Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  After several hours, Kai announces it’s ready, so I follow him into the control room and the small army of people crowd around to hear the final cut. My voice comes through the speakers, and I listen to the music as if I’d never heard it. The song is as beautiful as I wanted it to be. I ask him to play it again so I can listen from my perspective this time. This go round, I realize something is missing.

  “Something’s missing,” I announce.

  “It’s perfect!” Dad says.

  “No. It’s not. What’s it missing?” I ask more to myself than anyone else. I slip on headphones, “Play it again, Kai.”

  I listen to the song ten times. It’s missing something. It’s not the lyrics, it’s the music. The music doesn’t need to be changed, something needs to be added. When I pull the headphones off the room waits patiently.

  “It’s the guitar. Something isn’t right,” I announce and make my way to the live room.

  I pick up one of my favorite guitars and put the headphones on. I ask Kai to play it through on repeat until I ask him to stop. I run my fingers up and down the fret board and listen as the sound I produce filters in with the music Kai’s playing. It’s missing a blues guitar. I find what it needs and once I stop playing I can hear the group cheering inside the control room. I finally feel complete, whole, and fulfilled for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter 27

  Jagger

  One Month Later

  She’s using again, and we all know it. When she laid down “Whiskey and Smoke” she had a few good weeks. She was more like herself and it was so damn good to see her back. We got concerned when she had a difficult time finding purpose. The albums for Abandoned Shadow and her blues project are basically done. There is nothing left on her end, and she got antsy. It doesn’t appear to be meth, but she’s smoking pot, which means she’s probably using blow again. She was just starting to resemble herself again, and a week ago she distanced herself from us. She pulled away from Memphis first, and I knew it was happening. Hell, we all did.

  We’ve had so many discussions about how to handle it, and no one seems to know what to do. She’s functioning and recording like a maniac, and she’s eating when she smokes weed, but I know where this ended up last time. I wait for the spark that will ignite that fire in her again, the same spark that led to a disappearing act.

  I’m lying in bed looking through old Facebook pictures. I want to remember the girl I’ve always loved. I love the pictures from the time when we still had Caleb. In the photos, you can see how carefree Henley is. Her eyes are bright, and she’s never felt pain before. Pain is a part of life, something we all deal with, but she’s so damn tough and tenderhearted at the same time.

  My cell rings, interrupting my stroll down memory lane, and Henley’s gorgeous face lights up the screen.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Jag?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “Can you come get me?” fear in her voice.

  “What’s wrong, Hen?”

  “I… I, uh, I’m in a bad place, Jag. I need help. Please come get me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the bar by your house. I think it’s called ‘Randolph’s’. I was playing pool, and these guys are… they pushed me around and, I ran into the bathroom. There’s an exit by the bathroom. Can you call when you’re here?”

  “I’m already in the car, baby. Stay on the phone with me.”

  “K.”

  Silence fills the phone, and I wonder why she’s at a bar by her damn self. Why didn’t she call one of us to play pool with her? Any of us would’ve gladly gone.

  “Hen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you by yourself?”

  She sighs, “Yeah. I know it was stupid.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You know why.”

  “You’re using again.”

  “Just a little coke and some pot. I’m not doing that other shit. I just can’t seem to get my shit together. I’m so sorry, Jag,” her voice quivers.

  “S’okay. Let’s just get you out of there and safe. I’m pulling up now.”

  The phone disconnects, and I panic until I see her run around the side of the building. She opens the door and slides in before I have a chance to turn the ignition off.

  “Thank you,” she sighs and wipes tears off her face.

  “You are coming home with me,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  I drive to my apartment, and as I open the door I realize she’s never been here before. She takes in the place, kicks her shoes off, and sits on my couch.

  “It looks so empty, Jag,” she finally says.

  “I know. I haven’t gotten around to putting anything on the walls or decorating. I didn’t know how long I’d be here to be honest.”

  She nods in understanding.

  “You look tired, babe,” I point out.

  “Yeah.”

  “The place only has one bedroom, so you can have the bed,” I offer.

  “I’m not taking your bed, I’m fine on the couch. I’ll just watch some TV until I find sleep,” she says.

  “It’s not a big deal, babe. You can have the bed.”

  She smiles sweetly, “I’m good here.”

  “Okay. I’m going to take a shower.”

  She flips the television on and I pad down the hallway. I have the woman on my couch, in my apartment, right where I want her, but I can’t touch her because she’s high. Life is cruel sometimes. When I step into the bedroom from the shower, Henley is in a pair of my boxers and a Nirvana to-shirt asleep on my bed. Her hand is on my laptop screen, and her long blonde hair is splayed all over the bed. She’s on her stomach with her hand outstretched to the screen. I’d left it on my bed in a hurry when she called. I quickly dress and walk around to see the screen, and her hand is touching a picture of Caleb and me. We are standing with an arm draped over each other’s shoulder, genuinely smiling because we were home. We were so excited to have a month off from touring, and we just wanted to go home to Macon. The picture was taken the night he died. He was dead in less than an hour after the picture was snapped. Her fingers rest over both of us, and I wonder which one causes her more pain, his absence or my stupidity. At this very moment, I get it, her pain. I see why it eats at her. This is a rare glimpse into what she goes through when she’s alone, and no one is watching. This is it when there aren’t fake smiles and bright lights, she’s just a human being whose heart has been broken over and over again.

