by Shey Stahl
Did I want the answer? Would it be worth it?
Licking her lips, she swallowed. Cleared her throat. Looked away. She wasn’t expecting me to press, that much was clear when she stuttered, “W-What?”
“Why. Him?” I repeated, discordant, and desperate for truth.
Her hands flew to her hips, and another eye roll followed. “Jesus Christ. Why do you want to know that? Does it really matter?” She was shouting, caught in her own lies, her tone harsh. . . angry at me knowing the truth. For once, her usually soft words were full of raw emotion. It happened when you were trying to lie. The planes of her face, her expression, they were different. I didn’t even recognize this woman. She wasn’t the sixteen-year-old girl I fell for. But this side, the one telling me lies and carrying life inside her, I’d never seen this side until today.
I swallowed down tears I wouldn’t give in to. Not for her. Not for this goddamn situation. Threatened with crushing fear, I wanted to inflict the pain she’d caused me. I wanted to show her something uglier than she had ever seen before. Give me a reason, and I’d turn into a monster.
“I don't know what you want me to say, Rev,” she said, like I should forgive her.
My betrayal spoke for me. “How could you do this to me?”
She swallowed, her own tears sliding down her reddened cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her words were cliché, and she knew it. She snorted. “I was lonely. And every time I tried to tell you, you were either too busy or too drunk to realize it.” And I guessed she was being just as honest now, too, voicing what she felt mattered, only her words didn’t match the expression on her face. The one holding fear that she let the best thing in her life go because she was too sad, too lonely, too whatever to wait for me to return. And maybe I was too caught up in my own life to see it happening. It was her lack of honesty that had been superior to my trust in her, defined and stable, yet not enough.
My heart pounded in my chest, every beat painful and a reminder of who held the power now. I stepped forward, pressing my chest to hers. Dropping my eyes from hers, they landed on her body, touched by another man. Betrayal was a funny thing. No matter who it was done by, the result was the same. It changed something inside you. “I can’t fucking believe you,” I sneered, unable to control the sudden elevation of my voice. I grabbed the front of her dress, fisting fabric. “You fucked up. You know that?”
“I know I did.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of shit storm this is going to cause for us? He’s your fucking manager, not to mention fucking married, Hensley. Did you think about any of that before you spread your goddamn legs?”
“You’re overreacting. It didn’t mean anything.” Her eyes dropped because for her, nothing was ever her fault. “And you’re not placing this blame all on me.” She stepped back, creating distance.
I hadn’t finished yet. Not a fucking chance. “I’m not the one who slept with someone else.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been faithful,” she replied, sarcasm lining her vicious tone. “I fucking hate you sometimes. You can be such a goddamn hypocrite.”
“Yet it’s your actions that have you knocked up and alone.”
Her face fell, the reality of my words sinking in. “I’m still standing here, aren’t I? I haven’t gone anywhere!”
My hand found her shoulder, pushing her back. “Leave. I don’t want you here.” When she didn’t move, I placed my palm flat against her chest, above where her heart no longer beats for me. “I never want to see you again.”
“That’s going to be difficult in this industry.”
I swallowed heavily, and I wanted to stop, shut up, but my breaking point was fast approaching. “Okay, let me rephrase it. You’re dead to me.”
My words hit. Her lashes flickered, tears surfacing. “Over one lapse in judgment?”
I held up my phone. The picture of her and Ash at a bar two nights ago. “Don’t lie.”
Another flicker. “I’m not.”
I took a step back, my arms spread wide. “You act as though your word means something.” Patting my pockets, I pulled out a cigarette.
She watched the smoldering cigarette dangling from my lips. “Why do you always have to be so mean? I’m trying to be honest with you here.”
Honest? Panic coiled in my stomach, tension burrowing in my temples. I knew this was coming the moment I saw them together six months ago. Truth was, I did nothing to stop it.
I reached up, removing the cigarette from my mouth, a bitter laugh escaping my parted lips. “You should relay that message to your pussy.”
