by Nora Flite
Brenda spotted me, her shoes pounding my way audibly as she left Lola in her dust. “I guess I have you to thank, huh?" she said when she was out of earshot of the guitarist. "She refused to let them hide those damn hickies.”
My smirk was a razor. “They look fantastic on her.”
“It's just going to make the fans crazier, even worse than earlier,” Brenda hissed.
A ripple rushed through my chest. With a plastic mask of calmness, I pushed off the wall and stood in front of my manager. “Earlier?”
Skepticism swam across her face. Together, we watched Lola approaching. In the seconds before the guitarist could hear, Brenda whispered, “She didn't tell you yet? Then what were you doing with her that whole time you two were alone—no, don't tell me.” Her voice fell lower. “Some girls messed with Lola today. Messed with her bad. You've got some pissed off, jealous, dangerous fans on your hands, Drez.”
Dangerous. The word lifted the hairs on my neck. Dangerous in what way?
There wasn't time to pry. Lola smoothed the front of her shirt, glancing between us. “Guess we're up soon. Where's my guitar?”
“Here.” Grabbing the case from the wall, Brenda handed it over. I watched how Lola's fingers squeezed the container with fierce protectiveness. “I need to go find Colt and Porter, please don't vanish on me again, okay?”
A roar went up from the stage, drowning out whatever Lola said next. Shaking her head warily, Brenda hurried out of view. In her wake, the screams died enough for Lola and me to finally speak.
Neither of us did.
Looking her guitar case over, Lola kept her eyes down. I didn't understand the awkward air around us; I just knew I loathed it. Whatever happened when they were out was worse than I thought.
Dangerous, Brenda had said. The word rattled me.
Clearing my throat, I slid my fingers under the top of my belt. “You feeling alright?”
“Sure,” she answered too quickly. “Just ready to play. The set for tonight, any changes I should know about?”
Her tone was emotionless. Reaching out, I held her shoulders. “Don't lie to me.”
A hint of something furious swam in her crystal eyes. “I'm not lying, I'm really fine.”
“Your brother tells you to fuck off, and you want me to believe you're fine?”
She tried to shove my hands away; I just squeezed tighter. “What am I supposed to say to you? We're going on stage, I don't have time to fucking open up about all of this!”
No matter how tough she acted, I knew she was hurting. “Tell me what happened earlier today.”
Inhaling through her nose, Lola closed her eyes. “When I can, I will.”
"That's exactly what you did with Sean," I said softly. "You keep finding excuses not to tell anyone what happened."
Curling back her lips like a wild animal, she slammed her hands into my chest. It surprised me enough that I released her, stumbling back an inch. “I didn't—I really haven't had time to talk about it! It's too complicated!”
“My fans tried to hurt you. That isn't that complicated.”
Lola's eyebrows shot up, then knotted so ferociously she hardly looked like herself. “Brenda told you?”
“Yeah. In ten seconds, she told me more than you even tried to."
Her expression fell, vulnerability skipping across her slack mouth to her shining eyes. "It's not because I didn't want to tell you. Drez, there's just... so much we need to talk about, and all of it terrifies me."
More secrets. What else has she kept hidden from me?
The heavy silence choked us, creating a limbo where neither of us dared to speak first. Nearby the crowd cheered, their jubilee floating backstage and into our bitter world. The band before us had finished. It was our turn, but...
How could we play in unison when our hearts were battling to find any harmony at all?
****
In spite of what plagued her, Lola didn't hold back on stage. She smoked through Tuesday Left Behind, smashed expectations with No More Stars, and dared her strings to rupture during an encore of Black Grit.
Her guitar thundered while the crowd strained to be heard over the music. Every flick of sound she created made my heart twitch. She forced me to remember one crucial thing among all the shit we were tangled in:
Lola was perfect.
Several times, I looked right at her, but she never looked back. She didn't need to; her music was inside of me.
Porter hit a heavy, shuddering note. The bass moved like a train that had gone off its tracks, slamming around the venue. I let it guide me towards our final song, Velvet Lost. “Sticky sweetness," I sang, "Burning fast. My love, my dear, this will be your last...”