  I move her hair from her face and see tears sitting on her cheeks. She cried, and I wasn’t here to hold her. Otis Redding filters softly through my iPod speakers, and I swear the man understands it. “For Your Precious Love” couldn’t say it any fucking better.

  I gently move the laptop from under her and cover her before I climb in beside her. Still asleep, she reaches for me, lays her beautiful head on my chest, and my name passes as a whisper across her lips. I force the lump in my throat down, and concentrate on holding her.

  “I love you so fucking much,” I whisper and kiss the top of her head.

  ***

  I wake with my hand grazing her thigh. She whimpers in her sleep at my touch, and I pull my hand from her ashamed I touched her in my sleep. She needs me to be her rock, not her fuck buddy. She nuzzles closer to me, and her lips touch my neck. I try not to combust. Her hand slowly rubs down my chest to my stomach, and my dick gets even harder. She whispers my name in her sleep again and it rips me apart.

  I try to stop it, but my hand travels under the back of her shirt and I close my eyes when I feel her soft skin. She wakes at some point and kisses my neck. I roll her over, and crawl between her legs. I fear I’ve overstepped until she pulls my face down to hers. My tongue enters her mouth, and my hand travels up her thigh. She moans into my mouth, and I lose all self-control. I pull her shirt up and kiss her flat stomach. Her skin tastes amazing. Her nails
dig into my back, and I moan into her skin. I trace the outside of her lips with my fingers and feel her wetness. I rub my fingers on her clit, and then plunge two fingers inside of her. God she feels like velvet, warm velvet. She moans into my mouth, and arches her back. I travel back down to her chest to suck her pink nipples. Her fingernails graze my scalp as they weave through my hair. It’s longer than I used to keep it. I really like the way it feels when she runs her hands through it. It’s incredibly sensual.

  She uses her toes to push my boxers down, and grabs my erection. I gasp at the contact that I’ve yearned for all this time. I’m about to enter her when she grabs handfuls of my hair, and something about it stops me in my tracks.

  “Shit, Hen, I’m so sorry,” I gasp for air.

  “Sorry for what?” she asks still a little sleepy.

  “I… I can’t… um, take advantage of you.”

  “What?!” she almost yells.

  “I just can’t.”

  “You can’t what, Jagger?”

  “I can’t,” is all I can give her.

  “Just say it,” she grits out.

  “I can’t do this when you’re high.”

  Tears pucker at her eyes, and I launch into apologies. She turns over and pulls the covers up to her shoulders.

  “It’s fine. Just go back to sleep,” she says.

  I sigh, fall back on the bed, and run my hands over my face. I’m so fucking stupid. I’m also a dick. I lie there for what seems like an eternity listening to her breathe and murmur things I can’t understand in her sleep. I watch the sun peek over the horizon before I drift off to sleep.

  When I wake hours later, she’s gone.

  ***

  Kip

  We waited for Hen at the studio this morning to redo a song, but she text at noon and said she wasn’t feeling well. We laid down the music without her vocals, so she can sing tomorrow. It seems to help her to sing the blues.

  At five, Jagger calls frantic, “You heard from her?”

  “She text at noon to say she wasn’t feeling well,” I answer.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he screams.

  This can’t be good.

  “Let me step out.”

  I step into the parking lot, and he lets loose.

  “I picked her up from a bar last night. She called and said she was in trouble; some guys were pushing her around at a pool table. She came home with me and was asleep on my bed when I stepped out of the shower. Man, she was looking at a picture of Caleb and me, and fell asleep with her hand on it, tears on her cheeks. Like a dumbass, I got in bed with her. Fuck! Fuck! Shit, I… we woke up touching and shit got hot and heavy, and I stopped it and told her I couldn’t. She made me tell her why, and I told her I couldn’t do it when she was high. She rolled over and went to sleep and was gone when I woke up two hours ago. She won’t answer my texts or calls. Fuck! I fucked up, Kip!”

  “No you didn’t. You did right by her even if she can’t see that right now. We’ll find her. She text us to say she wasn’t showing up at the studio today, and that’s a really good sign. I don’t want to freak everyone out just yet, okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. She text you, so that’s good. Should I try to find her?”

  “She’s probably at home asleep. It might not be a good idea if you show up right now. Don’t take that the wrong way, you did the right thing, Jagger,” I assure him.

  “You sure? It doesn’t feel like the right thing right now.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I disconnect with Jag and try to think of an excuse to leave without worrying everyone inside. I manage to tell the guys I have the shits, and leave, but not before Memphis shoots me a glare. Nothing gets past that guy. I haul ass home, to find it empty. I send her text and wait a few minutes for a reply.

