on the tour bus. Sitting side by side, we would try new riffs for wherever we were playing that night.

  My chest aches at these thoughts that come in waves. I had another nightmare last night. This time, Chris and I were in our old apartment in L.A. arguing about him going back to rehab. Of course, he had a bleeding bullet wound to the head the entire time we fought. He called me a hypocrite for being on the same shit. I was, but not as bad as Chris. He was so fucked up on a continual basis that he couldn’t even hold his guitar on stage. I had no choice. The only thing I had to threaten him with was firing him from the band. So, I did.

  In my dream, everything that happened in reality was out of sequence. That night, I had bought some bad shit. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. The coroner’s report listed all the crazy shit that was evidently in it. I remember feeling more jacked than I ever have. At one point, I remember getting my gun because I thought someone was coming to get me. I laid it down when I felt like I had to puke. Then, sometime later, Chris had it, threatening to kill himself if I kicked him out of the band. I told him to do it, knowing he wouldn’t have the balls to anyway. And I was wrong.

  The red blood and grey matter from his brain, splattered across my face. I tasted the faint hint of copper in my mouth, and I fucking lost it. I’ve never told another person, but I considered grabbing the gun and doing the same damn thing. Just ending it. Sometimes, I think the only reason I didn’t was because I blissfully passed out, and I hate myself for it.

  Hanging my head down, I start to play once more. I have to do this; otherwise, I need to find another gun. What else is there? I think about what asshole Josh said the other day, something about finding a way to get over it and learn to live with it. Yeah, I get that. I can’t continue to live like this. Everything is coming undone for something I can’t change, something I wish I fucking could.

  I finally feel…no, I know, I’m supposed to be singing on a stage. One of the first songs I wrote with Chris was “Desperate for You”. Once we made it to the big time, we revamped it a little bit and played it in our set. It never was a big hit, but it made it on our second album. I actually smile thinking about how Jay, from back in high school, inspired almost all my shit then. God, she drove me fucking nuts, but I was desperate for her.

  As I sit on my bed, with my guitar in my lap, I clear my throat one more time and push the words forth from my mouth. “I watch you in silence, knowing I’ll never be what you need. And it kills me not to be able to follow you, and to see what you see. I try not to come undone, never to show how I feel. Tomorrow will be another day, and we’ll never be real.” I make it to the chorus to sing, “I’m desperate with wanting, and I’m desperate with need. I’m desperate for you. I’m desperate for you.”

  I extend a couple of chords, closing my eyes to lose myself in my music. The feeling of completeness in this moment humbles me. I can’t forgive myself for what happened to Chris, but I can live with it. The bastard would probably kick my ass if he knew I hadn’t kept on playing. Before drugs, before anything, came the music. That was his motto. It’s my motto now. As much as I want that next hit, that next high, I have to remember that. For Chris.

  My vision swims, and I blink back the liquid forming in my eyes. The sound of a knock at my door makes me jump, remembering where I’m at. It can be only one person. Goddamn Josh.

  The door swings open, and he leans against the doorjamb. “Am I interrupting you?” he says, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “Yeah, get the fuck out,” I say, ignoring him to play my guitar.

  “Nah, no can do. The car service called and said they will be downstairs in an hour to pick you up for your performance tonight.”

  “Message delivered. Now get the fuck out.”

  “You know, I’m supposed to go out with a friend tonight, but I could cancel and come check your show out instead. Moral support and all that.”

  “You know, you’re really not my type. If that’s your deal,” I say, looking up to see which way the wind blows with him.

  “Trust me, feeling’s mutual. I already know your type, and if I were you, I would make sure to wrap it up extra safe. No, I’m actually trying to do my job, and if I were you, I would take advantage of the situation. You and I both know that if you keep living the life that you are, it will be a short one. If you haven’t used since you arrived, then this is a good time as any to change your life. The question is, ‘what do you want, Rhye?’”

  Laying my guitar on the bed, I stand and stretch. “I want to get this record made and get the hell away from your psychoanalysis bullshit. Go babble your shit somewhere else.”

  “It’s easier to stand with someone than alone, and I don’t scare off that easily. You know where to find me,” he says, turning to leave.

  Damn, he gets under my skin. I fucking want to choke him out. I mimic him saying, “It’s easier to stand with someone than alone.”

  Stepping in my bathroom, I start to undress to take a shower when I notice the scratches down my chest. Kinky bitches. What a wild and crazy night. It was going pretty well until those two went their own way, which was down on each other. I like the visual arts. In fact, I’m all for it, but after about ten minutes, I fell asleep.

  I get dressed then place my guitar in its case. Looking down at my watch, I see that it’s time to head downstairs. I don’t see Josh as I walk through the apartment, thank fuck. Grabbing the door handle and pulling, I glance up to see the door across from me opening at the same time.

