When I Was Yours, When You Were Mine

by Evie Sinclair

  Sammy’s a home for me. When your physical house and your parents don’t hold the feeling of home, you find other people, and places. Sammy is one of them. We could be anywhere in the world, but her voice brings me home; grounds me, and let’s me know I’m not alone. I hope I do the same for her.

  CHAPTER eight

  Tonight was my favorite set of Kingston’s. Even though I’m feeling every emotion from hurt to confused to annoyed, you can’t deny someone’s talent when it’s right in front of you.

  People lose their minds for him, a few get thrown out by security. We get put in a roped off area an hour after he finishes.

  He’s good at mingling and talking to people. He thinks he’s not, but he’s also modest, so it makes sense. I’m not great at it, but I’m not an absolute dud either.

  I sit with a group of young musicians. Michael, a drummer from New York sits next to me, we’ve been talking all night. I finish my drink and Michael offers to get me another. I pass on the offer, wanting to stay level headed.

  Kingston has spent the night intermittently checking up on me. Which would be fine, if I wasn’t annoyed at him. The annoyed feeling began the moment he started singing. It was my third drink in and I told Michael that I thought Kingston’s talent was - frustratingly fucking fucked.

  Michael’s in my ear, describing the difference between drumming parts, when Kingston appears beside me, again.

  “You okay?” Kingston asks. Michael keeps talking, he doesn’t seem to notice Kingston.

  “I’m good.” I offer him a smile, but it’s fake and it feels fake, so I stop.

  “You tired?” he asks.

  “Not really. You?”

  “No. I slept a lot today.” His boyish grin flashes across his face.

  face doesn’t register any emotional change. I’m simply staring at him, completely emotionless. I’m trying to smile, but it’s not showing on my face.

  A small frown shows on his forehead, he leans in closer to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He smells like beer, his breath warm against my cheek.

  I want to kiss you. I want you to want to kiss me.

  “I’m good, King. Thanks for checking in.”

  He’s been talking to a woman called Lana for most of the night. She’s made her way over, two wines in hand. He smiles at her, they whisper between each other, and he takes the wine.

  “As long as you’re okay?” he confirms.

  I nod, assuring him so.

  Michael’s still talking to me about drums, and I go back to nodding and looking enthralled in what he’s saying.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks suddenly, diverting his topic of conversation.

  “Ummm - ” I glance around. Other people from the table are leaving, too. I don’t see Kingston at first, and then I see him following Lana up a set of stairs, her hand in his. I let the sight settle in my gut, the feeling of bile rising up my throat. “Okay.” My breath feels staggered.

  Grabbing my things, I follow Michael out the side door, making our way to the street.

  Michael books us an Uber and I clamber in as soon as it arrives.

  We sit in silence, the car barrelling through side streets. I think about my hand in Kingston’s and how at the time I thought it so special, this beautiful moment in this messy fucking world - how tiny my hands were compared to his - how his covered my jagged past. I bet her hands are smaller, I bet it makes more sense for them.

  I bet she doesn’t sit weirdly on the ends of beds; I bet she crawls up them and claims her prize.

  I bet she doesn’t have a twin brother who is Kingston’s best friend.

  My cell vibrates in my lap, a message from Kingston - Where’d you go?

  I reply - I have keys. See you later if not tomorrow

  A call comes through straight away.

  “Hey,” I answer, trying to sound less emotional than I feel.

  “Where are you?” Kingston’s tone is serious and it catches me off guard.

  “I have keys - ”

  “ - Mae. Where are you?”

  I look at Michael beside me, texting. “Where are we going?” I ask him.

  “Lincoln Park.” He doesn’t glance up from his cell.

  “In an Uber to Lincoln Park,” I repeat to Kingston.

  “What address?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, Kingston.”

  “Please get out. I’ll book you a car back to ours.”

  Back to ours. The sound of that hits me in the chest like falling into freezing cold water, unexpected and fast.

