Cherry Beats

by Vicki James

  It isn’t real.

  It never was and it never will be.

  “And for those of you who are wondering what happened with Presley and I that night, the answer is yes. It happened. I sometimes think I’m the inspiration for the band’s bestselling song My Greatest Mistake.” She laughed smugly. “I guess we’ll never know. Something tells me Presley West won’t be rushing to sit beside me again after this. I’m Janey Dominic, bringing you the latest celebrity news. Thanks for watching.”

  The room fell silent—the air thick with tension.

  “Cherry,” Presley eventually whispered, his voice breaking.

  “Don’t you dare call me that,” I hissed, staring at the floor beneath me.

  “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave. Just wait.”

  “No.”

  “That was another life. It’s not how it…” He paused and sighed heavily. “Fuck.”

  “You know,” I whispered back, my chin down and my eyes closed. I pushed down on the handle and opened the door, pausing to look back at him only once before I shook my head and let the tears fall down my cheeks. “You knew why she was coming after you—after me, and you never once thought to tell me the truth.”

  His eyes were red; his lips parted, all the confidence he’d once worn as casually as his jacket now gone, replaced by this hollow, lost version of a handsome little boy. Presley took a step forward, stopping himself as he held a hand out to me, only to let it fall straight back down by his side.

  “Don’t,” I finally said, as a heavy tear fell down my cheek. “It’s too late. Everything’s tainted now.”

  “I won’t let this be over.”

  “You don’t get a choice.”

  Then I walked away, not knowing where to go or what to do.

  Only know one thing: You can’t survive off the high alone.

  The high will kill you eventually. It’s just a matter of time… and our time was done.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Three Days Later

  The apartment I once loved seemed too small now, leaving me claustrophobic as I stared out of the window and looked up at the grey, cloudy sky. It was the only peace I got. I couldn’t look down. My name was everywhere, and the media were camped outside. The crowd had diminished since my arrival back in Hollings Hill, sure, my resistance to leave irritating most of them. But a few lingered, waiting to get their first picture of a broken-hearted young fool who’d fallen for the promise of a life beyond her imagination.

  “At least your body looks bangin’ on these pics,” Molly said, breaking my reverie.

  I glanced over at her sitting on my sofa, her feet tucked under her bum, and her attention on the magazine she was holding up in front of her.

  “He’s sucking on your tit, and you’re just lying there lapping it up, looking like a goddess.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, not really hearing her words, each day of my life now a blur.

  Molly lowered the magazine into her lap as she looked up at me.

  “Your phone’s buzzing again.”

  I slowly turned to look at it on the arm of my sofa, blinking as I watched Presley’s name light up the screen before I turned away and focused on the television up ahead.

  Molly’s sigh was intentional, designed to tell me I was being a fucking idiot, and she only had so much patience left.

  Dicky had called repeatedly. Julia, too. A few numbers I didn’t recognise tried to get through, and even though it would have been easier for me to knock the phone off, I didn’t. Bourbon liked to call me while I lay in bed at night, his voice familiar and honest, friendly and warm as he spoke about his daughter and all the adventures they were planning together. I appreciated his efforts. I appreciated him.

  “You know he’s just going to show up here soon, knocking on your door,” Molly said, matter-of-factly.

  “He can’t. He’s got a tight tour schedule.”

  “You think that matters to a guy like him?”

  “I think it matters more than I realised.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve truly fallen for this bullshit that bitch spun to the world.”

  On that, I hadn’t decided yet.

  It’s easy to believe something you already think is true, deep down in your heart. It never made sense for him to want me the way he did. Was that the insecure little girl talking? Probably. But it was true. I knew I wasn’t ugly, and I knew I could hold my own, but I was a small-town girl with the blinkers on in her life. He was a man of experience. Someone who knew what he wanted. Dragging me along for the ride was always going to be a chore, and maybe now, without realising it, I’d relieved him of duty at the first chance I got, and that was what I was always going to do.

  “For the record, I—”

  “... think I’m insane. Yeah. I get it. You’ve been quite vocal.”

  Molly sighed again, her patience wearing thin. I’d phoned her and Bourbon from the airport in Barcelona, breathless and angry as the two of them talked me through what to do step-by-step.

  Get on the next flight home.

  Stay calm.

  Don’t panic.

  Meet them at the airport.

  I’d done it, all while hiding behind black shades and a dark cap like I was the celebrity all of a sudden. The moment I’d jumped into the back of Bourbon’s car and seen their sympathetic faces smiling pitifully at me, I broke down, the tears and stresses of everything pouring free. I’d told them how I’d run. Just fucking run like a scared little girl—because wasn’t that what I was?

  And that’s where the sympathy ended.

  Molly couldn’t believe I hadn’t given him a chance to speak. Bourbon didn’t say much, but I could tell he thought I’d fucked up, too. He was simply choosing to let me fuck up without calling me a stupid idiot every two seconds, unlike Mol.

