Space For Breathing: A Rock Star Romance

by I. K. Velasco

  Fat raindrops began to fall, immediately soaking my hair and shirt. She began to run, tugging me to the side of the building. She pulled a set of keys from underneath her blouse and fumbled to open the door.

  Another crack rumbled across the sky, so loud it caused my ears to ring. Startled, her keys clattered to the ground, the sound echoing almost as loudly as thunder. At least it felt that way within the quiet of the alley.

  I bent down to pick them up and her hand touched mine as we both reached for the keys. For the first time, I noticed the roughness, her fingers and palm dry and calloused. Her chin tilted up, meeting my gaze. I saw something in her eyes that I didn't expect. Sadness, desperation, dread-all in one look. I wondered if I was the cause of that look, but something told me it was an old pain.

  She straightened and managed to open the door, pulling it open with a loud creak. I followed her up a narrow set of wooden, rickety stairs. My heart raced harder with each step. I knew that I was being stupid. This was reckless and dangerous, willingly following a stranger. I was in a strange country, my family and friends thousands of miles away, and I had managed to alienate the person closest to me.

  We emerged in a long hallway, lined with small rooms on either side. There was hardly any light in the hallway, only a single light bulb near the stairs and the flickering street lamps filtering in through the wide glass windows. Another clap of thunder echoed through the night sky and the hallway flooded with the harsh illumination of lighting.

  I paused for a second, blinking my eyes against the white light. When the black spots in my vision began to dissipate, I examined the hallway. There were no doors, only curtains separating the rooms of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. I saw that she was standing at the end of the hallway, pulling back one of the curtains. It wasn't really a curtain. More like a ragged piece of cloth, hung on a line to create a makeshift divider. I hurried to follow, and she held it while I stepped through.

  I assumed this was her room, her space in this crude home. Everything inside the room was old or rough, but clean. On the floor was a single mattress, covered neatly in a bedspread, two flat pillows at its head. There was a mirror hanging precariously on one wall, surrounded by bottles of moisturizer, plates of makeup, other accoutrements that can only be described as girl-stuff.

  The hiss of a lit match interrupted my observations, and I watched as she lit six candles, all strategically placed to bathe the room in an eerie orange glow. She stood in front of me then, and I watched as she removed her clothing, the clinging material falling away from her small body.

  I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, too mesmerized by the sight of this sad, young woman revealing herself.

  She pressed her naked body up to me and whispered, "You want fun? It cost you money." She reached up and took my face in her hands, crushing her painted lips on mine.

  Fourteen

  Pangasinan, Philippines, Owen Estate, 2:39 a.m.

  Maeva

  The rain had never sounded so loud before.

  It seemed to pound into everything--the gutters, the sidewalks, the rooftop, the asphalt. I focused on the sounds--the drumming, the rush, the howl of the wind, the clapping rumbling thunder. I hoped maybe it would distract me. Instead the torrent made me worry more about him, mirroring the feeling inside my chest.

  I chided myself for the millionth time for letting him run off. I could've stopped him, prevented him from leaving the Estate on his own. But I couldn't then. I remembered how my mouth refused to utter the words to halt him. How I had just stared after him as he disappeared from the room. And maybe from my life.

  Perhaps it was for the best. He knew what he was doing. He was feeling too much, and he needed to get away. I understood that. Besides, he is a grown man. He can survive on his own. Or maybe that was just my way of justifying what I couldn't give him.

  The same monologue circled my thoughts for the last twelve hours. God, had he really been only gone for half a day?

  I slid out of my chair, the wicker creaking as it released my weight. Standing just inside the double doors, I watched the rain falling onto the concrete of the veranda. The thought of lying alone in my bed left me cold and almost sick to my stomach. I had gotten used to his warmth. I craved it, even if he could only give himself to me for five more days. It would have to be enough. I hoped desperately that he still would.

  There was movement in the courtyard below my veranda. I squinted into the night, my heart racing. Jacob.

  He was walking slowly, his head bowed low, his feet shuffling through the puddles. He paid no heed to the torrent of rain falling on him.

  I'm not sure how long I watched him. I had to blink a few times, trying to convince myself it was really him.

  I finally forced my legs to move. I ran down the hallway and quickly down the stairs to the front door. Rosalita arrived before me. She was holding a blanket. She opened the door quickly and ushered Jacob inside. She wrapped the blanket around his shivering shoulders.

  I met Rosa's gaze. She asked a million things with the look in her eyes, though she dared not voice her questions.

  I moved forward and wrapped my arms around him, guiding him up the stairs. I didn't look back, but I could feel Rosa's eyes on our backs.

  I didn't want to ask him where he had been. I didn't want to know. All I needed was that he was safe.

  In his bedroom, I sat him down on the wicker chair. I grabbed towels from the bathroom and gently dried his hair and face. He didn't move, just allowed me to take care of him like I needed to.