  Shit. Fuck. Damn. Syn stands staring across from me. She has on this white dress that ends about mid-thigh and brown cowboy boots. Her hair is up in that type of girly hairdo that looks as if it’s going to come undone. Those yellow eyes of hers grow big, and her face pales, looking like she just saw a ghost. I actually glance behind me to check for the boogeyman. I turn back to see her now glaring like she’s pissed, and damn if it doesn’t make her look sexy. Her chest rises and falls, emphasizing those great tits of hers in that dress.

  After last night, I shouldn’t get a hard on this easily. It should take a little more than some boob action to get me going. This chick is bad for my health. Fucking bad.

  “Are you kidding me?!” she states angrily.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she says, turning to close
her door. I can’t help but see the shine of tears before she does. What the fuck did I do now? I can’t get anything right with her.

  She turns to walk to the elevators. Not knowing if I should leave her alone in her obvious PMS’ing mood, I think about taking the stairs. I shake my head and follow her, not having a clue why. When the doors ping open, we both walk inside, standing side by side. She smells like cotton candy. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. I turn my head slightly to sniff her again.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, turning her head towards me.

  “You smell good,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Oh,” she says, looking shocked at my admission.

  I’m saved by the elevator doors opening. At first, she doesn’t move, still staring at me, and I can’t say what possesses me. It could be those cat eyes of hers or that pink innocent mouth, but I bring my lips down to touch hers, capturing them in a light kiss. No tongue action. I guess I just want to see if she tastes as good as she smells, and holy fuck! She does. She rocks me to my core, almost as if an electrical current is running through my body.

  Her eyes go wide, and I instantly know she feels it too. I drop my guitar case, not noticing the doors of the elevator are closing, and place my hands on both sides of her face. Deepening the kiss, our tongues stroke one another, and the sound of her tiny moan kicks my libido into top speed. I feel her arms wrap tightly around my waist and cling to my back. Everything seems to be going fine until, all of the sudden, I start having these thoughts. Fuck me…feelings. I push her away from me.

  We both stand staring, breathing hard. What the fuck just happened? I don’t understand it, and I am pretty sure I don’t want to. This is crazy. I reach around her to press the button for the elevator to open. The ping of the doors makes us both jump. I grab my guitar case and follow her as she walks out. Not saying a word, I watch her press her fingertips against her lips and smile. Her action causes a lump in my throat. Fucking madness. I need a cigarette.

  The car is waiting for both of us when we walk outside. I watch the driver open the door for her and then I hand him my guitar case before following inside. I slide in next to her, our hips touching as we sit side by side. She looks at me with a small smile on her face. I can tell she wants to say something but is holding it back. Turning away, I stare out the window, ignoring her. I think to myself, “What in the hell just happened?”

  Thank God it doesn’t take long for us to get to the club. Looking out the car window, I know which club it is by the sheer number of people standing to get in. They must have announced who is performing. The car pulls to a side entrance, and a bouncer opens the door. Syn doesn’t say anything as we both exit and walk into the club. It’s a two story area with open balconies on every wall except on the far left where the stage is. In the center is a dance floor, covered in people. Looking around, it seems to have more of a country music vibe than anything rock, plus some country song is loudly blaring over the bitchin’ sound system.

  We are led to a side waiting room that has an open bar in the back along with tables filled with food. Syn immediately goes to a group of people that I’m assuming is her band. I walk over to a chair and set my case down beside me. Opening it, I grab my guitar and start tuning it. My thoughts are ransacked with images of Syn. I cannot let this little country chick in my head.

  I start to play my song when I hear a loud commotion from the doorway. Some guy in a straw cowboy hat and his entourage come strolling through, acting like they own the place. They spread out, most of them going to the bar except the guy who heads straight for Syn. I watch him approach her, and Syn shakes her head. He reaches for her arm, and the band stands in defense. I try to listen to what he is saying.

  “I just want to talk, Syn. That’s all,” he pleads.

  “Tag, I have nothing to say to you. Now, get your boys and go on,” Syn says, placing her hands on her hips.

  “You’re being ridiculous, Syn. Give me two minutes. That’s all,” he says, reaching to grab her hand.

  “No!” She shouts back.

  Without a thought, I jump up and walk over. “Hey, man. You need to let her go,” I say, looking at his back. He’s a big fucker, but I’ve taken on bigger.

  He releases her and turns towards me. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “About to be your fucking problem,” I reply, pointing both of my index fingers in his face.

  “Slow it down, guys,” Ryan says, appearing to get between us.

  I stare into this guy’s face, daring him to give me a reason to knock his lights out. I’ve been ready to go at it for a while, and this motherfucker will work just fine.

  “Leave my girl alone,” he says, tilting his head towards Syn.

