by Tempest Phan
Damien
Three years since I’d been in the same room, hell, the same state as her. I missed her, but this was for the best.
“Yo, Dame. Come on! Kiss your girl goodbye and let’s go!”
I looked up from my phone to my bandmates.
Goddamn, baby girl! Stealing it. xx! I typed on my phone before putting it away and grabbing my guitar. Time to rehearse.
“She’s not my girl,” I said, swinging the strap over my neck and cradling the beloved Les Paul Bella had given me, all those years ago.
I heard a snort from three different directions. Who gave a shit, anyway. I didn’t need to explain myself. I strummed the guitar lightly, tuning it gently as I went.
I’d met the boys by accident. I had been bartending, illegally I might add, when Synister Maur, lead guitarist for an obscure post-hardcore/metalcore band sat at my bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks, bemoaning the fact that their lead singer had walked out on them in a hissy fit. One thing led to another, and suddenly, I was in. Lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist for Hellraiser, a quartet who could command a mildly disinterested audience of 200, maybe 203 if you included whomever the boys happened to be fucking at the time, which was pretty much a weekly rotation.
Didn’t matter. I was happy to pour my heart and soul into my music. It had always been my only solace, the only thing that could keep me going. The only thing—aside from Bella. Or because of Bella.
I’d slaved with Hellraiser for nearly a year, barely finding the time to sleep. In addition to my band commitments, all the rehearsals and small, shitty gigs, I was working two jobs in order to keep a roof over my mom’s head and to replenish the meds she never took and flushed down the toilet.
Yeah, nearly a year, and little by little, the band had become my own. I’d become the main songwriter, the rest of the guys contributing, but all too relieved to be delegating to me now. Not quite sure how Hellraiser became My Tell-Tale Heart, but it did, seemingly overnight. We still played hard, aggressive music, but instead of screaming about devils and fucking, the songs were now softened by all the raw edges of my broken heart.
“Two three four!” Lucien Drake called out while setting the tempo, before Syn let his guitar rip. I joined in, followed by Crash, the bass player, as I sang:
My baby cries
And all her tears
Are like falling
Cherry
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms . . .
Music. My solace. My salvation. My ticket back to Bella.
Bella
Usually, when I promised to do something, I pretty much did it. My word was my word. I mean, I left home on a promise, didn’t I? But I digress. There was a first time for everything. I looked at the clock. It was six forty-five. I was supposed to meet Lukas for dinner downtown at seven. I was still in my pj’s, however, with no desire to change out of them. Did I mean to stand him up? I would never mean to hurt anyone. I’d wanted to cancel but didn’t have his number. Excuses, excuses. But the very idea of being near him, having an intimate dinner, making easy conversation, made me anxious and a little panicked. How to go through the pretense of enjoying time with him, when in reality, I didn’t think I could.
I chewed on my lip.
He made me very uncomfortable.
No, he made me feel uncomfortable things.
And really, Lukas’s ego seemed untouchable. Being stood up would certainly not “hurt” him.
I turned on my Kindle app and started to read, but the words didn’t register. I couldn’t concentrate.
UNKNOWN:
Standing me up, love?
Lukas? I frowned. I hadn’t given him my number . . .
UNKNOWN:
Lest you’re wondering, your father—who, if you must know, thinks I’m quite the catch, as do all the mums in the 94108—gave me your number.
I sighed.
ME:
We have nothing in common, Stone. Let’s just save each other time and accept this isn’t ever going to happen, ok?
LUKAS:
Ah, but I beg to differ, love. I like food. I suspect you do, too. You’re sassy and charming, and, well, I can charm anyone’s pant(ies) off. Let’s see, a third . . . I’m a fabulous dancer. If I recall correctly, and I’m fairly certain I do, so are you. Love, it’s happening.
ME:
You’re impossible.
LUKAS:
Meet me at eight. If I’m such a bore—or boor—I give you permission to walk out on my sorry arse tonight.
ME:
Fine. Fine! You win. But I don’t want to go out tonight. Come over and bring some takeout. We can watch a movie. And no funny business, Stone. If you get on my nerves, I’ll throw you out.
LUKAS:
Of course I win. I haven’t graduated from intern to “esquire” for nothing, love.
LUKAS:
And PS: Fair enough on the whole throwing me out shite.
LUKAS:
And PPS: Are you going to give me your address?
ME:
Another thing we have in common: we’re both NOT stupid. If my father gave you my number, something he wouldn’t typically do, I sure as hell know he gave up everything to you.
LUKAS:
Smart girl. And PPPS: when I win, we both win . . . ;)
I rolled my eyes and stood up to make myself somehow more presentable, but not by much.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling like I was cheating on Damien. So I texted him that I needed to talk to him.
I waited, but he didn’t respond. At eight on the dot, my bell rang. I went to open the door, tying my hair back as I did. He was leaning against the frame, Chinese takeout in hand. He was dressed fairly casually, but the simple elegance underscored the fact that everything about him was expensive, from the dark designer denims, to the three-figure white tee underneath the black Saint Laurent blazer. I’d only hopped out of my Hello Kitty pj’s and thrown on a pair of black skinnies and oversized sweater. No makeup, no nothing.