  I helped him out of his wet clothes, found another blanket and wrapped the warmth around his body.

  Rosa arrived later with hot tea and honey. But she left it on the table and left quickly, wordlessly like before.

  I picked up the cup and spooned some honey into the tea with shaking hands. I watched the swirls of sugar melting into the heat and stirred.

  "Here," I took Jacob's hands and wrapped them around the warm cup. "Drink. It'll warm you."

  I pulled my chair up closer to him and placed my hands in his lap, gently rubbing his legs through the blanket. The entire time he drank, he wouldn't look at me, gazing somewhere past his cup, his eyes haunted.

  When he was finished, I took the cup from his hands and led him to the bed. He went willingly, holding my hand tightly. I tried to pull away to undress, and he almost didn't let go. I smiled reassuringly, pressing a kiss on his palm.

  After he was tucked under the covers, I lifted my nightgown over my head and tossed it on the floor. He watched intently, his gaze finally softening and peaceful.

  I clambered onto the bed beside him, and he went to me immediately, wrapping his still cold limbs around me. Entwined that way, I kissed his closed eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. When he finally touched me, it was like he didn't know me. Like his hands hadn't followed the same circling pattern across my belly dozens of times before.

  But the curious and tentative touches grew in intensity, igniting something so powerful I could scarcely breathe. I had to physically concentrate on my heaving chest, on the careful inhalation and exhalation of breath.

  He surprised me then. His arms enveloped around my shoulders and brought me up into his chest, wrapping me up in a clinging embrace. He clung with a strength that was almost painful. I felt the first drops of moisture falling onto my bare shoulder and down the curve of my back. His sobs followed, wracking his body shaking and quivering around me.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered through the sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Over and over again.

  I was paralyzed for a split second, utterly dumbfounded at his show of complete vulnerability. It struck a chord deep inside my chest. I ached to take it away.

  Disentangling myself from Jacob's arms, I rewound myself around him, and he sunk into me, the sobs still wracking his chest.

  I stroked his hair, cooing softly. Nonsensical words. He seemed so young then. The adult's strength had been used up. Like I was cradling a baby.

 
; His sobbing finally abated, but he was hiccupping a little, whimpering under my touch. He cleared his throat and sat up. I reached up to wipe at the moisture on his face. I cupped his face in my hands, staring intently. He met my concerned expression, the brown depths of his eyes still glossy with anguish. I felt my own eyes wavering with tears.

  "Is it wrong that I can't imagine what life would be like without you?"

  My heart clenched, then melted in the same pool of anguish reflected in Jacob's eyes. No, no, no, I wanted to scream, but I didn't. Nothing came out. It was all trapped in the insecurity and doubt in my gut. But I wanted to pretend that it wasn't there. Indulge ourselves in the illusion that we were supposed to happen.

  I kissed him then, softly brushing my lips across his mouth. He tasted like rain, like tears and like him. It was the easiest and most natural thing to do. Because any words from me would never be adequate.

  Our lovemaking was sweet and achingly tender. Slow, slow languid strokes and long, lingering kisses. Building up slowly like a soft ocean breeze and coming away in gentle waves. I held him tightly when he came, my eyes finally releasing pent up tears, held there since this morning. His shuddering release meant more than pleasure; it healed as well.

  I watched him sleep until dawn began to peek through the drapes, illuminating the room with soft light. I wondered how much more healing he would need. And if I was capable of giving that to him.

  Fifteen

  Pangasinan, Philippines, Owen Estate, 8:59 a.m.

  Hazy. Like a dream. Press of naked flesh. Tumbling on a hard, lumpy mattress. Feel the floorboards underneath.

  Sickly sweet kisses, but different. Wrong. Fake. Forced. Derived. Bubbling feeling rising up the throat. Bile.

  Pushing her away. Backing up against the wall. Look of anger. So much anger flashing bright in such dark eyes. Dingy yellow sheet wrapped around her torso. Money. The rustle of multi-colored bills fluttering through the air.

  Must flee.

  Breathe. In and out. Panting. Faster. Faster. Run the dark hallway, down the dark stairs, into the dark night.

  Jacob

  I awoke with a start, looking frantically around the sunlit bedroom. It took a moment to gain my bearings. The memories and reality came flooding back into my sleep-hazed consciousness. It wasn't just a dream. I didn't get off that easy.

  The pillow beside me was still dented and creased, reminding me that she had been there last night. My hand slid over the empty space beside me, wishing I could feel her skin, rather than the smooth cotton sheets.

  I heard the rustle of paper as my arm hit the note placed so carefully beside me.

  Jacob,

  I've gone away, but I'm not far from you. I want you to meet me. Pack a bag for three days, and Tito will show you where to find me. I think we need this. Please come.

  Maeva

  Throwing the covers off, I got dressed quickly. Going wherever she may lead.