She broke eye contact, twisting her head to the side and giving me a view of her side profile. I thought about the girl on the street. The one I met so long ago with knotted hair and clinging to a spiral notebook with her heart spilled over ripped pages. But this girl in front of me, she wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the one who made my heart constrict.
When her gaze returned, she didn’t say anything in words. My face was suddenly between her palms. I hated the way just the touch of her hands sent my heart thumping. “I don’t love him. Not like I love you.” She wasn’t saying these words to me because she wanted me to take her back. She was saying them to make herself feel better. Well, fuck that.
I blew smoke in her face. “He wouldn’t leave his wife, would he?”
She shrugged one shoulder, her future unpredictable and she knew it. Everything we thought we’d have together swirled in the heaviness between us. She knew she’d fucked up. I didn’t forgive. It wasn’t in my nature.
Leaning in, I brushed my lips to hers, the faintest of touches to seal the darkness leaking from the cracks of her tempest heart. I wanted her to kiss me back because she truly wanted to, because she needed to, because she loved me. . . but that world no longer existed for us. I would bow to no one. Something inside me screamed. I should’ve backed down. I should’ve walked away.
Before she could make sense of my touch, I stepped back. My hands shook when I replaced my cigarette between my lips. Drawing in a breath, I pushed her away.
Her eyes dissected the absence of my warmth, if not before her deceiving ways, they did now. “It’s over?” she asked, tears falling freely now.
The sharpness of what followed was expected, but truthful. My silence. I nodded, and this time, no further words were spoken.
Her expression shattered knowing I wasn’t going to change my mind. I couldn’t. She cheated on me and worse than that, she was having his baby.
Though I certainly didn’t plan on marrying Hensley, I hadn’t imagined my life with anyone else. For me, she was the one. Until now. Until nothing could possibly change my mind.
A month later, she lost the baby. I can’t say I’m relieved because it didn’t change anything.
And now she wants me back.
I don’t forgive.
I never forget.
But I’m sure it kills her to know I’m forgetting her.
Despite the circumstances, I can’t say I was the best boyfriend, and though I won’t admit this, there could have been reasons why Hensley chose the comfort of someone else. I’ve always been a bad seed, as my grandmother would say. It runs in my veins.
My arm is knocked, the amber liquid in my glass jolting, swirling to the brim but lacks the height to spill over the edge. I watch it. The way it rocks like the waves in the ocean before it finally settles to a vibration of the movement at the table. Still, I can’t look away from it. Each voice around me sends another low ripple through it.
“Revel?” This voice is louder, directed my way, in an attempt to get my attention. I don’t give the questioner the pleasure of my attention. Instead, I focus on the liquid again. “During last night’s show, it was Ms. Ash who followed Revved on the lineup. Given your rift with the pop star, do you think it’s wise for the tour manager to do that?”
I don’t know why the question’s directed at me, but I guess in some sense, I can. Everyone wants to know what I think of Red. Tr
uth is, I’m pissed off she’s here because I can’t ignore her.
I look at her father in the back of the room. The one doing nothing, and saying at all. You’re a cunt. How can that motherfucker watch as the press tears down his only daughter? I’m all for riling up Red, but that’s different. It’s expected from me. This guy is supposed to be protecting her.
My thoughts scramble, my actions slow, indifferent to the involvement around me. I should answer the question. I don’t know why the question bothers me so much.
Princess clears her throat, our eyes lock again, still not unintentional. I lean toward the microphone. “I don’t really think it fucking matters what the line-up is. Do you?” The man who asked the question begins to interject, but I’m not finished. My ruthless stare lands on the man with gray hair, slicked back and trimmed carefully. Too bad he’s about to be out of a job. “She’s an entertainer. She may not be a fucking grunge rocker or motherfucking metal. Like it or not, she’s here to give the audience what they want. Whatever that is. It’s not about what genre she sings, her label, her manager.” Lazy-lidded eyes drift to the crowd before me, shocked and uneasy, then back to evergreen-wild, waiting, wide with uncertainty. “It’s about her and her audience. They’re listening. They won’t be forever.”