Maybe I was already trying to stop things before they could even go anywhere.
He didn’t seem to mind my man-repelling outfit, however, as his eyes dragged from my face, down my body, before raking back up, and meeting my stare with one of his own. And the molten heat in his gaze telegraphed that he liked what he saw.
For the rest of the evening, the charm meter was off the charts as he proceeded to make me laugh so hard I thought I’d burst.
He set his container of Mongolian beef down and turned back to me. “Quite the most perfect Chinese.”
I thought back to when Damien would cook for me, thought back to the Chinese takeout we’d often get, but quickly swept it all away. This was not Damien. This was Lukas. Surprise, I guess I like the cocky bastard.
“You’re not nearly as insufferable as you led me to believe, Stone.”
“Ah, I am indeed an acquired taste. And finally, I think you must have acquired me.” He smiled.
I put down the half-empty container of kung pao tofu next to his on the coffee table, and snorted a laugh, shaking my head.
“You’re so absurd, Lukas!” I swatted at his chest and laughed some more.
His hand captured mine before I could hit him again as our laughter died down.
He tipped my chin up, the grey of his eyes suddenly liquid silver.
“Miss Mirabella Mei Grace Davenport . . . I know you’ve said ‘no funny business,’ but you make me feel quite improper,” he said finally. “May I?” But he did not wait for my answer before bending down to kiss me.
I answered by kissing him back, pushing away images of Damien. Damien who had no place here, who shouldn’t be haunting my thoughts as I kissed another man.
All things in their own time.
“You’re so bloody lovely,” Lukas whispered against my lips as he gently pushed me down on the sofa. He trailed kisses up my neck, stopping at the sensitive spot below my ear. His long, deft fingers were caressing me, slowly slipping underneath my sweat
er.
He spread his hands against my back, dipping lower and lower before suddenly pulling my sweater completely over my head and tossing it aside.
He leaned back to look at me. “So bloody damn lovely, Mirabella.” He reached out and unhooked my white cotton bra. I blushed at his intense gaze over my naked chest. His eyes came back to meet mine, all fire and heat behind the dark, tempest-tossed grey.
I marveled at the odd sensation of being naked with a near stranger. How very different this was than with a boy—no, a man, now—who’d known me my whole life.
But Lukas brought me back to the present moment by gently placing his hands over my breasts, kneading them, teasing my nipples into hard nubs.
“Ever since that day you rubbed that sweet little arse of yours against me, ever since you came barging into my office, I’ve wanted to do this to you,” he said softly.
“Objection, Counsel. I did not barge into your office. You literally dragged me in.”
“No need for honorifics, love. Although feel free to call me sir.” He hissed that last word out while nipping my ear.
I squirmed. I blushed. I laughed. I moaned. All my emotions were completely haywire.
“I stipulate to dragging you in.” He licked my earlobe. “But admit you rubbed against my cock before you left me on that dance floor, love. Admit it.” He leaned forward and drew a nipple into his mouth and I nearly lost all train of thought.
Another nip. “Fine,” I gasped. “Fine, I plead guilty. I won’t contest the ass rubbing, but only if you let me do it again, Stone.”
Who was this wanton girl?
He chuckled against my breast as he twirled his tongue around my nipple.
I threw my head back and moaned. It had been so long. So damn long. Three years since Damien had touched me.
Damien.
Was I really doing this? And on a first date, no less?
Oh, Bella, you silly girl.
And then, I imagined Dame’s velvet voice whispering to me softly, Three years. It’s ok, Bella baby. Totally ok.
And so I threw all care to the wind . . . and surrendered to the pleasure Lukas was giving me. I unbuttoned my skinnies as his strong hands helped me peel them off my legs. He tossed them aside and began to trail kisses down my navel. He drew my panties down, and started to kiss me in my most intimate places.
“You’re already so wet for me, Mirabella.” He flicked his tongue across my clit and I gasped again. He kept flicking and licking and sucking until I was wild for him.
I grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him up, wanting to feel his cock inside me. Wanting more. He came back up and kissed me, I could taste myself on his lips, his tongue. I realized that he was still almost fully clothed, while I laid naked in his arms. And the thought made me even wilder.
His ink, in particular, created an incredibly sexy juxtaposition to a man whom I’d only ever seen in expensive suits, whose job was at one of the most powerful law firms in San Fran. I’d always had a weakness for tattooed men. Damien came once again unbidden in my mind’s eye, and I quickly pushed him away.
I gently caressed Lukas’s arm, tracing his tat up all the way to his powerful shoulder. His sleeve was carved in black and greys, depicting giant waves breaking against the side of a rugged cliff. I looked up, and he was staring intently at me, his eyes burning.
“You like my ink, do you then, darling?” he whispered.
In response, I reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. His erection was straining against his boxers. He moved slightly while I drew his pants down. His entire right leg was covered in biomechanical tattoos, making it look almost bionic. I gasped. Yes, I liked his ink.
