by Levine, Nina
And they do. Thank fuck.
I almost inhale the coffee, it’s that damn good, and as I stare out of the café while drinking it, some lines come to me. Of course, I don’t have any paper, or a pen or even my phone to get them down, but I spot that the girl at the table next to me has what I need. She’s studying what looks to be psychology by the textbook she has open in front of her.
Leaning across to get closer to her, I catch her attention and ask, “Could I possibly borrow some paper and a pen?”
She scowls at me. “Dude, seriously . . . you just interrupted me in the middle of something really fucking important. Thanks very much.”
God. Bitch much? But I do still want a pen and paper so I paste a regretful look on my face and say, “Sorry, babe, but I desperately need pen and paper. I promise not to bug you again if you could help me out.”
“Did you really just call me babe?”
Fuck, she’s a tough one to crack. Usually women are not this hard. I hold my hands up defensively. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “Why do you look like shit?” she asks, throwing me completely off track.
I stumble over the words. “Ah, it’s called a hangover.”
She shakes her head. “No, it looks like more than a hangover. Spill. If you want my pen and my paper, I wanna know what is wrong with you.” She shrugs. “We can call it research for my next psych assignment.”
Assessing her, I figure she’s not going to budge on this. She seems like that kind of chick – the kind who drives a hard fucking bargain for everything. Kind of like Presley usually is. “Fine, but can I have the pen and paper now before I lose the fucking line in my head?”
“What are you? A poet or something?”
My lips turn up in half a smile and I chuckle. “Something like that.” I hold my hand out and she gives me what I’ve asked for. I quickly scribble the two lines down and then look back up at her and give her what she’s after. “My sister just died and I’ve been a jerk to my girlfriend. You happy now?”
This chick is nothing like most people. Most people would listen to those words, say sorry for your loss, and leave you the fuck alone. This chick doesn’t. “Why are you being a jerk to your girlfriend?”
I stare at her. “Seriously? I tell you my sister died, and you still wanna talk to me, and all you wanna talk about is the fact I’ve been a jerk?”
She shrugs. She’s really into this shrugging. “I figure you’re covered where your sister is concerned, as in I bet everyone keeps asking if you’re okay. But I bet the only person who knows you’re being a jerk to your girlfriend is your girlfriend, so no one’s pulling you into line over that shit. The universe has aligned for you today, my friend, ‘cause I’m here to bust your balls and sort you out.”
Fuck me. Can this day get any worse? I put the pen down and cross my arms over my chest. Nodding at the spare chair at my table, I say, “You wanna settle in for this?”
She picks up her writing pad and pen and moves to my table. “Shoot,” she commands, pen poised.
“What the hell are you writing down?”
Raising her eyes to me, she answers, “I told you, this is research for my assignment.”
“I thought you were shitting me.”
She frowns and cocks her head. “What? You think I just ask random guys about their problems out of the goodness of my heart? Fuck no. I’ve got an assignment on men and I have to research how they deal with their shit. I took a gamble that you had shit going on when I asked you, and, low and behold, you do.”
Jesus, I should just get up and walk out right now.
I should.
But she’s intrigued me, and sucked me right in.
I lean forward. “I tell you what . . . we get question for question. I answer yours and you answer mine.”
Surprise colours her face. “This sounds interesting. I’m not really sure what you’d want to know about me, but sure.”
I nod. “You go first.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jett. And you?”
“Vivienne. So, why have you been a dick to your girl?”
“Because she’s on my case to talk about my sister.”
“And why does that cause you to be a dick?”
“Wait.” I hold my hand up. “Don’t I get the next question?”
“Nope. You didn’t answer my question fully, so until we get to the bottom of that question, you don’t get anymore.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, quietly impressed at her balls and not so quietly annoyed at her being like a dog with a bone over this. “I might just leave now, I think.” I’ve got pens and paper back at the studio and it’d be a lot easier to go back there than keep putting up with this just so I can use hers here. I unfold my arms and push my chair back so I can stand.
Her hand lands on my wrist as she tries to halt me. When my eyes meet hers, I see genuine concern there and that is the thing that stops me. “Jett, I bet you’re going through a lot right now and I also bet you’re shutting down and trying to deal with it all by yourself. Most of the men I’ve already interviewed admit they hate to talk about their stuff. But you know the thing I’ve discovered throughout this whole research project? There’s a reason why we shut down. And it’s not just men who do it. I also do it, but only when there’s something holding me back, something that scares the absolute shit out of me and makes me not want to admit stuff.” She pauses for a moment, her hand still on my wrist, and my attention remains completely on her. “What is your greatest fear here? What is keeping you from letting your girlfriend in?”
My heart beats faster in my chest, my head buzzes with confusion, and all I can do is stare at her while her words sink in. Suddenly, it’s stiflingly hot in here and I rub my forehead with the back of my arm. I have to get out of here so I stand. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta go,” I mutter as I grab the paper with my two lines on it. I leave in such a blur that I don’t even know if she says anything as I leave.