  * * *

  Boracay, Philippines, 3:39 p.m.

  The back of my hand brushing against my forehead came away damp with sweat. The air was muggy and thick with humidity.

  The rickety boat ricocheted off another wave, titling the frail wooden structure. I grasped the sides and hung on with a white-knuckled grip. My stomach flipped, and I swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep what little I had left in my stomach.

  It had been a hellish journey--a three-and-a-half-hour drive through wall-to-wall traffic, a two-hour ferry ride, a short hike through the rain forest and now this precarious boat ride. And I still had no idea where we were headed.

  I could see land not too far ahead of us. I prayed that I would survive the trip there, preferably without having to take a swim. I thanked my Creator when we finally landed on shore.

  Stepping off the boat, my feet sunk into the sand, the grainy warmth surrounding my skin. The beach was narrow and secluded, flanked by lush vegetation away from the water. Sugary-white sand covered the expanse, dotted with pebbles and shells. The water was somewhere between the sapphire and emerald, switching between the two, depending on the height of the wave or the sun's reflection. Beautiful.

  The boatman grunted to get my attention and pointed in the direction of a small path, winding through the palm trees and tropical brush.

  "Go there." The words were barely understandable, moving past his thick accent.

  I thanked him, watching for a moment as he pushed the boat back onto the water.

  I looked around at the seemingly deserted island and wondered again what I was doing here.

  The dense forest on either side of the path looked menacing. It was so thick; I could barely see five feet on either side of me, through the myriad of tree branches, vines, leaves and tropical flowers. Strange noises and foreign smells filled my senses.

  I felt ridiculous. It was daylight, bright sunshine filtering through the trees, lighting my way despite the dense foliage. Despite this, there was an itching fear in the pit of my stomach. I almost turned around and yelled for the boatman to come back for me. But then, I remembered who was waiting for me on the other side.

  After a few hundred yards, I was surprised to come up a clearing. In the middle, protected by the shade of two large palm trees, was a cozy little hut. Bamboo walls held up a neat and sturdy thatch roof.

  I could see Maeva in the window, silhouetted by pretty, flowered curtains on either side. She must have been standing over a sink or a stove, her eyes turned down to whatever she was doing. I watched her for a long time. She looked different – not anything outward about her appearance. As usual, her long, black hair fell in ebony waves around her face. She wasn't wearing a trace of makeup, and I could see the little patterns of her favorite light sundress around her tiny body. But there was something…maybe it was the way she seemed to be so free of worry or care, how her face was so soft and content and beautiful.

  A branch crackled under my foot, and she heard it. She looked up and smiled at me. Radiant.

  She met me at the door of the hut, holding it open with her hip as she wiped her hands over her skirt.

  "Hi."

  "You made it," she said, smiling wider.

  "Yes, you didn't tell me it was going to be a treacherous journey to get here."

  She gestured for me to follow her. I had to duck my head to make it through the door. It was surprisingly cool inside, the shade and the ocean breeze providing natural air conditioning.

  "And that would have stopped you?" she asked smugly.

  I chuckled. "Probably not."

  One raised eyebrow. "Probably?"

  "Okay, fine. No, it wouldn't have stopped me."

  I shrugged my backpack off and leaned it next to the door. That was really the only place to put it. The hut was made up of one large room. A kitchen in one corner, something cooking on the stove, a bed on the other, covered in light sheets, and a few pillows, white, gauzy mosquito net hanging from the ceiling, a small chest of drawers, a screen in another corner of the room. I assumed behind it was the bathroom. Definitely far removed from the daunting expanse of the Estate.

  "Are you tired from the trip?" she asked, going back to the stove by the window.

  I followed her, leaning against the sink as I watched her cook. I thought for a second before answering, evaluating the feeling in my body. My forehead was hot from the beating tropical sun and the sweat had begun to evaporate off my skin in the cool shade of shelter, the sore muscles on my back, my tight shoulders, and the content feeling in my chest.

  "Yes, but it's a good tired."

  She nodded.

  "Maeva…" She looked up then, dark eyes soft with ease. "Are you going to tell me why we're here?"

  One corner of her mouth tugged up into a half smile. "We're…exploring another part of the country. Do you know where you are?"

  "Not really."

  "This island is called Boracay. It's famous for its snow-white beaches…" She was about to start in on another tourist guide/history lesson when she met my gaze. I
looked at her pointedly.

  "That's not what I was asking."

  She laughed. "What do you want to know?"

  "Well, why? Why here?"

  Maeva turned back to the stove, adding some unknown spice to the large simmering cauldron. "Because it's different. I guess I'm following your wise one's advice. Being away from the Estate makes this, makes us, less complicated somehow."

  Us. So, there was an 'us.' I always knew that, but it felt good to hear her say it. I wanted to hear more.

  "Jacob…" she said, the ease in her eyes turning to mirth. "You're going to make me say it."