And that was when I saw it.
Over the sea of waving arms and gnashing teeth, a stark white poster drew my attention. The garish words read a simple phrase: 'Lola is a Slut.'
Air caught in my throat. Twisting my head, I gaped at Lola, wondering if she'd noticed. Suddenly, the way she'd been keeping her eyes down during our set made sense. Sweat burned down my collar bone; now that I'd noticed one sign, I couldn't stop seeing them.
'Go Home Lola.'
'Drezden Isn't Yours.'
'Bring Back Johnny Muse.'
'Kill Yourself.'
My lungs shriveled, then flared with my rage. Who the hell are these people? Everyone I looked at became a potential enemy. Get rid of Lola, bring back Johnny?
He wasn't even there, but I hated him more than ever.
It was a testament to my ability that I finished out the song. My skull was bloating with images of people who would dare insult the woman I had found fit to let into my life. Looking across at Lola, I studied the lonely corner of her frown. I felt incredibly stupid, my brain just now putting the pieces together. This amazing woman, she'd handled so much today, and I was just beginning to glean some of it.
Brenda said crazy fans messed with Lola earlier. That had cut me to my core just to hear. The signs in the crowd, displaying jealousy fueled disgust for the girl I adored, were the last wounds I could handle.
Crushing the mic, I spoke over the echoing clapping hands and shouts. “I know we're finished, but I have an announcement.” From the side-lines, I caught a glimpse of Brenda's face; she was whiter than normal. I was going off script and it terrified her. “I have something to say, and all of you better be listening.”
Porter was mouthing something at me, Colt was fidgeting with his sticks.
It was Lola who held me.
Finally, after the whole set, she was looking my way. “You all know that we've got a new member here.” Winding the mic-wire around my wrist, I spoke louder. “And you all know she's the best fucking thing to happen to this band in a long time.”
A mixture of cheers and confusion erupted. I was glad they were listening. It was the least they all could do.
I said, “So, here it is.” My tongue wet my lips, prepping me for my own spontaneous decision. “Lola and I will be writing a new song together, a song we'll be performing at the final show on this tour.” My body swelled with indignant pride. “It's going to be the best fucking thing you've ever heard. I can't wait to share it.”
Dropping the mic, I stormed backstage with a wall of squeals buffeting me. I hadn't known what I was going to say when I began my speech, but it felt so right. I hadn't created a new song in some time. I'd definitely never co-written one.
This would be beautiful. Lola and I were going to break the damn world into pieces. I didn't care if we left it burnt and barren. If I had her, the rest could fade away for good.
“Drez!”
Breathing heavily, Colt stopped beside me. “Holy shit, man! Were you serious out there?”
“Of course I was.” Reaching back, I felt my empty pocket, reminding myself I had no cigarettes. Old habits were hard to break. “I want to write a song with her.”
“Why didn't you warn us you were going to announce that?” he asked.
Tilting my head, I considered my expl
anation. Talking about Lola's enemies came too close to legitimizing them, so I held my tongue. “Guess I didn't think I had to," I said.
The drummer reached for me, then pulled up short. Maybe he sensed the seething anger that still boiled in me, maybe it was something else, but Colt was acting like I was poisonous. “Fine," he sighed. "It doesn't matter.”
“It does matter,” Brenda snapped, hands choking her hips as she walked up. “Drezden! Did Lola even know about your plan?”
“No," a dazed, distant voice said. "I didn't know.” Standing tall, Lola pushed Colt and Brenda aside. She was hugging her purple Stratocaster, the color merging with her shirt, as if the two could finally become one. “You really want to write a song with me?”
Locking my knees, I grit my teeth to keep my voice steady. “I meant everything I said out there.” I wished I could read her mind. Instead, I endured a long minute of her unblinking silence.
Finally, in a great slump of her muscles, Lola melted. “Oh, Drezden. That's—I just...” No tears escaped, but a wet-warmth twinkled in her blue eyes. The skin on her cheeks and nose flushed, redness brought on by her delight.
