Lost In Rewind (Audio Fools #3)

by Tali Alexander

  His response leaves me livid; I don’t like feeling rejected. But once I calm the petulant only-child-complex that lives in me, I’m silently thankful for his dismissal of the things we’re both feeling. I agree that we shouldn’t be trying to explore some weird emotions we’ve stirred in one another, and start exploring the reasons why Joella chose Jeff—an unknown bar patron—to bestow one of her last known readings.

  “Let’s not talk today.” I need to clear my head and catch my breath.

  His eyes enlarge at my statement.

  “I mean, let’s just take it easy today. It’s too much for me to take in, and I’m not sure what I’m feeling … my brain is all out of sorts, and I’m sure you’re tired, too, from driving here. Let’s meet up in the morning.”

  He sighs at my words and takes a few steps away from me to go sit back down. He watches me, and once again, I feel as if he’s breaking down my features. His gaze finally lands back on my eyes. “Did I offend you, Kali?”

  I shake my head, which we both know is a lie.

  “You don’t need someone like me to come on to you. Trust me, I’m nothing.” He can keep saying that, but I know that my grand-mère wouldn’t choose a “nothing.” He’s special, and hopefully soon, we’ll both find out why.

  I begin to leave when I feel him grab hold of my arm and slowly pull me toward him. “Don’t go, Kali,” he whispers. I turn without looking directly at him. I take a few small steps back to where he’s sitting, and wait for him to make the next move. He continues addressing me in a low, desperate voice. “I can’t wait until tomorrow. I want to tell you everything now.”

  I instinctively bring my hands to touch his face, as if I have a right to touch this man I know nothing about. But the tone of his voice gave me consent to touch him. I run my fingers around his eyes, which forces him to close them, and allows me to keep touching him. My hands eagerly graze his mouth. He opens his lips and lets out a breath, almost as if to kiss the inside of my hand. His breath against my palms sends responsiveness down my entire body. I never knew attraction could feel this way. It’s tangible. I have this slow-simmering hunger, a need to climb into his arms and kiss him until we both pass out. What’s happening to me? Who am I?

  “You feel that?” he asks.

  My eyes are closed to allow myself a moment to enjoy the feelings he speaks of. I nod my head, shouting “yes” on the inside. Every part of my body can feel him.

  “Are we going to do something about it, or should we ignore it?”

  I open my eyes at his question. I want nothing more than to do something about it, but this is not who I am. I don’t just recklessly act out on my lustful desires. I’m not one to have this kind of reckless desire in the first place.

  “Are you married?” Time stops as I wait for him to answer.

  He looks away from me and exhales heavily, before whispering, “Yes.”

  His answer sobers me up. I almost slap him again, but then I realize that I am the one coming on to him.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” I hiss out, failing to not sound bitter and hurt.

  “I should be, but I’m sure they wouldn’t let me into heaven with her.”

  It takes me a few minutes to make sense of his words. He watches me, giving me time to process what he just made known to me.

  Suddenly, it all makes sense, the reason for him being here. “Is that why you came back here? Did Joella warn you that your wife would die?”

  He shakes his head. “I told you already that nothing your grandmother said would make sense unless you knew the whole story, or at least my side of the story. I don’t think you’ll look at me the same way once you know the things I’ve lived through.” He stands up, forcing me to look up at him. “I feel what you feel. There’s a charge between us that I won’t deny, and I’d be a liar if I told you I don’t find you intriguing and attractive. I’ve hurt enough people that I can’t consciously add you to the list of casualties. I just want to be able to talk to someone who knows nothing about me. I want to share how I felt when I did what I did with a person who doesn’t already hate me. I want you to listen, and I will tell you what your grandmother read on my palm or saw in my eyes that night, and how her words could never be.”

