Carnival

by D. M. Thornton

  When life goes off course, what do you do? Do you try to change roads in hopes you get back on track, where it’s safe? Or, do you continue through the detour to check out the scenery? Do you let your head steer you in the right path or allow your heart to take the wheel?

  I want to hear from you! Join me on Facebook and tell me which path you would choose…new beginnings or back to your roots?

  I curl up in bed, keeping the sheets at my feet. My skin is too hot to need them and too sensitive to want them. The events of the last day has caught up with me, and I’m officially exhausted past delusional. Sleep comes, but it’s not peaceful. It’s a lot of tossing and turning, dreams and nightmares. It doesn’t settle, and by morning, I wake up groggy.

  Coffee, I need a whole pot of coffee. An intravenous drip would be better. Placing my hands at my sides, I start to push off the bed, but something falls to the floor. When I lift the comforter, I find my phone at my feet. Day four, Fletcher promised to give me back my phone. He stayed true to his word, a trait he knows is high on my list. A trait he has been lacking for some time.

  I snatch my phone off the floor and turn it on, ready to dial his number when the screen comes to life. I need to hear Oliver’s voice one more time, and then I know I’ll have an answer to give Fletcher. But my phone never comes on.

  It’s dead.

  Twenty One

  Oliver

  I managed to get some sleep, regular sleep, not alcohol induced. Sleep, it’s good for the soul and for the brain. I’m still miserable, still thinking about Piper, but I’m functional. Tonight’s show is the first show in the last four days I’m mentally prepared for. I’m ready, pumped. And when I hear the crowd, I’m jumping up and down getting the flow pulsing through my veins. This show is going to kick some motherfuckin’ ass.

  Why does it always seem when things are looking up something happens that implodes the world around you? The brief moment I had with Apollo was the exact thing I needed to get my head on straight. Meeting him brought me back to reality, away from the nag of Piper and self-medicating. It lasted a whole day. Of course I still thought about her, still left Piper a message as I do every day. Only thought about the baggie in the ceiling vent twice, which is far better than the unhealthy obsession I’ve had for both this last week. But all of that goes to shit when I step out on stage.

  There, in center row, in the mass of screaming fans, is a redhead. She’s bending down, but I know it’s her. I’m drawn to her like a mosquito to water. And the way my skin crawls with goosebumps confirms it. And next to her, her sister Luna. In a sea of dancing people is the girl I’ve lost sleep over, got shit-faced wasted over…almost got high over. The blinding lights drown the rest of the crowd out, but I can still see her. Piper. All she needs to do is look up from her phone and she’ll find my eyes.

  It’s Luna who locks eyes with me. Through the movement of shadows and lights, I see the faintest, almost sad, smile across her lips. I nod and grin back as I begin to strum my guitar, which draws the attention of the redhead beside her. My heart skips a beat, excited to see her face, but it plunks straight to my toes when the girl lifts her head and stares off to the side monitors.

  That’s not Piper. I don’t know who she is. And by the way Luna is standing, away from her, she doesn’t know her either. Just a random girl in the crowd. A girl who is not Piper. I sink into myself, almost forgetting I’m strumming, and lose a half beat. No one realizes it except for my bandmates, but we continue the song without another hitch.

  No matter where I move to on stage, all I can seem to focus on is the redhead. At one point, I turn around and play with my back to the crowd just so I won’t be tempted to look her way. Nash looks at me, his arms swinging while he pounds the drums, like I’m batshit crazy. I am…crazy. I’m a fucking lunatic. And so I behave like one. I own the stage. It is mine and I work it like a hooker on the corner of the Vegas strip. Every inch of the stage gets a beating from my stomping feet until I’m winded and covered in sweat. The crowd is wild, chanting my name. The lights strobe and the bass rattles our bones. I bring the energy down for the encore, ending the night as I have the past few shows when I’ve managed to actually finish, with my cover of Shawn Mendes’ “In My Blood.” It takes everyone by surprise considering it’s not one of our songs, but I can’t help myself. The lyrics speak to me, and even though the guys glare at me when I start the hook, they let me sing it, and the crowd devours it. When the show is over, I wave to our fans and bow before running off behind the curtain.