  “I kind of want to go to Lincoln Park,” I say, not even believing it myself.

  “Do you?” Kingston asks.

  “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.

  “I’m not going to have a good night - not knowing where you are.”

  “Oh. This again.” I laugh, irritated. “You can do whatever you want.” I freeze, taking a deep breath before I ask my next question. “Did you fuck her, Kingston? And now it’s done and you realize you forgot to keep tabs on me? And I’m gone and you haven’t lived up to your bodyguard duties?”

  Kingston suppresses a throaty groan. “No. But we went to the bar together, we’re staying together, and you left without telling me. I’m trying to be a good friend.”

  “Thank you for that, but I’m okay. I promise. And if I’m not, I’ll work it out.” I hang up on him, and turn my cell on do-not-disturb.

  I wipe salty tears from my cheeks, and listen to the hum of the car, and the sound of Michael tapping obsessively on his cell.

  When we pull up to an industrial apartment block, Michael holds the door open for me. My eyes sting from wiping the fallen mascara from them. He either hasn’t noticed I’m crying, or doesn’t care to mention it.

  The apartment is cold and spacious, full of instruments and paintings.

  I wander around, looking at them.

  “My roommate made those. All recycled stuff she finds around.” Michael brings me a beer and watches me as I look at the artwork hung on the walls.

  “They’re amazing,” I say. “She’s definitely got her own unique style. I love that.”

  Michael nods, but doesn’t respond. I follow him upstairs, sipping on the crappy beer.

  His room surprises me, it’s different to the rest of the place. It’s got books stacked high toward the ceiling, and it’s cozy and warm.

  I sit on his bed, looking over the books. The bed dips, Michael sits down close to me and I can tell he’s about to kiss me - unlike all the almost moments with Kingston, Michael kisses me without hesitation.

  His breath tastes like cigarettes and cheap mints. As he deepens the kiss, I hold tight to my beer. I try to relax, letting him kiss me harder and faster. Coming up for air, I place my beer on the floor and scoot back on the bed. He moves his body above mine and I realize that he is the first person I’ve kissed since Dale.

  “I’ve wanted to get you naked all night,” he confesses, unbuttoning my blouse. “Your body is insane.” His thumb flicks across my nipple.

  Another thud to my chest - how did I get here - kind of feelings sweep through my body. My arms feel numb, and not a good numb. A broken numb. A kind of numb that if I don’t get up right now from under this man, from this bed, and this cold spacious house, it will eat me whole.

  I push back on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I feel sick,” I respond, instinctively, trying to re-button my blouse. I get up, pace the room, and reach for my bag that I dropped by the door.

  Michael watches me from his bed.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.” I leave without another word.

  I race down to the street and walk around until I find a busier area where I order an Uber, hoping I’ve remembered the address correctly.

  It isn’t until I’m opening the front door of the urban house that the tiniest of feeling comes back into my limbs.

  Kingston jumps up from the couch the moment I step insid
e. He looks even more exhausted than yesterday morning.

  “Mae.” He strides toward me and stops short, taking in my body language.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m good,” I say, quickly. “I’m good.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “Were you waiting up for me?” I ask.

  “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

  “That’s kind of you,” I say, disconnected.

  “I’m sorry about tonight.” Kingston looks defeated.

  “What about it?” I ask.

  “Leaving you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to stay with me.”

  “I know, but I should have - ”

  “ - You can sleep with whoever you want, Kingston. It’s fine by me. And as long as you’re off again with Taylah, then I’m guessing it would be fine by her?” I ask.

  “Taylah?” He looks confused.

  “Yeah - on again, off again, Taylah.”

  He frowns. “She’s my on again, off again PA. I use her to help me organize things when I can’t be bothered, or when I’m too busy. But usually I prefer to do it myself. I’m kind of embarrassed to even have an assistant,” he says.