  This would be a good time to tell him that Joella wasn’t a palm reader, but I won’t tell him anything until I understand exactly who he is. “Did you kill somebody?” It’s a legitimate question, to which he shakes his head with a smirk. “You don’t seem to be a bad guy, and now I want to know about your life even more. What could you have possibly done to make people hate you?” Hate is such a strong term. Why would someone hate this good-looking man?

  He nods and smiles, as if he can’t wait to share his life story with a stranger.

  “Are you not tired tonight? We can wait for tomorrow, or if you’re worried I’ll disappear, we can still talk tonight.” I guess since it’s not the weekend, Lauren and the staff can handle the bar without me. I can invite Jeff to my place and we can get comfortable and talk. I haven’t spent time alone with anyone since Joella passed away, and he definitely feels like more than just anybody.

  “I need to get back home to my kids. I actually thought I’d be back in New York before morning to take them to school tomorrow. But I can make some arrangements to stay another day or so, to explain everything.”

  I didn’t hear a word after he mentioned having kids. I mean, what was I thinking that some perfect stranger was going to come in and everything would just click. I’m insane for attempting to get close to this guy. I wonder how long ago he lost his wife and how old his kids are? He seems to be in his mid-thirties but I clearly know nothing about him.

  “I’ll tell you everything about the kids, too, but I don’t want to wait for tomorrow,” he almost begs.

  I calm the internal war his last comment caused and try to talk my juvenile sense of jealousy, which has spread inside, into calming down. “Would it be okay if we go back to my place?” I ask, feeling less sure of the shameless feelings I had before.

  “You’re the boss—you lead, I follow.” He gives me a wink, which makes me smile. How can anyone hate him? He’s very likable, almost too likable. “How far away is your place?”

  I smile as I point to the ceiling. “I live upstairs. This is my building now.” And that reality stings as it comes out of my lips.

  “Nice, I had no idea this place had another level. Let’s go before you change your mind.”

  The thought of him in my little apartment does funny things to me, and once again, I catch myself getting hopeful for no reason at all.

  “Animal” by Def Leppard

  I saw the way her face dropped: first, when I said I was married, and then when I mentioned my kids. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home working on myself, and on my head. I need to figure out how to go on with my life without them and stop caring about some random girl’s facial expressions. This girl, Kali—or all the other girls in the world—can’t possibly hold the key to my salvation. I was given two gifts, and I somehow managed to lose them both. If only I could ask her grandmother why she told me what she did and how she knew the things that I never spoke of out loud? But she’s gone and the answers are gone with her.

  I follow Kali up the stairs while attempting to look anywhere but at her ass right in front of me, which literally holds the power to hypnotize me while swaying from side to side as she obliviously leads us up a back flight of stairs. With every swing of her hair, I catch a whiff of her shampoo or perfume, and it smells really fucking nice. I haven’t felt like a man in years, and this girl reminds me of what it feels like to be a kid again. The nostalgia of this place brings back my carefree college years and makes me feel as if the future is mine for the taking. But that’s the thing about life—our future doesn’t always resemble our childhood delusions. I’m deep in thought as I walk right into her backside on the last step, crushing her with my weight into a closed door ahead.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I did
n’t realize you stopped walking.” I’m an idiot, and now I’m completely mortified.

  “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have just stopped like that. I mean I should probably be able to walk through doors by now, right?” She turns her head to offer me a smug smile, and I have zero control over my face as I immediately chuckle back. She’s making me into a giddy fool.

  Women usually don’t affect me this way. I have trained my mind and my heart to only have this kind of response to two women in my life, two women I’ve lost forever. The image of Jacky and Sara pops into my head and my foolish smile is immediately wiped off my face. I have nothing to smile about.

  I hear a squeaking sound as Kali holds the door open and motions for me to enter. I immediately have a flashback to The Pierre hotel, with Sara standing by the door watching me. I hope to God today, or any other day in my life, never ends the way that one did. A sharp pain radiates through my chest as my heart painfully constricts, tightening every muscle to the point of agony. I attempt to take a few deep breaths and not allow myself to think and agonize about Sara.

