The Contradiction of Solitude

by A. Meredith Walters

  Her face darkened suddenly and she jerked her hand down viciously. It was an abrupt, violent squealing of strings. The discordant tone echoed around the empty shop.

  For the first time I saw true and honest emotion on her face that had nothing to do with sadness or desolation.

  It was anger.

  It was longing.

  It was unquestionable hatred.

  It was love as deep as the ocean…

  “Take it,” she said, her voice cracking and broken.

  I didn’t ask her if she was all right. That would have been a typical response. I didn’t do typical responses.

  I took the guitar, feeling almost as though her rejection of the guitar was a rejection of me. Which was ridiculous.

  “I have others—”

  “I have to go.” She shook her head and turned her body away, her face concealed behind the fall of her hair.

  “You don’t have to. We can leave. Go somewhere else,” I suggested, confused and bothered by her attitude. But I was also intrigued and protective at the same time.

  “I have to go,” she repeated, as though not hearing me.

  I reached out, not wanting her to leave without touching her. My hand grasped, almost roughly at her hair. It was warm and alive.

  It was everything I expected touching her would be.

  My fingers tangled and caught and I thought about wrapping my fist in the strands and pulling, stopping her from walking out the door and into the night.

  “Elian,” she whispered, power in her voice that I couldn’t deny.

  I let go of her hair, my gut hollow. My heart empty.

  “Will you come back?” I asked her.

  She didn’t answer.

  She left.

  But I knew.

  She’d be back.

  I couldn’t move. My feet were stuck to the ground.

  It was the smell I noticed first.

  Sharp. Tangy like metal.

  It filled my nostrils and became lodged in the back of my throat. I gagged. My mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

  The panic was acute but then just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.

  A wet warmth swirled around my legs and I felt relaxed as it soothed me.

  The smell didn’t make me sick. It enticed. It made me hungry.

  I held my hands down at my sides, fingers parted as I dragged my skin through the swirling liquid rising…rising.

  I felt myself start to sink. My body was weightless and buoyant.

  I was on my back, staring up at the stars. My dad’s stars.

  I looked for Emma’s and found it just above, twinkling for me.

  I smiled as the blood closed over my face.

  I opened my eyes. Not in terror but in disappointment.

  I lay there for a long time listening to the ticking of the clock across the room.

  Tick. Tock.

  I listened to the rhythmic constant until the sun came up.

  “This is what you want?” the heavily tattooed guy asked, holding up the drawing I handed him.

  I didn’t like him questioning me.

  I pointed at the drawing that I had painstakingly recreated on the sheet of white paper. “Just like that,” I told him firmly.

  “And you want it here?” he asked, lifting my shirt and running his rough fingers along tender, vulnerable skin. I shivered. But not from pleasure.

  I nodded, grabbing ahold of his hand and pressing his fingertips into the side of hip, just over the bone. I felt the tattoo artist stiffen and still beneath me, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow.

  I smiled, dazzling and heart-stopping. I smiled to make him shut up.

  “Right there,” I said softly, lying down on the cushioned seat, rolling my shirt up and tucking it beneath my bra.

  The tattoo artist cleared his throat a couple of times and pulled his hand away. I shouldn’t mess with him. I didn’t want him screwing this up.

  I clenched my teeth together and lay perfectly still as he put the needle to my flesh.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, lifting the needle but the buzz continued to pierce my eardrums.

  Was I okay?

  That was an easy question for me to answer. Because for the first time everything seemed to be falling into place.

  And I knew now was the time.

  “I’m okay.”

  The music was loud.

  Too loud.

  The sun was hot on my back, and there were people everywhere. Laughing. Talking. Singing along with the band.

  I carefully touched the bandaged skin on my hip, wincing slightly before dropping my fingers.

  I left the tattoo parlor and thought about going home but I could hear the bass off in the distance and headed towards it.

  I didn’t like concerts. I didn’t like crowds. And I wasn’t overly fond of music. I didn’t follow popular bands or singers. I barely ever turned on the radio. Music was wrapped up with other things in my head. Convoluted things.

  But I wasn’t there for the enjoyment of the musicians on the stage.

  Really I was looking for him.

  I touched the bandaged area on my side again and grinned. I couldn’t help it.

  Because I had no doubt that he’d be here. I had noticed the flyers for the concert in the park plastered on the walls around his studio just last night. Last night when I had gone to see him. To test the waters.

  And I had seen his guitar.

  And the star.

  I touched my hip again. The pain sharp and fresh.

  Looking around at the eccentric group of individuals that had come out for the occasion, I could easily picture Elian there.

  I knew so much about him without really knowing anything at all.

  I picked up a lot by watching. It was the best way to find out everything you wanted to learn.

  And Elian communicated much without ever saying anything. Observation was my strong suit. It’s what had allowed me to survive.

  It’s what had allowed me to live.

  I looked forward to his lies spoken aloud. I wondered what brand of dishonesty he’d try to sell.

  My hands almost shook in anticipation as I searched and searched for him.

  My heart galloped at an alarming rate but I reveled in it.

