Rock Me Deep

by Nora Flite

  “I don't know,” I sniffled, wiping at my eyes.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I don't know!” A hiccup choked me, broke my sudden tears and turned it into uneasy laughter.

  Sean's arm crushed me against him, holding the back of my head. Relieved chuckles shook free from him, too. “You're ridiculous.”

  “You're worse than that.”

  Rubbing my shoulder blades, he breathed out loudly. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  We sat in the car and listened to the rain. It reminded me of the day, so recently, where we'd gotten soaked while Sean warned me about Drezden. Clarity rolled up my spine. “You've been angry at him for so long, haven't you?”

  Gingerly, my brother eased me off of him. His blue eyes were rimmed in red; I noticed the spider-veins crawling in the whites. How long had those been there? “Drezden messed with my head—with everything—that day.”

  That day. He didn't have to say it. Sean was talking about the audition. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It wasn't even—lord, I don't know. It's hard to explain.”

  Reaching for his hands, I cupped them. “Just try, I want to know.”

  His face was pale in the shadows. “I drove all the way upstate when I heard there was an audition.” Sean flexed his fingers in mine. “I showed up, and Lola... I played my damn heart out. I was—” He cut himself off with a bark of cold laughter. “I was so sure I had the position. I was so stoked; how could I not be picked?”

  Thunder rattled the sky outside. “And?”

  Closing his fists, my brother gave me a sad smile. “And Drezden told me to leave. Just that, to leave. I asked him why. How could I just walk away without understanding why I wasn't good enough?” Gritting his teeth, he resembled a snarling dog. “The asshole told me—get this—he said he knew my type. He said some bullshit like, 'Someone who gets angry and bitter when things aren't handed to them... someone like that doesn't have what it takes.'”

  My mouth was hanging open. Not because of what Drezden had told my brother, but because Sean remembered every last word of that sentence. He's been going over that in his head for years. Reliving that day. Holy shit.

  “He asked me something, too,” Sean muttered hotly.

  My throat was parched. “What?”

  His sapphire eyes looked through the window. They stared into the past, seeing that fateful day instead of the grey rain. “He asked me, 'What makes a good guitarist?'”

  The hairs on my body stood on end so tight it hurt. “What did you answer?” I asked eagerly, my curiosity turning my stomach in knots.

  He fell back in his seat, arching his neck and watching the ceiling. “Talent. I told him that talent was what made a good guitarist.”

  My heart was stuffing itself into my throat. “What did he say?”

  There, the crooked, cynical smile I knew so well. “He told me I was wrong. He responded, quite eloquently, 'Fuck off.' So I kicked over his amp and then I left.”

  The pounding in my skull wouldn't stop. That's what this was all about. A several years long grudge. Drezden had called it. I remembered the night we'd had dinner, my first night spending time with Headstones. Drezden asked me if my brother was still pissed about what had happened. Brenda told him to stop worrying.

  Drezden was right all along.

  The revelation was too much for me. “You held onto the hate this entire time. Why would you tell me to audition for Four and a Half Headstones if you hated Drezden so much?”

  “Because I care about you more,” he said flatly, eyebrows crawling high. “Because I still wanted you to make it big. I guess I just wasn't strong enough to watch it all happen right in my face.”

  Wiping my nose with my sleeve, I said, “Asking me to join your band the other day, that wasn't about bringing me on so we could play together, it was about watching him lose me.”

  My brother was shaking his head before I finished. “No, no! Fuck, no, Lola. Yeah, okay, a big part of me wanted Drezden to fall apart after... after what he said to me. After what he made me feel about myself, my skills.” His lips pulled back, low and twisted. “But I did want to see us both make it to the top.”

  “I'm already at the top,” I whispered cynically.

  “I know.” His hand clasped on my shoulder. I expected sarcasm or cruelty, but he clasped me with genuine warmth in his sad smile.

  Tears threatened to bubble back up; I pushed them down with a deep breath. “Promise me you won't give up your dream. We can both still be big rock stars... together. Okay?”