  A member of the crew takes my guitar as I pass, and another member hands us towels to wipe the sweat from our skin. Someone else leads us to the signing room so we can wait for the droves of people who paid a ridiculous amount of money to get one picture and a signed shirt.

  Luna is the first through the door. There are special perks for the girls the bandmates are fucking. She runs to Nash, jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Hamlin and I cringe as we’re forced to watch them smash faces until Hamlin funnels his mouth with his hands and heckles, “Get a room!”

  When Nash sets Luna down on her feet, she comes over to me and gives me a hug. “Have you heard from her?”

  My hands find their way to the pockets of my jeans. “Nah. You?”

  Her head shakes, causing her ponytail to sway. “Nope.”

  I hesitate to ask, but I do anyway. “Think she’s all right?”

  Luna’s shoulders shrug. “I’m sure she is.” Her smile says she’s staying hopeful, but her words are less than convincing.

  Tonight’s crowd seems to be taking their sweet time getting through the line. The bouncers try their best to move them along, but these fans want to get their money’s worth. Taking pictures, shaking our hands, giving us hugs, and asking if they can not only get the signed shirt but for us to autograph parts of their bodies. It’s cool, though. I’m finding the longer I’m wrapped up in signing boobs, the less I’m thinking about Piper.

  It doesn’t last long, not thinking about Piper. We get back to the bus, Luna included, and begin to drink. Nash starts to hand me a beer, but pulls it back. “You solid, bruh?”

  Of course I’m not solid, but I’m not going to admit it. And if Nash wasn’t already drunk on Luna’s pussy, he would see through my bullshit. “Dude, I’m solid,” I say with a straight face. I take the can from Nash and crack it open, taking a long drag.

  I socialize for as long as I can withstand watching Nash and Luna fawn over one another. It’s appalling really. The sound their smacking mouths make while they’re making out has me downing another beer. And another. Oh all right, I’m jealous as fuck. Why can’t that be me and Piper? Besides the minor detail of her being MIA, it would be us had she stayed. We would be the ones dry humping at the small table on the bus. But nope, my lover is a cheap ass can of Budweiser, and I’m stuck watching these two maul each other for the rest of the tour.

  When I can no longer see straight and my emotions have infiltrated to the top of my head, I grab what is left of the many cases of beer and stomp through the bus to my room, slamming the pocket door. I shouldn’t be angry Nash has Luna; their relationship has nothing to do with me. Deep down I am happy for them, but right now I want to not remember how kissing Piper at the carnival made me want to come in my pants like a horny virgin every time I see them locked at the lips.

  Not sure how many beers in I am, I’ve stopped counting, and I’m drunk-dialing Piper’s phone. One of these times, she’s going to answer, I’m sure of it. When it goes straight to voicemail, I stammer around my words. “Little bird, you poophead, answer your damn phone. Why you do this to me, small fry? Why?” I hang up and guzzle my beer. My skin warms from the alcohol or from feelings. Good Lord, feelings. Men aren’t supposed to have feelings.

  I dial Piper’s number again, leaving a rambling message. “You could have the decency to answer your phone, lollipop kid. Your sister and I have been worried sick. You could at least text one of us to tell us you�
��re alive. You’re alive, right? I’ll kill that motherfucker if you’re dead cold in a ditch somewhere. Where are you anyway? Why did you leave me?” I smack the phone against my forehead and sigh. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that night. That fateful night. Do remember the good parts? I do.” My voice is starting to whine and I abruptly hand up and take another gulp of beer.