What is your greatest fear?
Her words echo in my mind as I stride back to the studio.
I don’t even want to think about my greatest fear, let alone say it out loud.
Shit.
I double-check my watch to make sure I read it right, and, unfortunately, I did. It’s after seven at night, and I should have been home hours ago. I hadn’t made any promises but I can guess that Presley will be wondering where I am if she’s still at my place.
After my conversation with Vivienne, I spent a lot of the afternoon overthinking and overanalysing every damn thought in my head. I’m about ready to go insane. It completely threw me off track and as a result, I haven’t finished writing one song. Hell, I haven’t even finished half of it.
The taxi ride home takes less than twenty minutes, and as I ride the elevator up to my apartment, I briefly wonder if I want Presley to be there or not. On the one hand, I’m desperate to see her and touch her, but on the other hand, I’m not sure I can last through her questions much longer. I’m concerned I’m going to snap at her and that’s the last thing I want to do.
I unlock my door and step inside to find the apartment alive with light.
She’s here.
Closing the door softly, I hesitantly walk towards the kitchen, but when I get there, she’s nowhere to be seen. I search some more and find her reading on my bed. When she hears me approach, she lays her book on her chest and looks at me.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft, and I’m relieved not to hear any accusation or anger in it.
I give her a smile. “Hi, baby,” I say as I sit on the end of the bed and take my shoes off.
She doesn’t say anything else and I begin to feel sick to my stomach. She’s pissed at me. And rightly so. I was an asshole to her this morning. But fuck, to bring it up so I can apologise means opening a can of worms. And I don’t want to open that can of worms right now.
Instead, I turn to look at her and as my gaze skims her body, the need to
be in her consumes me. I move up the bed so I’m over her. My breathing picks up as the anticipation of having her builds in me. Even the fucking t-shirt of mine she’s wearing turns me on. Seeing my woman in my shirt is one of the hottest things ever.
I run my finger over the exposed skin of her stomach where the shirt ends, and ask, “Have you got any idea how turned on I am right now?” My eyes are focused on hers and I fight the desire to rip the shirt and her panties off and thrust straight into her.
A look clouds her face, and I struggle to read it. Disappointment maybe. Or even annoyance. Her hands come to my chest and she pushes me off her and swiftly moves off the bed. Staring down at me, she says, “I may have fallen in love with you but I’m not loving the way you blow me off and then come home just to fuck me. God knows I’m all down for sex, but at the moment it’s beginning to feel like I only exist to you for that.”
Her words crawl all over me. Hurt, anger and disappointment prod at me and beg me to listen to what she’s saying, and I try, but my own anger and grief rear their heads and cause me to retaliate with awful words. Scooting off the bed, I stand in front of her and reply, “I think I deserve a little understanding this week, Presley. For fuck’s sake, my sister just died, and I’m trying to figure out how the hell to deal with that. You want to do all this talking about it, but did you ever stop and think about what I might want or need?”
This only serves to fire her up. “Don’t you realise that all I have been thinking about is what you want and need? I’m trying to be here for you, Jett, however you need me, but I think you’re avoiding me, and I’m not sure why.” Her eyes fill with a depth of hurt that whooshes through my stomach and makes me feel like the biggest bastard on Earth. Her voice cracks a little as she hugs herself and adds, “I don’t even care if you don’t talk to me about it, I just don’t want you to avoid me anymore. It makes me feel like shit.”
Fuck.
And then Vivienne’s words from today slap me in the face.
What is your greatest fear?
And the answer swirls around in my gut, demanding I pay attention to it when all I want to do is get the fuck out of here and avoid facing this.
My voice is stuck in my throat and I can’t form a reply to what she’s just said. She’s staring at me, waiting, and nothing comes.
Shaking her head, she says, “I just told you I love you and you don’t even have anything to say back to that?”
Denial pulses through my body.
I can’t do this.
Without another word, I stalk out to the kitchen.
I need to get out of here.
“Where are you going?” she demands, following me. Suffocating me.
Grabbing my keys off the counter, I swing around to face her. “I can’t do this, Presley.”
Disbelief flashes in her eyes and her body sags a little. “Can’t do what?”
I madly point my finger between the two of us. “This.”
“You’re walking away from this? From us?” Her voice bounces off the walls and echoes through me. The ache of her hurt ricochets through my body, amplifying my own pain.
“Yes.” I still and watch her, wanting to move, yet frozen to the spot.
What the fuck have I just done?
Where the fuck did those words come from?
Watching her process that is like watching something in slow motion. The realisation of what I’ve said passes over her face and then through her body, and then it’s as if her brain kicks into gear. And there’s nothing like a woman burnt by love. “You’re going to regret this, Jett. You need me, but you know what? By the time you figure that out, I might be long gone.”