  That time, it was Sean who started the hug. I wanted it to go on forever, for the two of us to feel the waves of love and joy that had been missing for far too long. This was my big brother, the guy who had taught me everything, been through so much with me—and for me. I wanted him to be happy... I'd thought I'd known where his pain and struggle came from...

  But now I actually understood.

  “If you want me to make it big,” he said gently, “I'll need to go get my singer out of jail. We've kind of been making him sit there this whole time.”

  Our grins matched as we pulled apart. “Okay. Go get him out of there. I'll talk to you soon.” Folding my hood over my skull tightly, I climbed out into the rain. “Good luck!”

  “I'll need it,” he chuckled, waving at me until I splashed all the way into the main lobby of the hotel. I was in a whirl of good cheer, ignoring the busy crowd flocking the hotel. I bet most were here for the big show tomorrow.

  The woman behind the desk handed me the keycard for my room. I can't wait to see everyone. I bounced on my toes as I rode the elevator up to my room. I should have brought my clothes with me, though. I'll need to go back to the bus tonight for something dry... and for my guitar.

  Fiddling with the door in the long, quiet hallway, I hummed to myself. The song I'd been writing with Drezden was catchy, the tune undulating in my chest and traveling to my brain. Stumbling into my room, I slammed the door and gazed on the place that I had to myself.

  I wonder where the others are, where their rooms are?

  My tangent of a thought was halted by the brisk knock on my door. Startled, I spun around, still caught up in my emotional high. Gripping the handle, I tugged the door open wide, half expecting to see Drezden himself.

  Wet, pale and gaunt from hard times, the man outside was not my boyfriend.

  “Hey,” Johnny Muse said, eyes jittery in the orange lights. “Sorry to bother you so soon, but I just—I was thinking about earlier—about what I had said—and I wanted to clarify a few things.”

  Gawking openly, paralyzed by surprise, I fought for words. What the hell is this? Had Johnny followed me to the hotel? There was no other explanation.

  He looked both ways, ducking low and shoving himself into my room. “Hey, wait,” I said, backing up to keep space between us. “You shouldn't be—”

  “It's just really, really important that I explain everything better! You know?” The door clicked behind him, his hoodie casting sharp shadows on his thin face. He no longer stared anywhere but right at me, an awful hunger deep in his faded emerald eyes. “Okay, so yeah, I got the impression you didn't believe everything earlier. I can't—like, handling that is hard for me. Got it?”

  The back of my heel hit the edge of the bed. “Johnny, you need to leave.”

  “I will, I will!” Ruffling his hair, then palming his throat, he frowned. “Just listen. Please. The thing about the graveyard, okay, so I said Drezden went a little nuts. Maybe I said crazy? He was over the top, and he did push me down, but okay, so he didn't like, pummel me or anything.”

  Shaking my head slowly, I felt for my phone in my pocket. The budding seed of danger had become a full on rose with thorns. “Sure. Fine. You still need to go.”

  His face fell limp. “You don't believe me about him, do you?”

  “I—it doesn't matter if I do.”

  “No!” His teeth glinted at me. “I really, really need you to believe me. You've
got to see that he's a psycho, you need to—to leave the band. Okay? Okay, got that?”

  I worked to keep a smile on my face. “Sure, okay. I'll do that.” My legs inched me sideways, trying to get around him towards the exit.

  Johnny held his cheeks, pulling his skin down in exasperation. “You really don't believe me! Dammit!” Too fast for me to react, he snatched my shoulders, shaking me until my teeth clicked together. “Why won't you believe me? You need to believe me!”

  That was it, my self-preservation kicked in. Shoving at his chest, his forearms, I hurried to disengage. Opening my mouth, I got out a partial scream. A single fist to my skull ended it.

  Carpet nuzzled my cheek. Had I fallen? Blacked out from the hit? I need to move! Above me, through the bells whistling in my ears, I heard Johnny talking. Run, fight, anything! His shadow fell over me. I couldn't make sense of his words, but there was a panicked, apologetic smear in them that made me furious.

  Run. Fight. Save yourself.

  The memory of the bullies shattering my first guitar drilled into my head.

  Fight.