  Me: Where are you, Hen?

  Henley: I’m fine.

  Me: Jag told me.

  Henley: That he couldn’t bring himself to fuck me?

  Me: Shit, Hen. I know it hurts, I know it feels like he doesn’t love you, but he did the right thing. You might not see it that way right now, but one day you will.

  Henley: I’ll be home in a bit.

  Me: Can we talk? Please.

  Henley: Yeah.

  I fall asleep on the couch with Cash waiting on her to come home. I hear her stumble in a few hours later telling Caleb to shut the fuck up. Wait a minute, what? Why is she talking to Caleb? Oh God, this isn’t good. I hear the shower turn on, and I creep into her room to make sure I can hear her if she falls. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when she turns the shower off. I creep back out and listen for her to go to bed.

  “You’re not here, Caleb. Stop fucking with my head. Just go away,” she says.

  I type out a text to Jagger.

  Me: She just got home. It’s not good.

  Jagger: What’s wrong with her?

  Me: She’s talking to Caleb.

  Jagger: Fuck. I’m on my way.

  I walk into her room and find her asleep. She is pouring sweat and looks like death warmed over. I find a cloth and wet it with cold water. She’s burning up, so I wipe her face with it.

  She wakes and turns her empty eyes on me. I talk her into letting me sleep with her. I won’t sleep a wink, but at least I can keep an eye on her. I undress down to my boxers while she hits the head. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I’ll talk to Jagger when he gets here. Maybe we should call Memphis. Cash jumps on the bed, and I reach for him but he paws at me and whines.

  “Come here, buddy,” I say.

  He barks at me.

  “You need to go to the bathroom?” I ask.

  He barks again, so I throw my jeans and shirt back on to take him outside. I walk to her bedroom door, but Cash is whining at the bathroom door.

  “What’s wrong? Come on, let’s go outside.” I motion for him to follow me.

  He barks at me and scratches at the door. Crazy fucking dog loves Henley. She will have to walk with us. I knock on the door. She doesn’t answer.

  “Hen?”

  Cash scratches the door so hard it hits the door frame each time, and then he looks up at me and whines. I twist the knob and push the door open when I realize it’s unlocked. I don’t want to find her asleep on the toilet, so I push it open.

  She’s not asleep on the toilet; she’s fallen asleep on the floor.

  “Hen, get up!” I say.

  Then I see it. She’s shaking. Oh God! Oh God! No, no, no, no, no, I can’t do this.

  “Henley!” I scream as I fall down beside her.

  She’s seizing, eyes rolled back in her head, and vomit coming out of her mouth.

  “Henley! Stop it! Fuck, please just stop!”

  I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do? How do you stop a seizure? I run to the room and find my phone on her nightstand. I call 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “My friend is having a seizure. She has stuff coming out of her mouth. Please help her! I don’t know how to help her!”

  “What’s your address?”

  I tell her the address, and Jagger calls out my name, so I throw the phone on speaker and to the floor.

  “In here! Hurry!” I scream.

  “Hen, please don’t do this. Please!”

  “Sir, is your friend on her side?”

  “No,” I cry out.

  “Turn her on her side.”

  Jagger walks in the large bathroom, and his eyes get really big.

  “Help me, Jag. Please help me,” I beg.

  “Oh no. No, no, no. Baby, no,” he pleads.

  The operator interrupts us, “Sir, you need to turn her on her side so she doesn’t choke on her vomit.”

  Jagger and I turn her on her side, and she continues to seize. Eyes rolled back in her head, and vomit oozing out of her mouth.

  “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay, baby. I’ve go
t you,” Jag tells her.

  She finally stops seizing.

  “She stopped shaking,” I tell the operator.

  “Make sure she’s still breathing,” she says.

  Jagger puts his head to her chest and his eyebrows furrow. He lifts her shirt up and looks at her belly for a beat. Then he places his hand on her neck, and then her wrist. Then he puts his ear to her chest and moves around every so often.

  “Sir is she breathing?” the operator asks.

  “No, and there’s no fucking heartbeat!” Jag screams.

  “Sir…” and she drowns out.

  I crawl to the wall, bring my knees to my chest, and rock. I watch Jagger perform CPR on my best friend. He wipes her mouth off, and breathes air into her, then continues compressions. I’ve seen this before. I can’t do this again.

  “Come on, baby. You can’t leave me. I didn’t mean it, okay? Please,” he begs as he pushes up and down.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I rock back and forth.

  “Baby, please don’t do this. Stay with me. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll do anything, just stay with me,” he pleads and continues CPR.

  The paramedics rush in, pick her lifeless body from the floor, and continue CPR. Jagger converses with them, but I can’t hear. I just watch. Her arm falls from the gurney when they load her body. It just lays there, no life in it.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I rock back and forth.

  A woman is on top of the gurney pushing in on Hen’s chest over and over again. She’s dead. Hen’s heart stopped. She’s dead.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I rock back and forth.

  She’s dead.

  Walking Back to Georgia

  Sasha Marshall