by Black, Lena
I set my hands on both sides of the keyboard and lean in, spotting a file in the top left corner of the screen. I scroll the little arrow over it and double-click. The document expands across the monitor, and my eyes scan the lines as if they were thirsty for knowledge, gulping up her words.
What the fuck?
I decide to take a quick shower and get into something sexy, but not overtly. I grab my old concert tee with the sleeves cut off so it shows major side boob and then a simple pair of white cotton panties. Leaving my hair down in loose, slightly wild waves, and my face make-up free.
We only have another day until he’s gone and I want to make the most of it.
Just as I’m about to leave my room, my phone goes off and I spot a text from my mother. I pick it up and stare at the screen for a moment before hesitantly opening it.
That’s all it says. I know we do, but I’m still really hurt by how she treated Gunnar, and until she apologizes, I refuse to talk about anything.
Sure, Gunn was a bit crass, but he meant well by it. He was protecting me in his own foul-mouthed way.
I shake it off and take a slow breath, walking back out to the living room. When I enter, I spot Gunnar at the desk, sitting in front of my laptop. He’s engrossed by something, his eyes darting across the screen.
“What’s so fascinating?” I ask, walking over to him.
He jumps up and glares at me.
“Is this what you think of me? You think I’m some entitled, dried up hack?”
“What are you talking about?”
He looks back at the screen. “Gunnar Haze has the self-obsessed, narcissistic personality of a sociopath. His lack of passion for his craft pales only to his inability to connect with his legion of followers, better known as Anarchists. His music is quite simply uninspiring.”
“Gunnar, that’s not what you think…” I take a step toward him, but he moves back toward the wall.
“I’m glad I found out how you really feel about me.”
“Gunn, it’s not…”
“Save it, Lace,” he interrupts, brushing past me towards the front door. When I attempt to grab his arm, he rips it away, snarling back at me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Gunnar, please stop,” I cry, my sobs burning up my chest, which is tight. I can hardly breathe.
Without looking back at me, he opens the door and utters between clamped teeth, “I can’t believe I love someone who can barely stand the sight of me.”
“Wyatt, please,” I beg weepily, tears dripping down my flush cheeks.
He cringes and walks out, slamming the door behind him. I jump, startled by the aggression of the act.
Did he say…he loves me?
It’s been six months and I haven’t managed to get her out of my head.
I’m not mad anymore, but I am hurt. I couldn’t even bring myself to read the article when it was published. Even when curiosity tried to get the better of me, I avoided it at all costs.
I’d heard from Dylan, via Gwen, that Lace was doing just fine without me, which made me realize how not fine I’ve been doing.
We’re headed back to the states now, and all I think about, after all the shit she said about me, is her.
When we land, I head straight for my place. I don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone for the next several weeks. I just want to be left the fuck alone. I step into my loft, and it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I drop my bags with a sigh and head over to the counter where Callie had left my mail, flipping through a few before tossing it back. I walk over to the fridge, freshly stocked, and grab a beer, twisting off the cap as I head upstairs to my room. I am going to take a long shower and then sleep for a fucking month.
I down my beer as I walk into the bathroom, setting the bottle on the sink with a loud clink and stripping down. I face away from the mirror and glimpse over my shoulder at the reflection of the tattoo on my upper back with the cursive L.
I shake my head and turn on the shower, stepping inside for a brisk rinse down.
A few minutes later, I jump out and head into my bedroom naked and dripping wet, ready to flop into bed. I walk over to my side table, turning on my iPod. Music helps me sleep. It always has. When I was a kid, I used to turn on the radio so I couldn’t hear my parents fighting downstairs. It would drown them out so I could fall asleep.
Since I’m not in the mood for anything upbeat, I choose something slow and melancholy. I turn to fall into bed. But there’s something on it. I pick it up and notice my name and title of the main article. It’s Lace’s article.
Callie must have left it here for me to find. I throw it on the floor and crawl into bed, sinking into its welcoming softness with a yawn. I shut my eyes and…they pop back open.
“Fuck it.”
I jump up and pick the magazine off the floor, sitting back on the edge of the bed. I breathe deep and swallow hard before skimming through it until I come across an amateur picture of us with the title, Metal & Lace.
Metal & Lace
One woman’s descent into the world of Sex, Drugs, and Gunnar Haze.
By
Lacey ‘Lace’ Cummings
I have a confession…I am an Anarchist. I’ve followed Anarchy Reigns faithfully for longer than I’d like to admit. But, in recent years, I’ve felt their music was lacking a passion they once possessed. This article was originally supposed to be a truthful review on Anarchy Reigns’ ability musically. However, this is not a story of their hard partying ways or Mr. Haze’s adequacy as a front man or creative mastermind. Though he proved me wrong.
This is the story of us.
When I met Gunnar, I’ll admit, my first impression of him was anything but good. I downright hated the sonofabitch. He was an arrogant, entitled Metal God with a taste for women and trouble. He was your typical privileged celebrity, everything handed to him on a silver platter. I also saw his undeniable raw appeal. But I had a job to do, to report the truth while keeping my distance, which is exactly what I intended to do. What ended up happening, I could have never predicted.
He showed me a world I would have never known without him. He showed me what it was like to live beyond consequences. What I mean by this is he taught me to open up to new experiences and let go of those things you can’t control. Riding a motorcycle, getting a tattoo, skinny-dipping in a hotel pool, and some other things not suitable for all audiences, all things I would’ve never experienced if it weren’t for Gunnar. I know it sounds cliché, but he set me free.