  The phone rang beside me again, and I saw my mother trying to call. She could get lost. They all could. Everyone who’d ever silenced me, betrayed me, and turned me into something I wasn’t could stay the hell away. I’d told her so in a text message the day before, too, only to be texted straight back by my father who asked who the hell I thought I was, and couldn’t I see how selfish I was being—the lack of respect I was showing?

  Neither one of them told me they supported me or were on my side. My brother Freddie never phoned to apologise, either.

  It seemed like the whole world was out to get me apart from Bourbon and Molly, and right now, tucked away in a space that was mine and mine alone, they were the only ones I trusted.

  When my phone pinged again, I growled out in annoyance, threw my hand to the screen and swiped to access the message.

  Presley: Uncle Dex is on his way. Answer your door to him. After that, I’ll never ask anything of you again. Not unless you tell me I can.

  Presley: I hope you’re safe, Tess.

  Presley: I miss you.

  I sucked in a breath, my fingers hovering over the buttons to respond as the memory of his touch and voice floated over my body, his ghost pulling me under. That’s how much power he had.

  The knock at the door came right away, dragging my eyes up to stare at it in disbelief.

  “If that’s those bastard reporters again—” Molly started

  “It’s Presley’s uncle,” I answered robotically.

  “What?” She spun around to me. “How do you know?”

  “Tess, it’s me,” Uncle Dex said from beyond the door. “I swear, I have a couple of things to drop off and that’s it. I’m alone.”

  I moved with urgency for the first time in days, the need to be close to anything or anyone who knew Presley like a raging wildfire, desperate to spread, contradicting my need to stay away from him. Love makes us senseless—stupid.

  Pushing Molly aside, I opened the door and stared up into the familiar eyes of a man who’d only ever been kind to me.

  “Hey, Cherry,” Dex said in a voice that reminded me so much of his nephew’s. His eyes were downturned, his disappointm
ent crystal clear. He looked me up and down carefully, taking me in. I was standing there in black pyjama pants and a black Bon Jovi Always T-shirt. “You look like you’re in mourning,” he sighed.

  “Kind of am.”

  How is he? I wanted to ask. Does he hate me? Should I hate him? Was it all a lie?

  Molly appeared behind me, folding her arms over her chest like a very attractive bouncer.

  Dex looked at her, nodding in acknowledgement. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” She nodded back.

  “Dex, Molly. Molly, Dex.”

  “Nice to finally meet you,” Dex said. “Tess talked about you a lot on the road. I’m glad she’s got someone taking care of her.”

  “She doesn’t need anybody. She’s more capable than she lets people think.”

  “Try telling her that,” Dex huffed through a sad puff of laughter.

  I stared up at him, tears filling my eyes and the Presley-sized lump in my throat impossible to swallow.

  “Is he…?” I tried to ask, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answer to, Tess,” Dex told me calmly. “Right now, he thinks you don’t care. If I go back there telling him that you were asking how he was, it’s going to confuse him even more, and as much as I like you, I love him. You have Molly. He has me.”

  “He thinks I don’t care?”

  Dex cleared his throat, choosing not to answer as he held out a box he was holding. “You left a couple of things behind he said were yours. I have no idea what’s in here, so if you want to know, you’re going to have to look for yourself.” He looked up at me, his gaze lingering.

  “Are you mad at me, too, Dex?”

  ‘No. I’m disappointed.”

  “Me, too,” I answered, taking the box from him, not knowing where my agreement with him truly lay. Disappointment was the ultimate feeling floating through my body—a little aimed at myself while the majority was glued to Presley and the night he spoke about me to Janey fucking Dominic.

  The very thought of them together made my spine straighten, and my chin rise in defiance. “Thanks for my things,” I said coolly, the last word getting stuck in my throat.

  Dex nodded again and turned to leave, and I was just about to beg him to stay when he glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head. “Have you ever done something stupid before? Said the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person?”

  “I…”

  “Of course you have,” he said sadly. “We all have. It’s called being human. You may see him as a statue on a pedestal, but he’s human, too, you know. He hurts. He makes mistakes, just like the rest of us. You asked me if I’m mad, and I said no. That was a lie. I’m fucking furious, but not at you alone. I’m mad at this world we live in—the one where everyone is suddenly so damn right about every little thing, their views and opinions rigid and unmoving. I’m mad that it’s easier to throw stones than to pick them up and put them somewhere safe where they won’t hurt anyone. I’m mad at the way the world loves to build people up only to enjoy every second of tearing them back down again. Do you know what else I’m mad at?”

  “No,” I mouthed, barely making a sound.

  “I’m mad how people you love the most are more often than not the ones who end up hurting you more than any stranger ever could. I’m mad that it’s easier for people to believe the bad than the good. And, hell,” he sighed, his voice dropping lower. “I’m mad that people can question a guy like my nephew, when deep down, every one of us knows he’s the purest fucking human being alive. We just hate that we’ll never be like him. We hate we can’t see the world through his eyes. We hate we’ll never be him. For that, he has to pay the price.”

  “Dex, please—”

  “Seeya, Cherry. I really hope it’s not the last time we cross paths. If it is, I’ll remember you fondly.”