“Well you know,” he says, trying to defend himself, smiling at those around him, thinking he has me backed into a corner. Nobody has me. My stare lands on his, which falters under the darkness in mine. But he continues with, “Quoting you at the Grammys you said, ‘but her lyrics say absolutely nothing other than she clearly hasn’t had her cherry popped,’ one would question why she’s even on this tour.”
Rage courses inside my veins. Fuck this motherfucker. I clench my jaw and then down the drink in front of me and then reach for my cigarettes in my pocket. “Well, I changed my fucking mind.” I blink at him with a mixture of annoyance and rage, pinning him with a look that wipes the smugness from his face. “Don’t make it personal. She’s here. She’s got an audience. Who gives a fuck? It’s a line-up. Unless you motherfuckers actually have a question, I’m done.”
Are you looking at her? Do you see the expression on her face? The uncomfortable way she shifts in her seat, reaches for her water bottle as the pink-nervousness crawls up her neckline? What about the way she tucks untamed strands behind her ears in an attempt to get a better view? What about the liar beside her? Hell, every artist at this table is looking to me, wondering where the fuck that response came from.
I want to laugh at the irony of it. The predictability they had been expecting from me. Maybe that’s why I said it. I’m not even sure.
Flooded in fluorescent lights from high above, Red’s hair shines brightly, glowing like the green in her eyes. It’s like a fucking Christmas ornament flickering in my mind. Heavy on the eyes, she blinks, unprepared for my statement.
You and me both, Red.
An hour later, we’re walking out, and once again, I’m next to her. I round the corner, discretely placing my hand on the small of her back and leading her away.
“What was that about?” she whispers, her eyes darting around the room lined with concrete walls. These venues are all the same. Bare. Cold. Distant. I can relate. She’s wearing an off-shoulder green sweater. It keeps falling off and revealing her skin to me.
“Not sure,” I mutter.
She swallows. Hard. She looks like her heart is about to jump through her chest. I don’t know this for sure, obviously, but judging by the physical indications she’s giving me, it’s looking that way. “Isn’t this bad for your image, Slade?”
I smirk, reaching for my cigarettes. I light one. Then I touch her skin. It’s like touching fire with my bare hands. She watches with intensity, doe-eyed and curious. “I’ll take my chances.” I lean in, smoke blowing over her face. Backed up against a concrete wall, the coolness hits her back, and she jumps. I smile down at her. “You can’t outrun a shadow, but you can invite it to dance.” My hiss of words only for her, holding a deeper meaning than she can understand.
“Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?” Her eyes drift over my shoulder. I don’t have to turn around to know who she’s looking at. “Are you doing this to get back at Hensley?”
I’m irrational, unjustified in my revenge, illogical and nothing she needs, yet here I am. Unable to walk away from her. Yet I challenge her with, “Am I being nice?”
Red’s tiny fist rises, knocking against my chest. She demands an explanation. “Answer the question.”
I don’t want to answer her. Maybe because I don’t know the answer, or because I want to take her fist and shove her against the wall before I kiss the anger I have for her out of me. I shrug, my expression blank. “Haven’t decided yet.” A furious blush creeps into her cheeks. My chest brushes her cleavage. “Princess,” I whisper, cupping the side of her face and pressing my forehead to hers. “But if you’re testing the waters, you better know how to swim.”
The meaning behind my words crashes over her, her body shaking against mine, breathing the same air. I don’t have to know what she’s thinking—her reaction gives it away. Her mind is spinning, trying to figure out my intentions.
“I’m not a toy,” she breathes. “Not for you.”
To an extent, she’ll never understand what it is that draws the two of us together. I’m not her playmate. I’m her monster.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” My cigarette dangles from my lips, smoke billowing through my nose, my swagger unaffected, a dry menacing rumble to my words. I could kiss her now, and there’s nothing she could, or would, do about it.
