Rock Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 4)

by Daisy Allen

  What are you going to play? I ask her in my head.

  And she replies. With her fingers against the strings.

  I recognize the song from the very first few notes. Anyone would. And I'm amazed. The ukulele has become so popular lately, because of the idea that it's easy to learn. But it's so deceptive. Playing it is easy. Playing it well, is downright miraculous.

  And what’s happening is just that.

  She's attempting to play Rimsky-Korsakov’s Flight of The Bumblebee. No, not attempting, she’s killing it. She's insane. Only someone insane would think to pay this on the ukulele.

  Only someone insane could interpret it like this.

  I know this piece inside and out, sideways, upside down. I can play it in every key, tone and timing and on four different instruments myself. It’s one of my all-time favorite pieces of music and the band even has our own version, and it brings the house down every single time. Just one minute ago I could’ve told you that I would never hear a version of this song that thrilled me or surprised me as much as playing it myself.

  I’ve now changed my mind.

  I close my eyes, trying to imagine this mystery woman, bent over a ukulele, her fingers like a tornado over the frets and strings. I can't help but picture myself playing along. A low, deep bass line, with my cello. Fitting together like a hand in a glove. And all too soon, it's over.

  But not for long.

  She rests for a moment and then the music starts again.

  It only takes me a few bars to recognize this song piece as well.

  It’s Ram Jam’s Black Betty. She's gone full rogue.

  I need to witness this insanity for myself.

  I slide out of bed, smoothing my hands over my T-shirt and jeans, and step out into the hall way.

  "You okay, Mr. Petrescu?" Toni calls from the nurses’ station. I just wave and take a moment to locate the direction of the sound.

  To your right, Jez. And my feet move of their own volition, following the music. Always following the music.

  It gets louder as I pass one room, and another and then another. It feels like I've been walking forever. This private hospital isn't like your average ward. Each room is like a giant luxury suite.

  White. But giant.

  I'm here now.

  The music is coming from just behind this door. I lean against the wall for a moment, taking it in.

  The ending topples like a cascade of chaotic notes from the instrument. It's thrilling. It's been so long since I’ve experienced something musically new, something musically different. Sometimes I envy the people who hear one of the band's songs for the first time, or experience their first concert with us, because you can never have that again... your first time.

  But this – this I'll remember this for a long, long time.

  I take a breath and step into the room, forgetting all manners, all etiquette, that I'm encroaching on a stranger's space. In a hospital of all places.

  Her back is turned to me, bent slightly over, her shoulder lifting and falling with the movement of her hand on the strings. Her blonde hair is long, pulled into a messy, tangled ponytail. She's dressed in normal clothes, like me, jeans and a T-shirt.

  I can't tell much else, except that she's young.

  The skin along the back of her neck is taught and pale. We're all pale in here, I can't help but think.

  But there's something familiar about her. About the way she tilts her head.

  She starts to play another song and her foot taps along to the beat. There's something so welcoming about it, I speak before I can help myself.

  "Your... your playing is amazing."

  She jumps, her hands stopping immediately and she spins around, her mouth in open in a silent gasp.

  And it’s my turn to gasp.

  Oh my god.

  It's her.

  It's the girl in the alley.

  No, it can't be.

  I must be dreaming. I must have dreamt her into being. Wanted to see her so badly, that I’m hallucinating her. It can’t really be her. Here. Right in front of me.

  She's standing up, and stepping back.

  It's her. I know it is. I’d know her anywhere.

  Say something, you complete buffoon.

  "Oh my god, it's you. What are you doing here? I can't believe it's you," I ramble, no control over what I want to say.

  My hand reaches out and takes her by the wrist, like it's the most natural thing in the world. And I smile, because, suddenly, everything is okay.

  I've found her. She's right here.

  Except, she wrenches her hand out of mine and takes three steps back, her eyes suddenly flooding with fear.

  "Who are you?" she's asking me, her hand reaching for the call button by the bed.

  "It's me," I tell her, confused. "It's Jez," I say, before I remember we never told each other our names. I take a step forward, desperate for her to acknowledge that she recognizes me. What's going on, how can she not remember?

  "I'm sorry. I don't... I don't know who you are,” she says, still shaking her head.

  Is this a joke? Is she playing? "How can you not...?

  "Noémie, are you okay?" Toni says, stepping in behind me into the room.

  Noémie. Her name is Noémie. Of course, it is. It’s beautiful and unique. French.

  "No. This – this man..” she starts, pointing to me.

  "I'm Jez... We're..." I don’t even know how to finish. We're what? Friends? Partners in a urinal crime. "She... she knows me." I repeat, as if that will force her to drop this game and admit she’s just joking.

  "No," she shakes her head again, harder this time. "I've never met him before in my life."

  Desperate, I look into her eyes, and see nothing that reflects recognition of me in her pupils.

  Suddenly nothing is okay again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Noémie

  "I'm sorry, I don't know you," I say again, to this strange man in my room.

  This man who’s sucking all the air out of the room. Who he is?

  I don’t know him. I know I don’t. But he won't believe me.