  “Shit, shit, what do I do? I didn't mean—” Johnny's tirade ended, my knuckles scraping along his cheekbone as I bolted upwards. “What the fuck!” Cupping his skin, he made a grab for me. That was fine; I let him pull me close, kneeing him in the guts as we made contact.

  I won't let anyone bully me again.

  My nails cut along his forehead, blood caking underneath.

  I'm not a victim anymore.

  Never again.

  He shoved me away, hugging himself and coughing. Low in my belly I knew this was it—my one chance. I had to get away from the chaos that was happening in my hotel room. Gasping, I stumbled towards the door.

  Johnny Muse wasn't ready to release me.

  Long fingers tangled in my hair, throwing me backwards. Off balance, I spun sideways, disoriented. Run run run! My temple slammed into the wide-screen TV, toppling it—and me—to the ground. Lifting my eyes, I tried to find Johnny. I didn't have to search hard; his fingers wrapped in the front of my shirt.

  In one great swing, he threw me. My shoulder made a sickening crunch on the coffee table. The glass center shattered; my strength went along with it.

  No, I thought in disbelief. No, it can't end this way. Moving was too hard, every twitch of my body made the torturous fire in my right shoulder worse. What's wrong with my arm?

  Dizzy with pain, I struggled through the blur. Emerald eyes, dragon-fire that wanted to burn me and take me to hell, waited for me. Johnny was crouched above and ready to pounce.

  Fight, I told myself. Run, I begged. Nothing in me would move.

  “I didn't mean to do this.” He was breathing heavy, blood sticking to his temple from my shallow scratches. “Fuck. If you'd only believed me. Then I wouldn't... this wouldn't have...” Shaking himself, he aimed his manic eyes over my head. I didn't know what he was looking at. Thinking was a struggle, my vision turning hazy.

  Then it was just black.

  - Chapter Twenty-Seven -

  Drezden

  Brenda had called my phone more than once during the trip, each voicemail getting progressively more manic. I'd returned her call once, when my flight was taking off, saying, “I'll need a car when I land.”

  She hadn't been impressed. “You're really trying my nerves. It's already three, what were you doing all day out in freaking Syracuse? I'm going to have grey hairs before you're through with me, I swear.”

  The car was waiting for me outside the airport. I figured the driver would be one of the many forgettable men in black hats that matched the paint job, but then the tinted window rolled down. Brenda's eyes were deep, dark things that spoke volumes. “Get in,” she muttered.

  Yanking the door open, I slid in next to her. “You didn't need to meet me.”

  “Of course I did.” Her fingers were a blur, typing into her phone. “I've been up since eight, wrangling the setup for the venue, all while wondering when you,” she spared me a glance, “my special star, would come back to me.”

  “Chill. I'm here.” My chuckle was cut short as I leaned back too hard against the seat. My skin there was on fire.

  Brenda arched an eyebrow, shutting her phone. “You alright?”

  “It's nothing.”

  “Nothing,” she repeated doubtfully. “Fine. Have your secrets. I'm just glad you're back.”

  Fingering the shape of my phone in my pocket, I nodded. “Me too. Did... anyone wonder where I was?” Did Lola ask about me at all? She hadn't taken any of my calls.

  Shaking her head, she smoothed her hair over and over. “I left voice mails for everyone today. No one has responded. My guess is everyone is still sleeping at the hotel.”

  I'd left so late last night. It had taken everything in me to resist knocking on Lola's room. Imagining her tucked under her blankets, all alone, was torture. The part of me that needed to see Lola clawed upwards. “Let's get moving.”

  A slow, suspicious squint inched along Brenda's face. “Oh. I see now. You're not even worrying about the show, you're still thinking about her.” Collapsing deep in the seat, my manager groaned. “Nice priorities. But fine, here we go.” She turned the key, the car's tires squealing away from the curb.

  Buildings rolled by the deeper we got into the city. I tried to calm my beating heart. Soon, I'll see her. Then I can tell her—show her—everything she asked of me.