Look closely. Do you notice the blazing curiosity in her eyes? What about the harsh breathing? She wants me to react.
Dancing my fingertips along the curve of her collarbone, I drop them lower to the tops of her milky white breasts, but my touch is barely there. My eyes drag to hers, my lack of self-control makes me want to punch myself in the face. Her blush deepens before I whisper, “I meant every word.”
Our eyes lock. My heart stammers in my chest. Dripping with lust, Red licks her lips, attempting to gain some sort of control. The thought of flipping her around and fucking her up against the wall crosses my mind. By default, every action she makes is predictable. This girl, this too-good, unbearably sexy naïve girl, the one I think about constantly fucking rough, and ruthlessly, she doesn’t know I know exactly what she’s going to do for me.
UNEXPECTED RESCUE
TAYLAN
Bella sighs next to me, but it’s not a sigh of boredom. This one is something similar to the one you give when all is right in the world, and you’re content with your life. You know the one I’m talking about, right? The kind where it’s all dreamy and relaxed, and you think to yourself, damn, life is good.
Just so you know, I haven’t had that feeling in years, or maybe ever.
“Holy shit,” Bella breathes, twisting the cap off her water bottle. “This just keeps getting more and more interesting.” She pauses, takes a drink of her water and then stares at me, blinking slowly. “I’m so glad I came on this tour with you.”
I point out the obvious. “You come on every tour with me. We’ve literally been tied at the hip since birth.” It’s the truth. We were born twelve hours apart and raised together. When I wasn’t with a nanny, I was with Bella and her dad.
“Yeah, but still.” Reaching for my eye-shadow compact, she opens it, uses her finger to apply some glitter to her already bright purple eye shadow and then smiles, fluttering her lashes at me. “This one is so much cooler than the last.”
I sigh. I’m not sure I’d go with the word cooler, but whatever. I’ll let Bella have her moment while my heart returns to normal beating. . . if that’s possible.
“Why’d he say those things about you?”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror of my vanity. Who the hell is this girl staring back at me, flirting with danger? “I don’t know.” My answer’s truthful. I don’t know why.
“What are we in, kindergarten? He’s Revel. He doesn’t like anyone.” Unwrapping my sandwich, I think about Bella’s question. Revel doesn’t like anyone, let alone me. Prying open the bread of my sandwich, I see red slices and look up at Bella, scowling. I’m a picky eater, and if there’s any sign of red, I’m out. “And I thought I said no tomatoes?”
Carefully, she retrieves the tomatoes I refuse to touch let alone eat. “Yeah, but I think he doesn’t exactly hate you anymore.” She hands me back the sandwich. “Or maybe he never did. I bet it was a show from the beginning to get your attention.”
Picking up my sandwich, I inspect it to make sure there’s no sign of tomatoes now and take a bite, mumbling the words, “Lucky me,” with food in my mouth, chewing as loud as I can even though it annoys me. Bella hates hearing people eat. She’ll literally leave the room when she hears it and let me tell you, it’s all by design.
Her scowl deepens, and I fight the urge to tap my finger to the tiny crease between her brows. Everything about Bella is little. Born two months premature, she’s pocket-size and adorable, and has an attitude to go with it. Standing, she slams those baby hands on my knees. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Winking at her, I shrug. I need to be alone to process and contemplate, and if eating too loud is the answer, that’s what’ll do.
“You have sound check in an hour,” she reminds me, standing up to reach for her bag and the bottle of rum she brought back to my room with her. “Now I’m going to see about a drummer.” She slaps her own ass on the way out. “I hear they hit it harder.”
I think I might disagree on that one, but whatever.
When she’s out of the room, I pick up my cell phone and take another bite of my sandwich. I make the mistake of checking Twitter, which I told myself I wouldn’t do until the tour was over. There’s nothing worse than when you’re in the middle of self-doubt and loathing, and you check out social media.