  I want to tell him, though, I want to tell him, if we had met in the past, there's no way I would have forgotten him. He's the most strikingly handsome man I've ever seen in my life. I’m having trouble not staring at him.

  "You must! How can you not?! It's me!" He practically runs across the room, leaning in close. Leaning in so close I can smell the gel in his hair, the spice of his aftershave. It's intoxicating. I want to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  But I don't know him.

  "My name is Jez,” he says again. “But... you don't know that."

  That doesn’t make sense. "I don't know your name, but I know you?"

  "From that night... that night in the alley. Remember?"

  He staring into my eyes, and I’m finding it hard to tear my own away. He’s making me wish I knew him. But, no. I don’t. I’m sorry, handsome stranger. I don’t remember.

  "No. I don’t.” Good. Be firm, Noémie.

  "You knighted me. Sir Elbow Jerk? Remember the urinal?"

  Oh. Okay. He's crazy. This guy is out of his mind, off his nutter, completely lost every single one of his marbles crazy.

  Fucking sexy as hell. But insane.

  "I... think you might have me mistaken for someone else,” I say, ignoring the impulse to say that she’s a lucky woman.

  "No!" he yells, and his voice is deep and startles me with its force. He moves closer me, intimidating.

  And now I'm scared. I flick my eyes over to Toni and she steps forward.

  "Mr. Petrescu, let's go, let's go back to your room and let Noémie rest."

  "No." He doesn’t move and just stands there, staring at me. Like he’s trying to will me to remember something that he thinks we’ve shared with the power of his mind. If anything would work, I think that would be it. It’s almost impossible to ignore his presence.

  "Jez," she says, pulling gently o
n his shoulder. He doesn’t give her any ground.

  "She knows me. She does. How can she not remember?" His voice is raspy, thick with emotion. The look of hurt across his face pierces my heart like an iron poker. I feel for him. I hope he finds the woman he's looking for, that she’s not just a figment of his imagination. She would be a very lucky woman, indeed.

  His forehead bunches up and he spins around, like he’s about to storm out of the room. I can’t explain why I half want him to go, and yet, half of me wants him to stay.

  Just as he reaches the door he turns back, and almost runs to me.

  "You hate lentils! You never want to eat another falafel for the rest of your life!” He almost yells. And I’d have covered my ears, if I wasn’t so surprised. How can he know that? He’s right. So, how does he know? How could he possibly?

  "H-How do you know that?"

  There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Hope. “Because you told me. You told me." He says, pointing at us each in turn.

  No. I can't have forgotten him, forgotten having told him that. I hate these reminders of my accident, that there are parts of my own life that I don’t know. The helplessness comes crashing down around me, and I reach forward and push him away.

  "Please… please go," I beg him.

  “No, please, listen to me,” he begs right back.

  "Let's go, Jez." I hear Toni say.

  "She knows me, Toni... I don’t understand." His voice breaks. And in turn it breaks something inside me. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to him. If there’s the smallest chance that… that he did exist in my past, he deserves an explanation. I need to explain to him.

  I spin around, watching him back out of the room, his face confused and twisted in pain.

  "Wait.” I say and he stops and eyes locking on mine. “I- I have amnesia," I say. The phrase that’s defined my life lately.

  "What? No.”

  "I... I don't remember you. I have amnesia."

  His face falls and there’s a tiny tipping of his head as he processes what I’ve said.

  "So, everything you're remembering? It didn't happen for me. I don't remember it. And I don't know you. So please, do the same for me. Forget me. Like I’ve forgotten you."

  I walk over and slowly pull the door closed between us and walk back to bed.

  Go away, mystery man. Just go.

  I don't want to be reminded of the things I've forgotten and lost.

  The things I might've had but don't have any more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jez

  As soon as we get back to my room, I rip my arm away from Toni. A white-hot pain, searing like a knife boring into my elbow, shoots both ways up and down my arm. I hear a noise like an injured wolf howl and don't realize it's me until I feel my body pushed back onto the bed, and Toni is patting my leg, saying my name. It feels like how I’ve heard panic attacks described, but never experienced for myself.

  "Jez, Jez, it's okay, it's okay, take a breath." I can just hear her words through the pain and stars dancing in front of me, and I drag some air into my lungs. "Good, that's it, just calm down and keep breathing, Jez."

  I take a few breaths until I feel the pulse rushing in my ears slow a little.

  "I'm okay," I say, even though I'm not.

  "You will be. You're not okay quite yet, but you will be."

  "Do you mean short term or long term?" I rasp, trying to make light of the situation, a little embarrassed by my reaction.

  "Both."

  I stop talking for a moment, until my breath is slow and steady again. And the pain has receded. In my arm at least.

  "I know her, Toni. I do. I'm not crazy. We had... we met once." I need someone to believe me.

  "All this over someone you met once?"

  "It was... special."

  She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, just walks over and makes a note on my chart.

  "We didn't even exchange names. But it was special. She was… is special."

  "Boy, I'm too old for this," she says. But then sits down on the chair next to the bed, opposite me. "Which is exactly why you should tell me more.” There’s a gleeful look on her face, as if she’s awaiting some salacious details.

  "Get your mind out of the gutter, it's not like that."