  My fist holding the can beats once on the mattress, spilling the liquid, and I curse, taking another swig. Of course there is only one person to blame for me spilling my precious memory eraser over my sheets. I dial her number. “I just spilled my beer because of you. Yeah, it’s all your fault. Everything is your fault. You didn’t have to run to him, you didn’t have to walk away from me. And now I’m begging and whining and spilling my beer while you’re off gallivanting around with that asshat. I hope you’re happy ‘cause I’m sure the fuck not.” I suck in a mouthful of air, and add a pitiful, “I’m miserable,” then hang up. But call right back. “Do you remember the flowers I brought you? Tulips because I know they’re your favorite. I picked you up in my brother’s old Buick Lesabre. You sat as close to the passenger door as you possibly could like I was going to bite you. It took a corn dog, funnel cake, and winning you that life-sized stuffed animal to loosen you up enough to hold your hand.

  “You pitched a fit when I tried to get you on the Ferris wheel. Jesus, you were so dramatic, yanking on my arm trying to pull me away from the ride, begging for us not to go on it. It took some convincing, but I finally got you to agree, thank fuck. I had the whole night planned around that Ferris wheel, did you know that? Do you remember the sunset? It was like cotton candy. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen, and I got to experience it with you. It was like God had to try and paint the sky as gorgeous as you.

  “I had to know if being up in the sky came close to the same feeling as when I was with you. Weightless and freeing. It didn’t even come close. Being with you was like coming down from the drop off of the highest roller coaster. The anticipation was killer but thrilling. My stomach would flip and leap into my throat, and I never wanted it to end. I still don’t.” I pause to control my words, trying to keep them from shaking with emotion. “I meant what I said, Piper. Every word of it.” I close my eyes and let the phone slip from my hand, my thumb ending the call with a single swipe of the screen. The memories make my chest hurt and I try to dilute the sensation with another drag of my beer.

  How many calls does it take to get Piper to answer?

  So far…none.

  At this point, I’m calling back just to listen to her voice on her voicemail greeting; still, I find myself talking into the phone. “When I said I loved you, I meant it. I still do. I still want to take care of you and to grow old with you. I still want to have babies with you. Hell, I’ll even let you name our son Corbin and our daughter Olive even though you know I hate those names. Especially Olive. Do you know any girl who wants to be named after a fruit and is also similar to her dad’s name? You said you wanted the same. It took fifteen years for you to finally admit you loved me, too. You said you wanted to get married. And we agreed on two kids, but not until you completed school and established a career.

  “I know I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain. I promised a life of love and commitment, but what you got was pain and heartache. I’m sorry. I’ll say I’m sorry until my lungs hold no more air, but I can’t go backwards and change it. I fucked up, Piper. To reach a point where we shared our feelings had only been a dream. But then we confessed our love to each other and made plans. The excitement of it all was so overwhelming that when I got home and saw my mother slumped on the floor covered in her own blood, it hit me. Reality sucker punched me right in the gut. I promised you all of those things when I wasn’t sure if I could follow through. Every doubt, every moment of my father beating my mother or my brother and me, it made me wonder? Am I like my dad? Would our playful one-liners turn into hateful slurs? What if my way of communicating became physical? I couldn’t do that to you. The idea alone scared me, and I didn’t want to chance it. I ran like a bitch. Took the easy way out. There are so many things I should have done but didn’t.”

  The tightness in my chest swells to a tingle that reaches my spine. I’m mad at myself for running away. Angry I didn’t come back. Hurt when Piper walked away. The mass of emotions is almost to boiling.

  “The carnival was the first time we held hands. The first time I kissed you.” My voice drops to a whisper. “God, that kiss. The touch of your lips made my knees weak. It was the first time I had ever seen you laugh straight from your belly. You held onto me like you needed me, and I didn’t let you go because I couldn’t. You’re the other half of me. I’ve been broken for all these years, and when I saw you at the coffee shop, it was like I finally found the missing piece. I found the one thing that would make me whole. But where are you? You left me to go to another man. You won’t answer my calls. I don’t know if you’re okay. I deserve it, I do, but fuck. Where the hell are you?” The growl comes from deep within my gut, an angry cry burns a raging flame inside my heart. I hang up before I say something I’ll regret.

  I tip the can to my, lips but it’s all gone. Empty aluminum only pisses me off and I nail the door with it. This is her fault, no more beer and me being apoplectic. I tap her picture on my screen, the one I secretly took of her sleeping in my shirt. I stare at her face, drowning in the memories, and dial her number for the last time. “Hey dream killer, Game of Thrones called, they need another dwarf to play wench to Tyrion Lannister. Hope you don’t mind, but I gave them your number. You’re the perfect midget to play one of his whores.”