  “You keep going somewhere far away,” she says in the distance, catching my attention. I adjust my vision that has slowly begun to blur with unshed tears. The painful memory turns into a sharp knot as I swallow around it, reminding myself to stay strong and be a man.

  “I’m right here. There’s nowhere I want to be but here,” I state firmly, to convince us both. I rejoin the land of the living and finally begin to inspect my surroundings. I spot one, two, three, four violins, with one prominently displayed on a stand, and piles of sheet music stacked on the floor. I pivot slightly to see an upright piano by the wall, and at least three other string instruments I don’t know the names of. This must be where the band meets. I snicker to myself and idiotically ask, “You play?” The moment the question escapes my mouth I already know how stupid it sounds.

  “Nah, I just like to collect various instruments and use them for firewood once it gets cold.” Her smartass comment to my ridiculous question was expected.

  I look toward the kitchen where she’s standing, and smile at her and her sarcasm—Sara used to be sarcastic until I realized her sarcasm was a way to mask the hurt and cynicism.

  “Don’t ask me to play anything because I’m not a show pony. I don’t perform on demand,” she warns me playfully.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. My neighbors and I usually skip town when my daughter practices her violin. So no request here,” I assure Kali. The thought of hearing the screeching sound of that retched instrument—that I swear Jacqueline’s parents bought Juliet just to punish the entire Upper East Side—is enough to make me contemplate running away.

  “We wouldn’t want you to skip town just yet. I promise I won’t touch any of my instruments while you’re here. I wouldn’t want to make your ears bleed.”

  “You can play all these?” I question as I scan and mentally count the number of different instruments littering her tiny apartment.

  “Not well.” Her sly smile reappears, and I must admit, I’m starting to like it, a lot.

  “Your parents must be very proud,” I say only half mockingly, recalling how happy Jacqueline would get at Juliet’s home recitals. How I promised her that I would make sure the kids would continue their music lessons. Then I think of how Juliet and Jacob learned to play their mother’s favorite song, but their mother died before they had a chance to perform it.

  I’m on the verge of crying, which I can’t allow myself to do right now, so I instantly switch to think about Sara. I would send her videos of Juliet playing the violin and Jacob attempting to play the piano, but it does little to stop my tears. I can only imagine my tormented Sara watching those videos over and over and how it must’ve hurt to watch her little babies grow without her.

  “Where do you keep disappearing to, Jeff?”

  I hear her voice in the distance like an echo while I struggle to come back from the taunting past. A painful past that I would give anything to go back and relive instead of my present hell.

  “Why are you crying? Did someone break your heart?”

  I hear the concern in her voice. I process her question and wonder what would she think of me if she knew my story and how many hearts and lives I’ve broken. Would she still want to talk to me? Or would she despise me, like everybody else?

  “If you had one wish, what would it be?” I have no idea why I just asked that question.

  Kali’s confused look says it all. She probably thinks I’m bipolar. “I’d go back thirteen years ago and try to prevent my maman’s accident.” Her answer knocks the air right out of me. My French is coming in handy today.

  “I’m sorry about your mom.” I feel terrible, why did I ask such a pointless question? You don’t get to go back. You live your life forward not backward.

  “I’m sorry, too. I always wonder what it would be like if I grew up having her in my life longer.” She forces a smile, no doubt fighting her own tears. “How about you? What would you wish for?” She shuts off her emotion with that fake smile and turns the tables on me.

  I wanted her to ask me that question, that’s why I’d asked it in the first place. I knew I’d never be able to come up with an honest answer had I asked the question to myself—I’d tried before, and failed miserably each time. If I had one wish, what would it be? Would I rewind time and undo everything that has led me to where I am right now? Would I choose differently?

  “I would go back fourteen years ago and unmeet your grandmother.” It’s the truth, which I’m aware isn’t the polite thing to say to her.