Ignoring all the eyes on us, I pulled her against me. I'd have crushed her, but I was too aware of her guitar between us. If I damaged it, she'd never forgive me. “That means you want to do it?" I asked.
“Yes!” Laughing, shaking against my ribs, Lola stood on her toes and kissed me like she'd never get to again. “Writing a song with Drezden Halifax is a dream come true.”
My arms wound around her shoulders possessively. I want all her dreams to be about me. Her dreams... and her reality.
Someone coughed politely; Brenda, trying to be subtle. When I did nothing but tangle my tongue with Lola's again, Brenda groaned. “Okay you two, break it up." She clapped her hands like we were pigeons she could scare off. We didn't budge. "Or don't, whatever, I've got a whiskey-sour with my name on it waiting at the bar.”
“I'll join you,” Colt said, faking the sound of throwing up. “Porter, don't gawk! You're just encouraging them.”
Their laughter faded as they left the backstage. That was when I finally leaned away from Lola. It was a mere few inches; it felt like a chasm. “You want to get out of here?” I asked, my throat thick with desire.
Whatever heat that had been building in Lola evaporated. From her depths, a ghostly sadness came to the surface. It twisted in her wide eyes and tugged at my center. “Yes, but not for anything fun. What I want... is to tell you everything. All the things I should have, and didn't.”
My hands rested on her wrists. “Then let's go. I want to hear all of it.”
Linking our fingers, she led me out into the night.
****
We could hear the sounds of people partying. The noise sank through the walls of the tour bus, a cruel reminder that out there, the world was full of joy.
Sitting on Lola's bunk, we were coated in black soberness.
“So those girls slashed your tire,” I whispered, fighting down the waves of resentment. “Some insane stalkers think they own me, and that if you were gone, I'd waste my time with them?”
Sitting in my lap, her head on my chest, Lola stroked my palm. “Shh. I don't know what they think. Just that they don't want me around you.”
Burying my nose in the top of her hair, my eyes fell shut. “Too bad for them that I always get what I want.” Feeling Lola burrow against my warmth was pure joy. However, I wasn't naive. I knew she had wanted to talk to me about more than what had happened on the road. “There's something else,” I said.
She went lifeless in my arms; only the gentle thumping of her heart near mine reassured me she wasn't a corpse. “Yeah. It's something—I don't know how to start.”
Reaching down, I brushed her bangs from her forehead. “Start where it makes the most sense.”
When her arm lifted, I thought she was reaching for me. In the low-light of the bunk, Lola's tattoo was a smear of black and grey; the castle hardly visible. “You asked me about this.” Her voice sounded far away. “You wanted to know what it meant.”
That's right. I remembered that night in great detail. “You told me it meant nothing.”
“I lied.”
“I know,” I responded gently.
Spreading her fingers, Lola touched the tattoo with reverence. Twisting it, she showed me the underside. Then, gripping my hand, led me to feel her skin. It was like brail in places; the scars told me what she was going to say. “In high school, I was bullied. It pushed me over the edge, tempted me to... to cut myself. Pain was the only thing that gave me control.”
The image of how I'd caught her biting her own tongue flashed in my head. Pain for control. Pain so she could play her music with me near her.
She whispered, “It was a hard time.”
“School?” I was thinking of my own teen years.
“Living,” she said flatly. Meeting my eyes, Lola dropped her arm. “People were awful to me from the start. I had a shitty life. This tattoo represents that.”
Bile crawled up my esophagus, scalding as much as the hate I felt for the people who had made this girl's life hell. “Who was so cruel to you?”
She didn't pause to think. “My teachers. The people in school, the town. And mostly... my parents.”
There was an echo inside of me, a chunk of my being that felt the utmost empathy. I knew what having an awful parent was like. Fuck, I knew it more than anything.
An idea occurred to me. “When you said your parents wouldn't come to your show, it had nothing to do with flying, did it?”
Lola's snort was unadulterated disgust. “They never gave a shit about my music. I don't think they care what I'm doing right now. If you called them, asking about me? I bet they'd just hang up.”