  Regret will happen when I’m of sound mind. Right now I’m too busy fast-balling my phone through the air. It nails the wall and lands beside the empty trashcan with a loud crack.

  Fuck it.

  Fuck the memories.

  And fuck Piper.

  Twenty Two

  Piper

  Did Fletcher plan this all along, to give me a dead phone so I still would have no means to reach my sister? Or Oliver? I’m about to find out. I throw the covers off me, ignoring the ache of my skin, and leap from the bed. My bare feet make little sound as I stomp my way through the bungalow and into the kitchen where I find Fletcher making breakfast. The smell alone catches me off guard and I almost lose the rein of my anger.

  Strawberry waffles with warm maple syrup. My favorite.

  I shake my head, trying to get the smell out of my nose so I can focus on why I came out here to begin with. My tummy grumbles. I ignore it. “Is this some joke? You give me back my phone, which just so happens to have no charge left. What the hell, Fletcher? And don’t even come at me with how giving me my phone was the deal, not that it had to be working.”

  He spins around…sweats hanging low on his hips, a sexy smile across his lips and a spoon loaded with fresh whipped cream between his fingers. He holds it out to me, but I refuse to take the bait. One whiff and the sweet aroma of vanilla and sugar hit my tongue and I desperately want to wrap my mouth around that spoon so I can taste the cream.

  No. I step back and put my hands on my hips.

  “Good morning, love. If you’d like to take this,”—he pushes the spoon closer to my face—“I’ll be happy to get a charger for you.”

  My eyes squint as I slowly reach for the spoon. When Fletcher walks down the hall into his room, I stuff the cream in my mouth. My eyes roll back.

  “Good, uh?” Fletcher catches me mid-moan. He takes the spoon from my hand, dips it back into the whipped cream, and slips it into his own mouth. “Mmm.” Tossing the dirty utensil in the sink, he removes my phone from my hand and slips the charger into the end then plugs it into the wall. “Ready to eat?”

  What is happening right now? I was prepared to battle. I’m for sure Fletcher planned this all along, to keep me from communicating with the ones who would influence any of my thoughts or decisions when it comes to him. He slipped the rug out from under me, doing ever
ything in his power to swoon me, and I’ll be damned if it’s not having some effect.

  I take the seat he scooted out for me and pick up the fork. We can continue this fight after our bellies are full, because even an angry girl needs to eat.

  Oh. Coffee.

  My senses are overloaded with rich, dark roast and crisp, sugary tartness. The flavors round out with a warm woodiness from the vanilla and a hint of salted caramel washes it all down. Well, I may be mad but my stomach is loving life.

  This is what he hopes seals the deal. I’ll fight it, but he has managed to chisel a crack in my exterior the length of the Grand Canyon. Fletcher knows I can’t resist this meal. Sure, it’s simple, but it holds so many memories in my heart. It’s a dish my mother would make our family every Sunday when we had fresh strawberries in our garden. The same meal my grandmother made my mother and her brother as children. But for us, Luna and I got to follow Momma around the backyard with our baskets and pluck the fruit from their vines while Daddy prepared freshly squeezed orange juice for us girls and coffee for him and Momma. Made from scratch and made with love, it was a special treat. Then I moved out and my strawberry waffles never turned out as good and my coffee always came out weak.

  The first night I slept at Fletcher’s house, I woke up to strawberry waffles, the very kind my mother used to make. I knew in that moment I loved him. Then, sometime after he first made me my favorite breakfast, I found out he called my mother and asked her how to make them because he knew her way was the perfect way. And he wanted it perfect for the most perfect girl he had ever met. That’s when I knew I wanted to marry him. With every bite, I’m telling myself they are only waffles. Just some ingredients stirred in a bowl. But I swallow the yummy goodness down and my mind is flooded with all the good memories from my childhood. And with Fletcher.