  She rolls her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me. "Then why don't you tell me what it's like."

  "That girl… is insane. Crazy and wild and sweet and hilarious and we just talked for a little bit. And I really, really liked her. Like her. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we met. Well, once I stopped playing sleeping beauty, that is.”

  "So, what happened?"

  "This." I say, gesturing to my body. "This happened. I met her the night this happened. I've been wondering about her ever since. I didn’t know she played the ukulele then "

  “I’m sorry, Jez, but it doesn’t seem like she knows you. Or remembers you,” she says, her eyes looking sad.

  "I know. How can that be? I remember all of it. Every word. What happened to her?"

  Toni sighs and stands up, smoothing her hand over the bedsheet. "I can't talk to you about another patient. I'm sorry."

  "Please.” I hear my own voice tremor, as if trying to convey how much it means to me to know.

  She just sighs and reaches over and pats me on the cheek. "You can look at me with those big, green, puppy eyes all you like. I can't tell you anything, Jez. I’m sorry."

  "So, it's ‘Jez’ now, is it?"

  She grins and her broad shoulders lift up in a big shrug. "Why not? Unless you want me to call you Dimple Butt."

  I make a look of mock shock. "Why, nurse Toni! Have you been admiring my butt?"

  "Hard not to, when it needs sponge bathing. Anyway, I’m out, gotta go take care of my other patients. You want this door open or closed?”

  “Open, please.” I want to be able to hear if she plays her ukulele again.

  Toni gives me a wink as she leaves and makes a head tilt towards the squishy ball left on my table.

  Subtle, Toni.

  I spend the next hour playing back the two conversations I've had with that mystery woman in my head. The things we talked about that night, and the conversation we just had.

  I play back her words, ‘everything you're remembering? It didn't happen for me. I don't remember. And I don't know you. So please, do the same for me. Forget me. Like I’ve forgotten you.’

  I wince every time I remember the look in her eyes, of complete and utter lack of recognition of me. No. I don't buy this amnesia shit. You can't forget... you can't forget something like that night. The connection we had was once in a lifetime.

  Even now, I can smell her hair, the way her eyes, tired and slightly bloodshot, reflected the moon whenever she stared up at the sky. The way she felt against my body when I carried her out from the club. The way her neck tilted away from me, when I sat next to her, talking. The way my body grew hard at just the thought of kissing her. Of taking her, of making love to her.

  Fuck.

  I’m hard again right now, just thinking about it.

  After all this time, she still consumes my thoughts. My mind, my body.

  How could that be one way?

  How could she forget it?

  There must be something left in there that will remind her of me.

  I absentmindedly reach for the ball, my hand instinctively trying to curl around it. But my fingers freeze; stiff and sore.

  "Fuck!" I yell, throwing the ball across the room. My elbow cracks from the sudden movement but I barely feel it as I watch the ball collide with a vase on the window sill and it all comes tumbling down, crashing onto the ground.

  "Jez." A voice by the door startles me.

  "Oh. Doc."

  "What's going on?"

  "What's going on is my hands and my arm are fucking useless.” I hold them up as evidence. “You said I'd be okay. You said you would set it so it would heal and go back to normal. Two fucking surgeries, Doc. We
re they for nothing?"

  He comes over to the side of the bed. "Jez, I told you, that you would have a high chance of a complete recovery. Your left arm broke in two places and your wrist was fractured and two of your fingers were shattered. Your right arm splintered at the elbow. These are serious physical injuries, not to mention your lung and ribs. You have to be patient. It is going to take time."

  "How much bloody time? It's been almost three months! And I can't even squeeze a bloody toy without feeling like I'm being pulled on the rack."

  He doesn’t reply and takes my left arm in his hands. They're cool as he feels along my joints.

  "Look, we took x-rays after we took the casts off this morning, and all I can say is, you have to be patient. And work hard at your recovery. Don’t let the frustration get the better of you. Find something to get your mind off it."

  "I'm going stir crazy, Doc.”

  He chuckles a little. "I get it, I hear you aren’t that good at sitting still for very long. But you're going to need to find an outlet other than vase demolition. Okay?" He taps on the bed with his hand and then I’m alone again.

  I look down at my hands, my arms, pale and weak, thin from the lack of movement and sunlight. Useless fucking limbs.

  If I can't play the cello, what the hell am I?

  If I can't play the cello, what the hell else matters?

  Two hours later when I finally fall asleep, I still don't have an answer.

  ***

  The next morning, I don't feel much better. My arms ache more now, like they're not sure how to feel after being freed from their restraints. Don't know whether to stay up or flop by my sides. My right wrist screams with pain every time I rotate it to the right and my elbow feels so stiff, my arms move like I'm a zombie, either straight out in front of me or pointed directly at the ground.

  My first hour with the physio therapist ends in tears. Hers, not mine. And I'm sent back to my room like a kid in detention for being mean to the substitute teacher and with a stern warning from my doctor to step up my attitude.

  By lunchtime, I don't want to see anyone. I tell the nurse to close my door and that I don't want any visitors. I hear the commotion outside my door when the guys come but it stays closed, and I don't move until I know they're gone.