I looked back up and put my hands on his hips, slowly, slowly dragging his boxers down. His hard penis sprang free, velvet in steel. Holding his gaze, I licked the palm of my hand. He let out a long, slow breath in response. I grabbed his cock in my wet hand, moving it up and down, watching his silver eyes flicker with fire, as he gasped. I slipped beneath him until I was near his navel. He flipped over and I followed, taking him in my mouth. He sucked in his breath as I placed whisper-soft kisses on his bulging tip before taking him in my mouth. He moaned as I sucked on him, bobbing up and down, taking him almost all the way in.
“Oh, fuck I’m gonna come, love. Not like this, not like this,” he groaned as he pulled me back up. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a long distant whisper, Dame’s dark, dark murmur of I can’t, baby girl, I can’t but I angrily closed my eyes against the memory.
Lukas fumbled with his pants on the ground until he found a condom, which he sheathed on. He turned back to me, a glorious god. Had I not had Damien to compare him to, I would have been terrified by his long, thick length. Again, I tried to push the thought away.
Lukas laid his full weight on me. I guided him inside me. He sucked in his breath audibly as he went in slowly, so slowly it was almost torture.
“You’re so bloody wet and tight, Bella. So bloody tight.”
Only one other man had ever called me that, but I desperately tried to forget. Lukas began to pick up speed, and my hips rose up to meet each thrust. Pleasure and pain sluiced through me as he began to pound harder, faster into me. Somewhere in the distance, a cell phone rang. I ignored it, only feeling the devastating pleasure he was bringing me. Goodbye, my Damien James, I thought as Lukas’s last thrust took me over the edge and I came, vaguely hearing his own shout.
***
Damien
She didn’t pick up. That night, I couldn’t understand why, I felt sick. I couldn’t quite place it, but I felt like something was off. I waited a few more hours and texted her again.
ME:
You ok? Getting worried here.
Finally, a response.
BELLA:
Hi Dame. So sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.
ME:
You needed something? Sorry, I didn’t respond earlier. I had a bit of an emergency with my mom. Anyways, everything ok?
BELLA:
Things are good, Dame . . . I met someone. And I wanted to ask you.
My heart stopped. It shouldn’t have, because this is what I’d wanted for her the whole time. To forget me, to move on. And she had. But knowing her, she was likely berating herself now.
Make her feel ok about it, asshole. Goddammit.
ME:
Baby girl, you don’t need to ask. I’ll always be happy for you. Always.
BELLA:
. . . It’s Lukas. Remember him?
I sucked in a breath and suddenly the room spun around me.
ME:
That hotshot lawyer?
BELLA:
Yes. But he’s not like that at all, Dame. He reminds me of you so much. He’s kind, and funny, and gentle. He makes me laugh and laugh.
I hadn’t thought through my words before shooting off that previous text. Redeem yourself, asshole. Redeem your fucking self.
ME:
You deserve the world, baby girl. He better deserve you too, or your boy will come right on down to kick his lawyerly ass.
BELLA:
Aw, silly. Ok, Dame. Goodnight. Sleep tight…
ME:
Kisses and bites. And I’m so happy for you. I really am.
And I was. But why did I feel so miserable? I tossed my phone to the side and looked to the empty spot next to me in that bed. It had been empty for most of the last three years. I couldn’t make myself fuck random girls mindlessly anymore, not when she occupied every single corner of my mind. Had I secretly hoped she’d wait for me, still, even as I pushed her away? As I encouraged her to move on?
I’ll wait until you’re ready, but I won’t ever give you up. Her soft murmurs from when we were seventeen.
Well, time passes and shit changes, asshole.
I laughed, a dark, hollow sound. I’d wanted her to move on, and after all these years, she had. She finally had.
I walked out of my bedroom and into the living room. Syn was up, sprawled on the co
uch with a book in hand. He glanced up at me as I made my way to the kitchen and opened up the fridge.
I peered inside, before grabbing the half-empty carton of milk. I walked back to the living room, swigging from the carton and, with a sigh, I sat down on a horrifyingly tacky leopard print armchair, Lucien’s idea of a joke.
Syn looked at me again but said nothing.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“You ok, dude?”
I opened my eyes and glanced at him. He was wearing a black BMTH tank and grey sweats. His long platinum blond hair fell in disarray around his face, hiding the shaved sides, although the red petals of the plum blossoms he’d had inked onto the right side of his skull and up and over his ear and temple were peeking through. When we’d perform, which suddenly had become a monthly occurrence, he’d mold it into an impressive long hawk.
He put down the book he was reading on a black oak gothic side table with a built-in gargoyle lamp, another one of Lucien’s taste-defying finds. I glimpsed the title: Kant’s Metaphysics of Ethics. I smiled in spite of myself.
Synister Maur, aka Erik Liam Larsen, although he’d refuse to answer to it, had dropped out of school at sixteen and shed his name, along with his bruises, as he’d walked away from an alcoholic father. He’d left his broken home in that small town on the coastline of Washington to start his metalcore band and had never, ever looked back.
He was also one of the smartest people I’d ever come across. He could explain to anyone, in the simplest terms possible, Einstein’s theory of relativity, do the most complex calculations in his head, all while proving why a certain stock was about to take off. He’d never put any of his impressive knowledge to practical use, however. So here we were.