  I loved this part.

  The beginning.

  I unrolled a blue and green plaid blanket and sat down, crossing my legs. I had positioned myself just out of the way, beneath a large Willow tree. I kept my back straight and hands folded in my lap. I scanned the unfamiliar faces, not recognizing anyone.

  “Is this spot taken?” I looked up and frowned at the guy who stood underneath the heavy limbs.

  I didn’t bother to respond. I turned back to the makeshift stage ahead of me and pretended that he wasn’t there. I didn’t care that he was cute, with what most would construe as a nice smile. He wasn’t who I was there for.

  Usually guys got the hint and left when I brandished my patented form of bitch. But this guy seemed to take my standoffishness as a challenge.

  I felt the invasion of my personal space and recoiled.

  “They’re pretty decent, right?” he asked, his warm breath on my cheek. He was entirely too close. I could smell the beer he had obviously been drinking. I clenched my hands until my knuckles were white.

  Then he touched me. His hand fell on my upper thigh. “Move your hand,” I said, low but hard. Menacing.

  His fingers dug into my leg and he laughed. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to destroy him.

  I would grab the back of his neck, squeezing like he squeezed my leg. I’d laugh in his face before connecting his nose with my knee. The blood spray hitting my face, rolling down my chin. Again and again. I’d dig my nails into his eyes and relish the pop as his insides bled out of him…

  “Babe, you’re too tense. Why don’t you come hang out with me and my friends. Maybe have a drink. Let down that hair.” He reached up, took ahold of my ponytail, and yanked on the elasti
c band, pulling it. I wrenched backwards.

  “I don’t remember inviting you to touch me,” I hissed dangerously.

  Blood running down his cheeks, dripping onto the grass…

  The guy looked befuddled. Confused. As though he couldn’t understand why I was having such a problem with his overly handsy form of flirting.

  “Look, I wasn’t trying—”

  “You need to leave now,” I interrupted, straightening my ponytail and turning back to the stage. My entire body was tense and taut. Suppressing dark urges he would know nothing about. I dug my fingernails into my palms, though giving no outward indication to how hard it was controlling my fury.

  “Hang on a sec, I just wanted to talk to you. No need to be a bi—”

  “I think she asked you to take a hike, Leo.”

  It was like liquid running through my body. My muscles relaxed and I was calm. Centered.

  Focused.

  Elian.

  I looked up at the welcome sight of the man who stood beside the blanket, hands shoved into his pocket, staring down at my unwanted visitor.

  He looked angry. But his mouth was smirking, as if laughing at his own private joke. But his eyes weren’t dancing. They were on fire.

  He took my breath away.

  Leo chuckled, but I could hear his unease. “Dude, I don’t think she needs to be rescued. Chill out.”

  It was Elian’s turn to laugh but it was brittle and hard. “I am completely chill. But I’m here to spend time with her.” He inclined his head in my direction. The buzzing started in my ears, making it hard to hear him. My face flushed hot and I didn’t understand why.

  My heart wasn’t a real, beating thing. It was a dead, pulpy mess incapable of feeling anything.

  Until now.

  Now it felt something. Something altogether new and raw.

  Overwhelming and all consuming.

  I wanted to reach inside my chest, grab ahold of the thumping organ, and squeeze and squeeze until it died.

  It hurt. It felt good.

  Leo held his hands up and slowly got to his feet. “I had no idea you were with someone. I thought you and Margie—”

  “That’s really none of your business, dude. So, I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Elian was perfectly dismissive and he immediately took the quickly vacated spot.

  Leo left without another word.

  “Was that too caveman of me?” Elian asked, humor returning to his voice. The anger in his eyes slowly died until it was gone altogether. I screamed inside at its loss. I hated that he snuffed it out before it had a chance to rage.

  I forced my fingers to relax in my lap but they instead curled like rigid claws. Ready to swipe and to maim.

  “No,” I murmured, looking up at the man beside me through my lashes. He was beautiful in a way that was appealing to a woman like me. With a pleasing face that hid so much behind an affable smile. Dancing green eyes that looked sad.

  He was a man who had seen and dealt with much. It was written all over him.

  My newly tattooed skin throbbed in a dull ache. My sign.

  My reason.

  “Okay, good. I don’t want to scare you off too soon,” he teased with just enough bite to make me curious.

  I licked my lips and gave him my attention. I knew he wanted it.

  “I’m glad to see you, Elian.” He seemed to startle at my use of his name. It’s the first time I had said it. Out loud.

  He gave me a smile, yet I didn’t feel special. He gave his smiles away to anyone and everyone who wanted one.

  I wanted something else.

  Something that was only for me.

  “You don’t seem like the live music kind of girl,” Elian observed, watching me as intently as I was watching him.

  “And what kind of girl do I seem like?’ I asked, flirting just a little. Just enough.

  Elian smiled that faux happy smile and rested his arms on his knees, picking at a spot on his jeans in what appeared to be an anxious gesture.

