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

by Daisy Allen

"No. It's okay."

  I'm suddenly tired. So tired I can barely keep my eyes open. My head aches and I lay back on the couch.

  Sleep comes. But it's harsh and dark, and I wake up in a sweat.

  There's ringing in my ears left over from the nightmares and the sound of screeching and scratching.

  In my skull or against a window or on the roads, I don’t know. Something creating friction.

  And everything is discordant.

  It's past midnight. I must've slept over five hours. Paige is gone with just a bag of fruit left on the table to even remind me she was here.

  I rifle through my short-term memory, then remember her telling me my family isn't coming to visit.

  My heart sinks all over again, as though I’ve just heard the news for the first time. I drag my head from the couch cushion and shuffle over to pour myself a glass of water. I drink it down, the whole thing at once, and it's like a crystal waterfall in my brain, bringing life back into me, refreshing me.

  I poke my head out into the hall, and see Robbie sitting there. He sees me and comes running over.

  "Hey there, girl, how you feeling? You kinda zonked out there. I didn't wake you because you haven't really slept so well the last few days."

  "Yeah, thanks. Um, is there... um, is there something for me today?"

  He smiles and hands me an envelope.

  An envelope.

  Not a wrinkle piece of hastily folded paper.

  But an envelope.

  I’m silent as I turn it over in my hands. Like it holds some sort of secret I’ve waited my whole life to uncover.

  Robbie flicks the switch on the lamp by the bed, flooding me with light. “I'm just going to do a walk around. Hit me up if you want a chat." I tear my eyes away from my hands long enough to give him a weak smile as he leaves. He's barely out of the room before I rip the envelope open and pull the sheet of paper out of it, unfolding it to its largest form.

  It’s blank.

  Wait. What?

  I flip the paper over. No, that can't be right. I turn back again.

  It's blank. Completely blank.

  What does this mean? What's he trying to say?

  My heart sinks with disappointment. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this.

  I'd been waiting all day, to see what his message was to me, to show me he understood me, knew me. And this is what he has for me. A blank page. A nothing. The story of two people who have never crossed paths, exchanged looks, words.

  I scrunch up the paper and envelope and throw it hard across the room. Tears spring to my eyes and I don't know why. I'm angry, or sad, or hurt or lost. I wipe them away, brushing my fingertips hard against my wet cheeks but they keep coming.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I spit, over and over, as my hands wipe over my face again and again, the tears drenching the collar of my shirt.

  But I don't know who's stupid. Him for making me feel this. Or me, for letting myself get into this position.

  Fuck this.

  I jump to my feet and grab my ukulele from its open case.

  I don't care who sees me and I don't care who hears me

  Who needs him? My chin tilts up in defiance. I had music before him, and I’m going to have it after him.

  I storm out of my room and down the hallway into the family room, not bothering to pull the door closed behind me. I skid to a stop, right in the middle of the room. Like I’m center stage in a concert starring myself.

  And I play.

  It's not a song I've ever heard before, or a song I've ever played.

  It's new and it's by me.

  About this moment. This exact moment in time.

  About all the exhaustion, the pain, the expectation, and the disappointment. All the waiting and the not knowing, and the confusion, and the excitement and the nothing.

  It's all coming out now. The notes are fast and furious. My fingers become numb as they glide over the taut strings, chord after chaotic chord.

  Will I remember what I played here tonight? Can I recreate it in the calm of my bedroom later to write down the notes on a pad?

  Probably not. But I don't care. This isn’t about later. This is about now.

  The tears stop and my emotions come out in sound. My fingers bring me around to a building chorus, a loop. And somewhere, out of nowhere, my voice joins in.

  I sing.

  I play and sing.

  And I make it alright that I'm feeling the way that I am.

  For the first time in the longest time, I feel like I know who I am. I'm not my memories. I'm not my forgetfulness. I'm just how I feel, dictated by nobody or nothing but what is inside me in this very moment.

  Then, just like that it’s all over. I drop my arm down by my side and the ukulele slides from my fingertips.

  I stand, like a statement to the empty room. I am here. Breathless and all.

  The blood in my ears pound, and it's a comforting sound. A dull thudding, to contrast against the frenetic chords of my song. I take a long, deep breath and tell my heart to calm.

  "You are astounding."

  A voice calls to me from the door behind me; I spin around and he is there. He looks just like I remembered. Not from the other day, but from the portraits of him that I drew in my brain.

  Every line, perfect. Like a god come to life.

  He steps toward me and I surprise myself when I don't step back.

  "Hi," he says, but he doesn't hold out his hand. We've done that all before, maybe.

  "I'm Jez,” he says. And his voice is beautiful.

  And I say the only thing I can think of.

  "I remember."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jez

  She’s on fire.

  I knew writing nothing on that sheet of paper would be the right thing. She doesn’t need me to be suggesting songs to her. It was time to give her her wings back.

  And she's taken flight.

  My breath quickens following the frantic beat of her playing. So much emotion, so much feeling. I feel like I’m looking into her mind, and the words are written all over the walls, but in a language I can't understand.

  And just when I think, there's no more surprise, she sings.

  My god.