  Brenda had been talking to herself the whole drive. I'd tuned most of it out. “If I have to pull everyone from their beds, I'll do it," she said. "This whole band has been testing my limits." Her phone rang in her purse. She slid it out, thumb flipping the device open. “Weird, it's the hotel.” Not slowing down, she answered the call. “Hello, Brenda Westlake speaking.”

  Right in front of me, Brenda's expression morphed from confusion, to shock, to flat out anger... and then flustered defeat. “What is it?” I asked.

  She motioned at me to leave her be. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes, I understand—no, that's fine, these things happen. Hm?” Her voice lowered drastically. “I'll want to see proof of that. Yes, I'm on my way. Just—yes, I'll talk to you there. Thanks.” She snapped the phone shut and groaned. “This fucking band!”

  "What did we do now?"

  Her eyes flashed at me. “Someone trashed one of the rooms I rented. This is going to cost me a ton of money." She smacked the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch! You guys should know better by now!”

  “Don't blame me, I didn't even sleep in my room. You know that."

  “I blame you for other things!” Gritting her teeth, Brenda put a heavy foot on the gas. “It had to be Porter or Colt, maybe the both of them. Probably got some girls up into their room and went nuts. Jackasses.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “They didn't say which room it was?”

  “No, they just said they had a bill for the damages waiting for me." The engine revved loudly. "Ten thousand dollars? Are they joking?”

  We pulled up outside the Hilton. Brenda flew from the car, stopping only to speak to the valet. “Don't go far, I'll be right back and I might have some headless corpses with me.”

  Smiling tightly, I followed her inside. The last time a room had gotten busted up on our dime had been over six months ago. And we had Johnny to thank for that one. The memory soured my stomach.

  Brenda regained her composure, approaching the front desk with a sweet smile. She placed her folded hands on top of the counter. “Excuse me,” she said softly, “I took a phone call a few minutes ago. I'm Brenda Westlake.”

  “Ah! Yes, right.” The man who'd been waiting there was young, his gelled hair the color of lemonade. “I'm so sorry about this. But, it seems the cleaning lady found one of your rooms... well.” He shrugged, lips stuck in a forever-false smile. “Out of sorts. Here, this is the paperwork.”

  Sliding up to the counter, I watched over Brenda's shoulder. The front desk associate gave me a brief look, but otherwise, he was content to point out the itemized
list. I felt Brenda's fury growing. “A television?" she scoffed. "Seriously?”

  The guy—I saw his name tag said Jeremy—raised his hands as if Brenda might strike him. “Yes, everything listed is accurate.”

  “I want to see proof." Lifting the paper, she waved it side to side. “Nothing is approved to be charged to my card until I see the damages first hand.” Glancing back at the bill, she stood straighter. “Wait, is this the right room?”

  Warily, Jeremy offered a key card. “Room two-fifty, correct.”

  My heart worked itself into a ball of elastics. Why was my blood racing? "Whose room was that?" I whispered.

  Brenda met my eyes, her skin ashen. "Lola's room."

  Snatching the card, I power-walked to the elevator.

  "Drez!" she shouted after me.

  This is wrong. Why does it feel so wrong?

  "Drezden, slow down!"

  I didn't. Even in the elevator, I kept pacing. I didn't stop moving until I slammed the key card into the door slot and pushed my way into room two-fifty.

  It was worse than I'd imagined.

  The floor was coated in broken glass—the remains of a coffee table, I thought, but the flat screen TV was mixed in, making it hard to tell what fragments belonged to what. The perfectly made bed contrasted sharply with the chaotic scene.

  Covering her mouth, Brenda turned in place. “Wow. She really was mad at you.”

  “What?” My muscles hardened like steel. “You think she destroyed her own room because of me?”

  “I don't know.” Sighing, she folded up the paperwork and stuck it in her purse. Gingerly, she touched the top of the broken TV. “Between her running off yesterday and you spilling your heart to me last night...” I bit my tongue at her interpretation. “If she didn't do this to let out some tension, then why? To break her 'Oh look at me, I'm an out of control rocker' cherry?”

  There was sweat staining my throat, a sickening warmth turning my belly into a fetid swamp. This doesn't make sense. Could Lola—would Lola—do this? “Are you sure it was her?” I asked.