Too many sharp, jagged feelings were consuming me. If her parents never cared about her, then... her relationship with Sean... the pain and hurt she felt when he shrugged her off and walked away must have been immense.
It clicked, I got where her attachment came from. The brother who had taught her guitar, who'd pushed her to audition for my band—he was the only person she'd had before me.
“Why do that?” I asked. The thoughts in my skull were fragmented. “Why get a tattoo that reminds yourself of such an awful time in your life?” Who would choose to make it so easy to remember the bad moments? My scar itched; toxic, mocking me.
“It's there to keep me from falling back into being that person.” Pulling her knees to her chest, Lola snuggled against me ever harder. “Running from the past is cowardly.”
Now it was my turn to go stiff. “There's no good in embracing the bad parts of the past.”
Shifting in my lap, Lola faced me fully. I expected her to tell me more, but the question in her expression was... out of place. Her plump lips parted, no sound falling free.
What does she want to ask me?
“Drez,” she said quietly, “I was really messed up before. I got this tattoo to remind me of my past... and of my decision to change. But that's not what made me change." She breathed deep. "When I was helping Sean out at this tiny little hole of a club, I found a CD. And the singer on it was... breathtaking.” A shy smile grew on her face.
Tingles of disbelief ran down my spine as I suspected what she was saying. Is she serious? I didn't want to believe our connection ran the length of time, it was too fucking good to be true. The quaking of my heart made my voice hoarse. “My music?”
Her nod was deliberate. “Your first CD.”
My nostrils flared, hands dragging her to me so I could taste that plump little mouth of hers. She found my first CD, I thought in quiet shock. She heard my lyrics and they changed her life. This amazing, insanely wonderful girl...
She's been meant for me from the start.
There was so much in my heart and head. I was linking her hard past with my own; we were so similar. At the same time, I was struggling with her decision to bravely display her wounds, while I'd done my best
to bury mine. Our souls were so similar; our beliefs were not.
I couldn't be like Lola and wear my damage on my sleeve.
That wasn't the path for me.
Nuzzling her throat, thrilling with her beating pulse, I sighed. “Lola, you didn't need to tell me all of this. What made you do it?”
Suddenly, she couldn't look me in the eye. “I just—I think it's important to share this stuff. We should know what's made us who we are. We should... talk about it.”
'We' she says. “I thought about this earlier,” I said. My stubble traced along her jaw; I spoke against her skull, as if I could penetrate her brain. “There's a better word for us than we. Let's call it like it is, we're a couple, right?”
In my embrace, she shuddered. “Boyfriend and girlfriend... it's more than I ever imagined.” Around my middle, her limbs stitched into place. “I want that. I want everything that comes with actually dating you—dating Drezden Halifax. I want to know everything about you.”
A wriggling line of paranoia crawled in my guts. Was I crazy, or was Lola hinting that she knew I was keeping something from her? No. She doesn't know about that. I've been careful. She couldn't have seen. But she was going to learn eventually.
Wasn't she?
I hadn't fully thought it through. If I wanted Lola as completely as I did, it was inevitable that she'd see my scar, that she'd ask about it.
I'll have to explain it to her.
Lola's teeth gnawed at her own lower lip. I kissed her, gave her a new thing to chew on.
But not yet.
Not just yet.
Buried in her smell, her flavor, I begged for more time. Please, just let me have this for a little longer. Don't make me have to tell this wonderful woman what I went through.
What my father did to me and my mother.
It was as close to a prayer as I'd ever made.
****
Lola's breathing was steady in her sleep. It hadn't taken her long to drift off, but my own unconsciousness alluded me.
We were curled in the small bed, her head under my chin, her scent invading my senses. I'd have blamed her nearness for keeping me awake if I hadn't known better.
I was swamped in the tepid images of my past, Lola exposing herself to me, and the events of the day. In her dream, Lola whimpered. The noise jolted from my scalp to my prick. She trembled against me, flesh smooth and hot. It took a massive effort not to wake her up with my hands down her panties.