  “Man, I don’t want your girl.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but notice Syn’s upset expression. Fuck. She looks hurt and pissed again. I feel like a douchebag, and I don’t know why. Do I feel something for her? If I don’t, then why the hell did I jump into the situation then? After a minute, he seems to back down.

  “Tag McGraw,” he says, introducing himself and offers his hand to shake.

  I ignore his hand, but give him my name. “Rhye Clark.”

  He laughs and nods his head. “Yeah, I thought that was you once I calmed down.”

  “Rhye, let’s go over your song,” Ryan says, still trying to break up the tense situation.

  “I’m good,” I reply as I walk back to my chair. I swear, ever since I met that chick, it has been nothing but fucking drama. She keeps looking my way every other second, and I stupidly glance back. Why do I feel this tightness in my chest at the thought of her hurting over something I said? Hell, she’s probably hurt over that stupid fucker. Who knows with chicks!

  Standing up again, I walk over and ask the bartender for several different shots of liquor. Mixing doesn’t make me sick but ups my buzz. Once he lines five up, I drink them all down and return to my seat. I hold my guitar and pick over the strings.

  Only minutes later, Ryan calls me to the stage. Holding my guitar in one and grabbing a wooden stool in the other, I carry them on stage. The crowd is massive for a club this size, and they go wild as I walk up front and center stage. Once I adjust the microphone, I sit down, holding my guitar.

  Smiling, I lean forward and ask, “What’s up good people?” The yells and screams are deafening. “Guess you all heard I’ve been hanging around Nashville writing my new album with some pretty fucking cool people?” I say, feeding off the energy. “Since I’m stag tonight, I thought I would come out here on stage and sing one of my first songs that I ever wrote for you acoustically.” The crowd goes wild when they hear the first couple strains of music. I lean into the microphone to sing while playing the guitar and keeping beat with my foot on the stage.

  Half way through, I look over to the side of the stage and see Syn watching me. Tears fall down her face as I sing the last line staring right back at her. “I’m desperate with wanting, and I’m desperate with need. I’m desperate for you. I’m desperate for you.” At the end, I don’t move, even will all the applause. I can’t help watching her watch me. Why does she even care? She doesn’t even know me. Most days, I don’t even know me.

  Rhye Clark is making me cry again. The guy slices me to shreds one minute and makes me feel complete and whole the next. It’s like emotional whiplash. I felt him again during his song. It’s so amazing to click with someone on that soul-bonding level. It’s like holding a piece of someone’s heart, if only for a minute. He sang that last verse looking straight at me, and I felt him see me, the girl that believes in true love. That same girl that is saving herself for something so special that it means waiting for it.

  Finally, he turns back to the roaring crowd, leaving me alone once again. I wipe the tears from my eyes, knowing I’m up next to perform. I hate that I even have to follow that performance since it was so awesome.

  “Do you care about him?”

  I turn to see Tag stan
ding behind me as I wipe my cheeks dry. “Does it matter?” I ask him. He pleads with those sea blue-green eyes, but it does not faze me like it used to.

  “Syn, of course it matters, baby. You are the only thing that truly matters to me. Haven’t I proven that to you already?” he says, stepping closer towards me.

  “Quit doing that, Tag. It’s annoying, and I hate having our private life played out in your music. I’m done,” I say, turning to walk away.

  “Someone like him will never be faithful to you. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve what you will give him.”

  I stop at his words and turn back to him. “Someone like you was not faithful to me. And you’re right, he probably doesn’t deserve me, but it’s none of your business what I decide to give him. You had me. I was yours, and you lost me. Deal with it.”

  “Syn, I wasn’t ready,” he says, stepping up to me and grasping my arms tightly in his hands. “I’ve told you this. I met you too early in my life. You’re not supposed to meet your soul mate at seventeen and twenty. Hell, I didn’t even know what to do with you. I wanted to lock you in a closet until I was ready for a serious relationship. Not literally, but figuratively speaking.”

  I glance up into his painful expression. “Damn you. I didn’t know what I was doing either. All I needed…” I swallow back more tears, “All I wanted was honesty. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t love you, Tag. I wish, most days, that I never laid eyes on you.”

  “God, baby. Please don’t say that,” he begs, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. “I know we are meant to be together. I’ve known it from the moment we first met. Admit it, Syn. You felt it too,” he says, looking up into my eyes.

  “I felt everything, Tag. And the day I learned I couldn’t trust you killed so much of that love. Leave me alone. Just stop. I don’t want to hate you forever,” I say, leaning my hand down to caress his smooth cheek. “You have to let me go. If we are meant to be together then it will happen someday. If not, it wasn’t meant to be.” I know as I say the words to him that none of it is fate because there is not a shadow of doubt what I feel about Rhye; however, I need Tag to leave. The gleam in his eyes scares me, not that he’ll hurt me, but he could ruin everything with Rhye. Destroy any chance I might have with him.