  My mouth forms an ‘O’. “I thought …” He shakes his head. “Well then, you can sleep with whoever you want. It’s fine by Taylah and I.” I half-heartedly joke.

  Kingston looks at the ground, his feet bare on the floorboards.

  A flush of emotion rises and my eyes burn with fresh, hot tears. I wipe them before they can fall, but more follow, demanding to be free.

  “Mae - ” Kingston moves to me, his hands on my shoulders, trying to make eye contact.

  “Please don’t.” I move from his touch.

  “Fuck,” He mumbles under his breath.

  We stand in between the living room and the kitchen.

  I let myself cry, my arms wrapped around my stomach.

  “Mae - ”

  “That guy tonight was my first kiss since Dale,” I admit.

  “You kissed him?” Kingston asks, a pained expression on his face.

  “Please don’t pretend like I’ve done something wrong when you can’t keep yours in your pants either.”

  “I didn’t sleep with her, Mae.” His voice is low and gravely. I look up at him. “We - I - we kissed, that’s all. And I felt nothing.” He finishes. I bite my lip to stop it from quivering. “I can sit across from you and feel a hundred different things and, now, I kiss someone else and I feel nothing. Nothing, Mae.” He looks concerned. “What if I never feel anything for anyone, again?”

  “Well that’s a little dramatic.” I wipe away tears that are still roaming my cheeks. “Maybe you weren’t compatible with her?” I hiccup.

  He watches me. “You make me feel more than I ever knew was possible. I’ve never felt that with anyone.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You. Always … you.” He’s frustrated. He moves back to the couch, rests his face in his hands, rubs at the stubble forming.

  “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious you make me feel the same way.” I stand in front of him.

  He looks up at me, shakes his head. “This is wrong. I can’t feel this for you, Mae. I can’t. I’ve always looked after you. I’ve always saved you from people like me.”

  “Like you?”

  “People who want to rip your clothes off and kiss every inch of your body.”

  My breathing stops, I miss one, and two, and three intakes and need to catch up.

  Every part of my body that was numb on that bed with Michael, is now on fire, intense, burning heat. “My clothes off?” I manage to ask.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself again, he keeps rubbing at his face with his palms. “Pretend I never said that.”

  “I’m going to find it hard to forget …” I can’t help but be truthful.

  He looks at me pointedly. “I’ve been drinking,” he admits.

  “Same,” I say.

  I haven't moved from where I stand across from him.

  He licks his lips, he takes me in, his forehead creasing. I glance down, the buttons on my blouse are incorrectly matched up, my lace bra on show.

  He focuses on my chest for a moment. “You kissed him?” he asks me, again.

  “You kissed her?” I counter back.

  We hold the silence in our own silent admissions.

  “His body was against yours?” His drunk frustration gives way to a vulnerable sadness.

  “Her body was against yours?” I repeat his question.

  “I hate the idea of his hands on you, his mouth on you. I fucking hate it.” He shakes his head.

  He moves quickly and meets me in the middle. His hands cupping both sides of my face.

  “I haven't kissed anyone since Dale and it felt wrong,” I admit.

  “Because it wasn’t me.” For someone who is usually modest and humble, his cocky assurance sounds good on his lips.

  “Because he wasn’t you …” I agree. “I thought you’d slept with her.” I lower my head, his hands still cupping my cheeks.

  He lifts my face up with two fingers under my chin and I meet his eyes.

  “I couldn’t do it and I didn’t want to.” His thumb traces my cheek, wipes away rogue tears. “I want to kiss you,” he says.

  “Every inch of me?” My voice is barely audible.

  “You have to forget I said that,” he mumbles. I bite my lip, again. “I want to kiss you, but not tonight.”

  “No, not tonight,” I agree. “I’m sweaty and sad, and we’ve got other people on our lips.”

  He groans, closing his eyes. “How about we shower?” he asks. My eyes are wide, my mouth agape. “Not together,” he corrects himself. “I can’t shower with you.” I watch him. “For many R-rated reasons,” he finishes.