  And all the jumbled words start to make sense. They form into clues revealing her thoughts. Whispers. Promises.

  Delivered in the voice of a nefarious angel.

  The singing ends as abruptly as it starts. And in the silence, I'm sure she can hear my breath. But I don't care. It's time. I step into the room, her back is turned to me, and my shadow is cast against her, a me-shaped silhouette, like she is being enveloped by me. I wish.

  Her shoulders heave with her deep breaths, her fingers still pointing to the ground where her ukulele lies.

  And there's no more time.

  "You are astounding," I say. Knowing whatever word I use, it's not enough.

  She spins around, surprised but not scared.

  She must have known I've been listening all this time. All these days. I take a step forward and my shadow grows smaller, almost fitting completely against the line of her body

  "Hi," I say. Like I've said it a million times. "I'm Jez.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes scanning every inch of my face, like she's trying to build a 3D copy of it in her head. I don't say anything and just stand there and let her look at me. It gives me the chance to stare at her in turn.

  She looks exactly the same. Save for a thinning of her hair on one side, it's like we're back sitting in that side alley three months ago.

  And all I'm wanting to do is kiss her.

  Her eyes travel back to mine and she licks her lips.

  "I remember," she says.

  My heart leaps into the air and somersaults. Pumping blood in all directions.

  "You remember? You remember me from that night?" Why didn’t she come and tell me?

  She drops her eyes. "Oh, no. I... um, you told me your name was Jez the other da
y, when you came into my room. I mean I remember that." Oh. And my heart plummets. "But...” She lifts her chin and we lock eyes again. “I think I must remember you from somewhere else as well."

  I can’t help but smile. There’s something so vulnerable about her, I remind myself to be gentle. I wish I’d thought to do so that first time I went into her room, but I hadn’t known what was going to happen.

  "Do you want me to tell you?"

  She doesn't answer and just bends slightly to pick up her ukulele and cradle it under her left arm. Each movement is precise, fluid, gentle.

  "To be honest? I don't.” And she walks past me and sits on one of the couches.

  I give myself that moment, my back turned to her, to react. She doesn’t want to know you, Jez. What are you going to do about it?”

  "I'm sorry, please don't be hurt."

  I spin around and try not to shrug. "I'm... I'm not."

  "Yes, you are, I can see it in your face."

  Of course she can. Why would I doubt that?

  "It's just, I’m kind of sick of people telling me things that I should remember. Do you have any idea how disconcerting that is? That people think they know you better than you know yourself? Well, I’m tired of it. What I feel now, in the present is valid, regardless of what I might’ve said or felt in the past. I hate that the people disregard what I’m saying now, just because the past me may have said or felt something different. Well, fuck her. She’s done. And I’m here.” She stops to take a deep breath. I’m thrilled that she’s talking. And it’s taking everything I have not to tell her, she hasn’t changed at all.

  She continues, "So, if you tell me something that happened to me, to us that I don't remember, I don't know what I can trust about how I feel about you now. And right now. I just want to pretend we're meeting for the first time. And make my own judgment. Can we maybe do that just for now?" Her eyes round out, soft, almost trusting, almost begging.

  I nod twice and walk over, standing by the couch in front of her. "Of course. We can do exactly that? Except..."

  She looks up to me, her eyes narrowed, as if ready to be disappointed, "Except?"

  "Well, if we've just met, you have an advantage."

  "What is that?"

  "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

  The worried look in her eyes fades instantly and a smile spreads across her face like a Saharan sunset. Brilliant, burning, and pure.

  "My name is Noémie. Noémie De Bruyn.”

  "Hi, Noémie. I’m Jez. Jeremy. Jeremy Petrescu. It's very nice to meet you."

  "You say that now, but we've only just met." she says and gives me a wink. And we’re back in that mens room, and I’m falling for her so fast, I’m shoving my hand down a urinal trough. I’m doomed. I’m so fucking doomed.

  She’s looking at me, like she’s waiting for a response.

  "You're right. So far, you seem alright. But I can't wait to find out what a giant sniveling cow you are," I say, my mouth shooting off without my brain.

  I turn to her, and her jaw has fallen open. Shit, I can't believe I said that. It's just I feel so comfortable with her, like...like we've known each other for a hundred years.

  And yet, I have to remember, she feels like she's only known me for 30 seconds.

  "Shit, I'm sorry. I was just joking. I can’t always control my mouth."

  "It's okay,” she waves her hand, dismissing my comment. “I barely heard it, I was just thinking how you probably have the nurses crush up your medication and put them in a Yoohoo because you’re too scared to swallow whole pills.”

  She gives me a sweet smile, fluttering her eyelashes at me.

  And it’s on.

  "Well, I bet that you eat chocolate bars with a knife and fork."

  "Fair. But not as bad as you probably wearing floral nighties to bed, complete with curlers in that over coiffed hair of yours.”

  "Hey, that's going too far. Don’t be jealous of my sexy hair. But what did I expect from someone who probably has a boyfriend called Norman who’s only claim to coolness is being vice-captain of his school’s math team. And apologizes when he orgasms."

  She gasps and I think I might’ve hit a nerve.