  She swallows my harsh response and counters with a question. “Do you know what my grand-mère once told me about fortunes and futures?” She doesn’t wait and answers her own question. “She said, ‘no matter what you do, no matter how far away you run, what’s written in the stars cannot be undone.’” Her smile is still very evident on her face as a renegade tear rolls down her cheek. “You see, Jeff, it doesn’t matter what you or I may wish. We can’t change the outcome of our futures by going back to the past and undoing something, because it’s already done.”

  I take a few steps toward Kali. She’s barely able to stand without holding onto the table in the middle of her small kitchen, her whole body trembling violently. Her gaze is set beyond me. I follow it to see her transfixed on one lonely violin displayed separate from the rest, and the haunted look in her eyes tugs at me. I can almost taste her sorrow, and it’s fucking with my brain. I wonder if my sorrow can recognize hers?

  I don’t know what she needs, but I need to touch her. I engulf her in a tight hug without any consent. I may be out of line, but I’m starved for any kind of human touch, and I sense her approval when her stiffness vanishes in my arms as she melts into me. The lingering sweet scent of berries that’s been driving me crazy physically assaults every last pore, allowing her to practically diffuse into me. Her hands move from inside my embrace and trail up my body, around my neck, as she pulls me even closer. That’s all the consent I need.

  I look down at her face innately resting against my chest. She’s lovely. She draws her attention back to my face and whispers, “Kiss me.” And the dormant animal inside me begins the attack.

  “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon

  How many times in life do we pass a stranger on the street and think they’re attractive, sexy … perhaps even beautiful? Most of the time, we just keep walking. We don’t stop and explore our attraction. I’m aware of every part of my body, and how Jeff affects it. I have never felt such complete and utter desire toward a person I just met. The last thing I willed my lips to say was, “kiss me,” and I’m quite sure nothing will ever make sense again.

  His lips ram mine without any reprieve and zero regard for what is right or acceptable. His tongue swipes in and mingles with mine with such ease it’s as if they’ve been acquainted and danced before—thousands of times. His hands are on my face, in my hair … he’s everywhere all at once. He pulls and
positions my head to gain even deeper access into my mouth, and this kiss feels like the most erotic act I’ve ever been involved in. I’ve never been kissed this way, nor have I ever felt anything close to this. My legs become unstable and I’m not sure if I’m standing or levitating. I’m not even sure any of this is actually happening to me. Is this what lust feels like? Is this what makes ordinary people go mad with passion?

  “We shaaaa stop,” he half moans, half mumbles, while still frantically licking into me.

  “Hhmmm,” I moan back my agreement.

  “Table or floor?” is his next proposition.

  “Bed.”

  I need for whatever this is right now to happen. I’m starved to have every part of him immediately, and by the incoherent sounds coming from him, I know he wants me just as much. This is what every woman wants—whatever it is that Jeff is making me feel is what everybody wants—to be the object of someone’s obsession. We’ve made each other go mad. I’ve never felt this desired by a man before, not even by Florent, my only lover. I’m so turned on that I haven’t even noticed that we’re moving while he has me straddling his waist. I only realize our arrangement when he pulls me down into his hardness. I’m afraid that after having zero love life for the past five years, this may kill me.

  I open my eyes when I hear the sound of a door open, but this door leads into my bathroom not my room.

  “Wrong door,” I say into his mouth.

  He captures my lips again and continues to kiss me. I try to pull away to tell him that the last door down the corridor is my bedroom, but he won’t let me say a word. There’s a good chance we won’t make it to my room because I can already feel him lowering us to the carpet in the hallway.

  Jeff finally pulls away from me, attempting to subside the unexplained urgency and madness we’ve elicited in one another. He kneels over me on the floor, and all I want is for him to fuck me. I don’t want to try to rationalize anything. I don’t even want to think about the next second—I just want him, all of him, right now inside me without any words or explanations.