  He leaned forward, his nose brushing against my hair, his breath hot on my neck. “The mysterious kind,” he whispered and I shivered. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to. But I did all the same.

  Elian leaned back and turned toward the stage, his head bobbing slightly in time to the music. Words were trapped in my throat, unmoving.

  But I had nothing to say anyway.

  “I thought you didn’t like music,” Elian continued.

  “I don’t.”

  He frowned but didn’t badger me for more information.

  And I focused on the band all the while I burned.

  Elian leaned forward, listening to the music with his lips parted ever so slightly. He breathed slowly. Steadily. The constant rise and fall of his chest was mesmerizing. My mouth felt dry, and the buzzing in my ears became louder.

  “The best way to understand another human being is to watch them breathe. The way they take in air, their chest expanding and contracting lets you know what they’re feeling…what they’re thinking. How they do something as integral as staying alive, tells you everything you need to know.” My father spoke softly, staring up into the night sky. I sometimes wondered if he was talking more to himself than to me.

  But I didn’t care. His words became my law and I believed everything he told me implicitly. Before. After. Because even the lies mattered.

  Elian’s breaths were rhythmic and unhurried. But every once in a while he would stop, holding the air in. Then let it out in one, long rush. The breaths of a man trying to be sure of himself, but doubting at the same time. Daddy was right. Elian’s breathing told me so much.

  “You’re looking at me,” he said, his lips quirking upward in a barely there smile.

  Most people would have been embarrassed at having been caught ogling.

  I wasn’t most people.

  “Yes I was,” I admitted, bowing my head so that my hair fell on either side of my face. A dark, concealing curtain between him and me.

  “Don’t stop,” he whispered, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I looked up at him. I couldn’t help it. Our eyes met. Coal black with dancing green.

  Gazes met and clung, holding on tightly and with the promise of something more.

  And I felt it in that moment. The moment when, against his better judgment, he began to fall.

  For a woman he didn’t know.

  A stranger.

  But one who pulled him in all the same.

  I bit down on my bottom lip to stop myself from grinning like a fool. So, so easy.

  So, so hard…

  I twisted so that I faced him, feeling the tugging pain from my bandaged skin.

  “I won’t,” I promised, knowing he didn’t understand the implications. Though I wasn’t sure that I did either.

  His fingers drifted down my cheek and I shivered again. Violent chills. His eyes sparked and lit up at my involuntary movement.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, and I knew that his question meant more than why I was at the concert. I was quickly learning that Elian’s words couldn’t be taken just at face value. He layered everything with something deeper. I appreciated that he took the time to ask the important things.

  I opened my mouth to give him an answer, though for the first time in my life I wasn’t exactly sure what I would say.

  “There you are, man! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  Elian blinked, as though waking up and dropped his hand from my face. He sat back, an embarrassed grin on his face, as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  I wanted to snarl at the intrusion. I wanted to scream over a moment ruined. But I did neither. I folded my hands in my lap and looked up at the people who had joined us.

  I recognized Elian’s friend who often came with him to Denny’s. There was another guy I recognized from seeing him going in and out of the guitar studio. I didn’t know his name and I didn’t really care to know it.

  And
there was a woman with bright red hair and a shirt that barely covered her chest. She was drinking a beer sloppily. She was wearing an unattractive scowl on her face as she looked at me.

  “You were supposed to meet up with us by the merch table,” the woman whined, moving closer to Elian in a manner that was clearly proprietary. She felt she had a claim on him; that was obvious. And my presence was not appreciated.

  My eyes slid to Elian who seemed unconcerned but I knew better. His hands were clenched into fists. He was anxious, and this interested me.

  “Sorry guys. I ran into Layna.” Elian looked at me. Only his eyes changed. They heated and simmered for just a second. The fire from earlier coming to life before he turned back to his friends.

  “You guys haven’t met yet. Margie, Stan, Tate, this is Layna Whitaker. She works at the bookstore across the street. Layna, these guys work at George’s Custom Shop with me.” Elian inclined his head towards the group still standing in front of us.

  Tate snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “You’re the hot chick from Denny’s!”

  Elian groaned and rubbed his temples as though he had a headache. “Can you be any more of a douche, Tate?” he asked lightly, like he was joking. But I wasn’t so sure. What Elian said and what he meant were clearly two different things.

  “Probably,” Tate grinned, grabbing his crotch in an adolescent gesture. He was annoying me. I wanted him to leave. The possessive girl, Margie, sneered in what I assumed was meant to be an act of intimidation. I flicked my eyes over each of them, regarding them briefly and then moving on.

  Elian gave me a sideways look, seeming uncomfortable by his friends’ antics. He covered it well with a jovial grin. I loved that smile. It was dishonest.

  It was the most truthful thing about him.

  “Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Elian announced, clearing his throat. I covered my mouth with my hand, not wanting to show the world my own smile that was anything but a lie.

  “Oh, I get it, you want to hang with the hot Denny’s chick. I know when we’re not wanted. Come on, Margie.” Tate laughed, and I watched the girl with bright red hair, knowing she hated me. It was on her face and in her eyes.