  "At least he doesn't wear football cleats during sex for traction,” she almost yells.

  "That... actually sounds like a great idea, thanks!"

  She stares at me, her mouth agape, her eyes twinkling - like a Christmas at midnight. And the talk of sex has my mind flashing images it shouldn’t be at this time.

  She bursts into laughter for almost a whole minute and I join her.

  "We really sound like a couple of real catches,” she pants, trying to catch her breath.

  "Yeah, anyone would be happy to have either us." In that moment, I can't help but think of her boyfriend. And where he is, and if she remembers him at all. Or if I'm the only man who's fallen through the cracks in her memory.

  "Jez?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How did you know I don't like falafels?"

  The question is loaded. And I want to answer too much, but I also don’t want to fuck this up and not respect her wishes from before.

  "Do you really want to know?"

  She doesn't say anything, but there's a longing in her eyes. So I make a decision.

  "You told me."

  "I did?"

  "Yeah. You said if you never had a falafel again for the rest of your life, you’d could live with that. You said that your day had been spent having 30 second conversations with strangers about beans and garlic sauce. It's too bad, though, that you don't like falafels ‘cos I heard Frederico’s makes really good ones." I smile, remembering.

  "I told you where I work?'

  Damn. Busted. I could lie... but I don't think I ever could to this woman. Not like this. Not to take advantage of her. So I tell her the truth.

  "Um, no. You didn't actually tell me that. I, er, I tracked you down. Based on some of the things you said."

  "You tracked me down?"

  I just nod. I don't know what else to say.

  "Wow. Weird. Why?"

  "I… don’t think you want to know.” I tracked you down because after knowing you for ten minutes, I couldn’t see a future of my life without you in it. And now you’re here. And I’ll do anything to make sure I never lose you again.

  "Jez?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I think I've had enough of reminiscing again. Let's go back to our pact."

  I let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, I can do that."

  It's quiet again. But not awkward. It's hard not to get lost in the past, me thinking about what happened that night. And her, trying to figure out it all. If I’m this confused I can only imagine how hard it is for her.

  So, I try to make it better

  "Noémie, you play the ukulele beautifully. You really, really do."

  She smiles, and her hand strokes along the curve of the instrument in her hand with a love I understand as a fellow musician.

  "You really think so?” There’s nothing to do but nod. “Thank you. My grandpa taught me."

  "Wow, he played?"

  "Yeah. When I was little, my grandpa used to take care of me when my parents were at work, and I'd spend the whole day following him around like a little puppy. He had a collection of ukes, but there was one, one special one that he kept by his armchair. It was the only thing he brought with him when his family immigrated here from Belgium when he was 7 years old. He loved that thing."

  "Loved?"

  "Yeah, he passed away about 5 years ago. He had cancer." Her voice is wistful, but not sad.

  "Did he ever hear you play?"

  "Oh yeah,” she nods enthusiastically. “He taught me everything I know about music. I hear him in everything I play."

  Her openness touches me. Her ability to share these things that make up the very fabric of her. She’s forming more and more into this living, breathing, tangible being in front of me, instead of just a memory that keeps me company at night. I
t makes me want to be a part of it, and the only way to do that is to cut myself open and bleed.

  "I lived with my grandparents when I was little as well." I pause. I don't want pity. But something tells me, she will understand. "My parents died in a car crash when I was about nine years old. My little sister and I moved in with them after... they were gone."

  "Oh. That must've been hard for you."

  "I’m not really sure how I’m here today, to be honest. There have been times, especially in the beginning, I just wanted to join them.”

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand and then lets go.

  “So, why are you still here?”

  I tell her something only one other person knows. “I have a baby sister, Anca. I pretty much do everything because of her. She doesn’t like that. She’s 22 now.” I laugh a little, at how many times Anca tells me to get my own life and stop meddling in hers. “But after a while, it was for my grandparents as well. They made it easier than it should’ve been. They're great. I really miss them. I couldn’t repay them for everything by… causing them more pain.”

  "Are they still alive?"

  "Yes. They live in Romania. That's where we're from."

  She smiles. “Oh, okay, I detect a tiny accent. Not sure from where though. Romania. I’ve only ever seen pictures. It looks beautiful.”

  I nod. “It’s the most stunning place on earth.”

  “So, that's where you should go... when you get out of here. Go visit them. Go home.”

  I haven’t thought of Romania as home in, literally, decades. But something about the way she says it makes an overwhelming homesickness wash over me. I have a craving for the rugged hills and small, warm cottages of my childhood. So much so, I feel a prickling in the back of my eyes that I try to suppress. I give myself a few minutes waiting for it to subside then my mouth opens before I can stop myself. "Would you come with me?"

  "To Romania? To visit your grandparents?"

  I shrug.

  She just grins. "Sure, why not? I always wanted to go to Europe. Mostly France and Belgium but I don’t mind swinging by Romania.”

  And my mind ignores the list of reasons why not, and just allows me to enjoy the moment.

  I reach over and my fingers stroke up and down the strings of her ukulele, emitting an almost inaudible sound, more like an aura that hangs in the air like an invisible wind chime.