  Dex left, disappearing down the corridor, leaving me standing there with a box in my hand and my heart more confused than ever before.

  “I think I just fell in love with an older man,” Molly whispered behind me.

  And I think I’ve fucked things up with his nephew.

  Glancing down at the smooth white box in my hands, I turned and made my way to the sofa, placing it down carefully as I heard the door shut after Molly closed it.

  She came to sit on the same sofa, the two of us on either side of the box.

  “What do you think it is? Hair straighteners? A box of Tic Tacs you left behind?”

  “I left in a rush. It could be anything.”

  “Open it.”

  I did, removing the lid slowly and dropping it to the floor the second I saw Presley’s famous leather jacket staring back at me.

  “Holy. Shit,” Molly hissed. “Is that…?”

  I looked up at her, our eyes meeting in wonder, both mouths hanging slack.

  My hands moved automatically to be near him, digging into the flesh of the jacket and holding it up.

  “That can’t be the jacket?”

  “It is,” I whispered back to her, turning it around in my hands before dropping it on top of the box and opening it up to look inside. The first thing I saw was my signature and the words I’d written above them.

  No Regrets

  Directly underneath it were five more words that hadn’t been there before, the pen dark and black compared to the faded ink of my own words.

  Not a single one.

  Presley

  My heart raced wildly, crashing against my chest.

  “He’s actually given you his jacket, Tess.”

  Those lips of mine were moving, but nothing was coming out as Molly dug further inside the box.

  “What are these?” she asked, and I lowered the jacket to my lap to see her holding up a stack of envelopes bound together by a rubber band.

  “Letters?” I frowned.

  “They have your name on them. No address. Just ‘Cherry’ on each one.” She took the band off and flicked through them as carefully as she could. “Some of them look old.” When she got halfway through the stack, there was a blue post-it-note in the middle, and she passed it to me.

  Proof that it’s always been you.

  P x

  “Give them to me,” I said at once, holding my hands out to take the stack from her.

  She passed them over, and I flicked through before I opened the one on the top and worked my way through his letters.

  Cherry,

  Missed me? Of course you have. Who wouldn’t?

  Should you have missed me? No. Should I be missing you? It doesn’t make any sense.

  It’s been a year since I last saw you, and I still feel like you’re the realest thing I ever held… and that’s coming from a guy who once thought the only real thing in his life were his drumsticks.

  Now I hold them in my hands every day.

  Sometimes all day.

  But they don’t pulse beneath my fingertips the way you did, no matter how hard and heavy I hit. They’re not warm like your skin. They don’t hold me back the way you did.

  Guess you made me high. Made me reach a peak I didn’t know I wanted to climb.

  Can’t match that on the drums now, so I’ve become the fucking cliché—the one thing you didn’t want me to be, and I’ve barely even begun.

  Say hello to the grieving, addict rock star.

  I’m constantly chasing more, Cherry, and it isn’t ‘cause I once liked the high of coke or the rush of pills.

  It’s because of you.

  Sweet, sweet tasting Cherry and her body beats.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. That’s all I hear when I go to sleep.

  You may be my Bon Jovi.

  Presley.

  Cherry,

  I’ve seen things. Bad things. Things that now burn my brain every time I close my eyes. Things that make me want to curl up in a ball and scream out in pain. I won’t go into it because you don’t deserve the visuals it’ll plant in your mind, but let’s just say dead dad,
selfish mum = me needing something to hit. Boxing’s never been my bag (<-- I just spent half a minute laughing at my own pun there) so the drums saved me instead.

  Headphones on. Sticks in hands. I lost hours to the music instead of the memories.

  Days and weeks, too.

  Drumming was my oxygen mask, and when I wasn’t hitting the drums, I was wanking or some shit. I used to love wanking, imagining women bending at my will, desperate to take me away from the stuff I couldn’t control. Most men hate it. They think they need a girl to suck them off or stroke their dicks for their egos to let them get a stiff. Not me. I loved the imagination of it all. I loved visualising things that might never happen. The power… fuck, it was good.

  I loved thinking of you. Taking you over that bar, twisting your hair in my hand and driving into you until your legs gave in.

  Do you know what, Cherry? I’m so fucking drunk now. You can probably tell.

  The buzz is making me feel like shit tonight.

  Rhett is in the corner doing lines. I’ve tried coke so many times, and it’s nothing like the high of inhaling you. Not even close.

  Big D has a woman wrapped around his cock. You think I’m kidding? I can hear the suction as she gives him head. I’m already numb to this stuff. I’d be more shocked if I saw someone praying around here or doing something decent for once.

  Hawk just vommed.

  Coops is blowing rings of smoke above his head, high and desperate to make one big enough he can jump through.

  And I’m wasted, wondering if this is really how I’m gonna spend my life.

  You’d be good here.

  Your smart mouth would sort them all out—keep them focused. You could be the Sharon Osbourne of our tour, only sexier. Not that I wouldn’t bang Shazza.