  I laugh, my hands on my hips, my body a confusion of sexual frustration and guilt.

  “You are everything I’ve ever and always wanted, and I’ve tried every second of every day to deny that.”

  “Your drunk confessions are giving me an ego.” His hands are still cupping my cheeks and I place my hands over his.

  “Sober me has thought about kissing you many more times than drunk me,” he jokes

  I feign shock, “No!” But, my heart races with intensity.

  ◆◆◆

  Waking up the next morning, I’m groggily aware of arms wrapped around me, warm hands on my tummy, softly under my sweatshirt.

  It takes me a moment to remember last night, meeting downstairs after we’d both showered, confessing that I didn’t want to sleep alone. Fully clothed, Kingston wrapping me up, holding me tight as I cried, again - for what? - I don’t exactly know. But, there was an understanding, a coming home, a catharsis through finally being so close to him.

  “Morning,” Kingston mumbles into the nape of my neck. A delicate, intimate connection I don’t expect.

  I clasp my hand over my mouth which needs water and toothpaste.

  “Morning.”

  I get up and make my way to the bathroom, drink some water and swirl toothpaste around.

  When I crawl back in bed Kingston grins at me, sleepily. “I did the same earlier.”

  “I drank a lot last night.”

  “Me, too,” He agrees. We lie in silence. “I meant everything I said," he confesses, as if he can read my thoughts.

  I gulp back an imaginary sized lump sitting in my throat. “I did, too.”

  “I don’t know where this can go from here,” he begins, and I feel my brow pinching, confused. “But, I know it feels good - you here, me here - like this.” His voice is gravelly, vibrating deep in his chest and through me as we lie close.

  “Logan will always be an issue?” I ask quietly.

  “Let’s not talk about him right now.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting Logan to be an issue at all. Selfishly wishing him and Kingston never knew one another, that I could be Kingston’s, and Logan was merely an outsider whose o
pinion was invalid.

  CHAPTER nine

  The next night - exhaustion aside - Kingston’s Toronto gig is on fire. The nine hour plus drive was long, and I asked him multiple times why he’d booked both shows so close together. He grumbled each time telling me he wished he hadn’t.

  But, being here, witnessing the fans tonight, it was worth it.

  It’s a larger venue and when he finishes his set he leaves the stage to a back room.

  I message him - You should play on little sleep and a hangover more often

  He replies quickly - It hurts so bad. And then another - Where are you?

  I’m about to reply when a hand lands on my shoulder. I must look shocked when I glance up at the guy leering over me, because he removes his hand quickly.

  “Sorry. I thought you were leaving,” he yells over the music.

  I frown. “I am.”

  “I saw you in the crowd!”

  “Okay.”

  “I like the way you dance!”

  “Okay,” I repeat. “Thanks.” I glance around, looking for Kingston. “I have to meet a friend.” I motion to the exit.

  “I’ll come outside, too. My friend needs some fresh air.” I realize the girl standing next to him is looking at me with an eager smile on her face.

  I watch them, confused. “It’s okay …” But they’re already shifting me toward the door.

  I manage to message Kingston moments before we leave - Outside. Meet me please.

  “I’m Grayson! This is Katie!” The guy is still yelling even though we’re outside.

  I look around for Kingston. “Mae,” I half-heartedly tell them.

  “Where you from?” Katie asks.

  “Seattle.” I find myself frowning at Katie, unsure about this whole situation.

  “I’m from Georgia.” Her smile is unsettling.

  “Are you here alone?” Grayson asks.

  “No. I came with a friend. He’s meeting me out here.”

  “You looked alone in there,” he states.

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “How would you know that?”

  “Like I said - I was watching you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s meant to be flattering, but it’s kind of creepy.” I’m exhausted from the driving and the late nights, and I need to sleep. He doesn’t look impressed at me calling him creepy. “I’m sure you’re not creepy. What you said was creepy,” I explain.