She turns on her heel and stalks into my bedroom. Less than five minutes later, she comes back out, fully dressed, grabs her bag and keys, and with one last glare at me, and muttering something about ‘bloody men who have their heads up their ass’, she walks out of my life.
38
Presley
“Have you heard from him?” Erin asks as she leans back in the massage chair and closes her eyes. Her shoulders begin to vibrate as the chair starts working through its massage. We’re having a girls’ day out and first order of business is a pedicure and manicure.
My heart hurts thinking about her question. “No.”
Her eyes blink open and she turns to look at me with disbelief. “It’s been two weeks. I can’t believe he still hasn’t called you. What was all that bullshit about you being the one and he’d do anything to make you give him a chance? That fucker, he gets you all into him and then just cuts and runs.”
Through my pain, I can still manage a smile for my friend. “I love how you’re always on my side, babe.”
Her indignation is burning bright. “Well, I’m pissed at him. Don’t get me wrong, I like him, but Jesus, he’s going to have some major sucking up to do when he gets his shit together and comes crawling back to you.”
“You’re assuming he will come back… I’m not so sure of it.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Really? That guy has it bad for you. This is just his grief talking, right?”
“I’ve rung him and sent him a few texts but he hasn’t replied to any of them. I think he’s done.” Saying the words out loud hurts even more than thinking them, and I begin to cry. Wiping the tears away, I mutter, “Fuck, I hate crying over a man.” But as mad as I might be with him for the way he’s handled this, I’m so worried about him and his grief. It hurts me more to think about him out there coping with his sister’s death without someone to help him through that.
“You know what I’ve been wondering?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why you just let him walk away. I watched the way you fought for Lennon and your marriage, and I actually thought you felt more for Jett than Lennon so I’m wondering why you didn’t fight harder for him.” She’s watching me closely and sounds puzzled, and I don’t blame her because I’ve asked myself this same question.
“I felt so small when he rejected me. In hindsight, I know it was his grief talking but at the time, all it felt like was one more rejection from a man.” My eyes well up again. “And fuck, I can’t take another rejection. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to get away from him so that I didn’t have to hear him say again that he didn’t want us. That he didn’t want me.”
Her eyes soften. “Men are so dumb.”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, but so are we. Things get said and done in the heat of the moment that you wish you could take back, and I wish I could take back the fact I just left that night. I wish I could go back and fight with him some more and push him to make a different choice.” And I wish he would answer his damn phone or reply to my texts.
“Chances are, though, that he wouldn’t have. It sounds to me like Jett has to work out whatever shit is going on in his mind before he’ll come to his senses.”
“So you don’t think I should go and see him?” I’ve been thinking about it for days but I’m not sure I could handle another rejection from him.
She contemplates my question and then gives me a pained look. “I honestly don’t know. My concern is how you would cope if he pushed you away again.”
Erin knows me so well. Despite all my confidence, I’m still a fucked up, sensitive soul on the inside. Lennon saw to that, and I’m still working my way to getting my self-belief back. I lay my head back against the chair and sigh. “I probably wouldn’t cope very well,” I muse out loud.
“Give him some more time then,” she suggests, and I wonder how long he will take, if ever, to come looking for me.
Jett
* * *
“This is good news, boys,” Tom says as he shifts his gaze between all of us. He’s full of shit, though, and he knows it.
“Yeah, really fucking great news,” West says dryly. “It’s too little, too fucking late.” His body is rigid and he looks like he wants to punch something, or someone. And I can’t blame him.
“That bitch sh
ould never have made that rape allegation in the first place. And to leave it hanging for weeks before saying ‘Oh, I made this shit up to try and get money to pay for my mum’s medical bills’ is utter fucking bullshit.” Van puts his two cents in and we all nod in agreement.
Tom gives up a losing battle. “Yeah, it blows, but at least the public know the truth now.”
“The damage has been done, Tom,” I say what we’re all thinking.
He gives us all an exasperated look. “Fuck, you guys are a barrel of laughs. Are we all just going to sit around and mope, or are we going to discuss our plans going forward? I’m just trying to lift the mood a little here.”
“He’s right,” Hunter says, “All we can do now is look ahead and put this shit behind us. And what we need to decide, or at least start thinking about, is what we’re going to do about this album?” He looks at me. “Are you ready to start working on it again or do you want some more time off, Jett? And for the record, I’m on your side whatever you decide.”
“Me, too,” West agrees.
Van doesn’t say anything and I wonder if he’s going to be pissed at me for what I’m about to say. “I need some more time.”
Silence and a few nods, but still nothing from Van.
“How long are we talking?” Tom asks.
“I’m going to take off for awhile and sort through the mess in my head, but I know we need to get this album out, so maybe a month, two at the most.”
Tom thinks it through and then nods slowly. “That could work.” He looks at Van and says, “You can keep writing while he’s gone and I’m sure he’ll come back with songs, which means you guys can get straight into it when he returns and pump the album out.”