I skim through the article, realizing the further I get, what a huge fucking mistake I made. This isn’t about me or the band or our music. There’s nothing of what I read the night I left her apartment.
I find it difficult to read on, but I do it anyway because I know I deserve every bit of this. I ruined the one thing I ever truly wanted, the one person I ever truly wanted.
While I’d set out to report unbiasedly, I failed. I fell in love with a man I could never truly have. But I uncovered something much more profound, myself. For that, I will always be grateful to him and the brief time we shared.
What the fuck have I done?
“Do you want to come out with me tonight?” Gwen asks, knowing what my answer would be. It’s the same answer every time. Why should the fact it’s New Year’s Eve be any different?
“No. I’m just going to stay in,” I respond, stabbing my chopsticks around in a Chinese takeout container, fishing for a shrimp at the bottom.
In the months since Gunnar, I’ve spent most of my time working or watching TV in my PJs. I know it’s starting to get pathetic, but I just can’t bring myself to move on.
My mother arranged a few blind dates for me, an investment banker, an attorney, and a young politician with aspirations of the Presidency, but they were all so damn dull and I would usually find a reason to leave early. They were the ideal matches for her visions of my future. I was never able to picture my life the way she did because it wasn’t the path I envisioned taking.
By t
he last date, I’d had enough. I told her not to set me up again. She’s eased up since the encounter at the Labor Day party. But honestly, I just think she’s relieved Gunnar is gone.
She grabs both my biceps and turns me toward her, shaking me vigorously, nearly knocking the carton out of my hand.
“You have got to get outta this mood, Lace,” she orders, the gleam in her eyes almost desperate, hopeless. “It’s not healthy.”
“I just don’t feel like going out tonight.” I pull myself from her grasp, sinking back into the sofa. “Maybe another time.”
She doesn’t get it. She may never get it. I found the one, and he left me. You seldom come back from that.
“If you don’t start getting better, I may have to call your mom,” she threatens in an attempt to shock me out of my slump. “And I really don’t want to have to do that.”
“Just have a good time. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“No. No, I won’t accept that answer.” She springs to her feet and sets her hands on her hips to let me know just how serious she is. “I love you, Lacey. And I only want the best for you. Now you get your fucking ass off that damn couch or so help me.”
“Alright, alright.” I smile faintly at her.
“I laid out that cute little silver number you’ve had your eyes on, on your bed. I will not only let you wear it tonight, I will let you keep it if you come out with me.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. You have an hour to get your shit together.” She smirks at me and I jump off my ass and hug her tight.
“Thanks for being my friend.”
“Thanks for letting me.”
She giggles and then holds me at arm’s length. “Now go get your stinky butt in the shower. I’ll pour the champagne.”
An hour later, we’re in a cab headed downtown.
Gwen looks stunning in her gold sequin mini-dress, her thick mahogany hair in a big bun atop her head, makeup flawless.
“So, what’s with the silver and gold?” I ask.
“It’s a silver and gold party. Like the New Year’s song.”
“Right, clever.”
I don’t know what it is about high-society and their color coordinated parties.
My dress is a smidge tighter and shorter than I thought it would be, but I love it anyway. I went with a bold red lip and neutral eyes, making my mouth the centerpiece. My hair loose and flowing.
We arrive at our destination, a twenty-story turn of the century building, most likely an old factory renovated into hip lofts. We ride the service elevator to the top floor, opening up into the spacious living room. It’s exactly as I expected, hardwood floors, big arched windows, and white plaster walls to keep that industrial air.
After hanging our coats, we mingle about the party, the atmosphere buzzing with the anticipation of a new year, wiping the slate clean. We drink champagne, eat an assortment of dainties, and dance our butts off. It feels good to laugh and socialize. It’s the first time I’ve felt normal in months…and tipsy. My head swims from expensive bubbly.
A few hours pass in blur and before I know it, it’s fifteen minutes to midnight. Gwen and I have been talking with the host of this little soiree, a famous fashion designer using her for a new spring campaign. She’s going on about her inspiration for this year’s collection when someone comes up behind Gwen and pulls her into a hug.
It’s Dylan!
I’m not sure if he’s real or if I’m far more drunk than I had originally thought. Isn’t he in Europe with Gunnar?
Once he’s finished with Gwen, he turns toward me with a slowly fading grin, replaced with an expression of pity.
“Is Gunnar with you?” I search the faces about us, but don’t spot him.
They both look at me, apprehension written all over the faces.
“No,” Dylan says, confirming what I already knew, “we haven’t seen him since we got back.”
“How long have you been back?” I ask, my stomach twisting into knots. Just the thought of Gunnar makes my pulse race and my palms sweat.
“About a week or so.”
Oh.
“Oh, I see,” I murmur, my face falling.
He didn’t come to me. It must really be over. I’m a goddamn fool for believing that time might fix things, for holding on to something that was never there.
Suddenly, feeling like a third wheel, I uncomfortably glance around the party, noticing all the couples clinging to each other. I realize everyone will have someone to kiss at midnight except me, depressing me further.
I have to get out of here before I burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears and make a bigger fool of myself.
“You know, um, I’m not feeling great right now. I think I’m going to head home early.”
“You’re kidding,” Gwen whines. “You’ll never get a cab on New Year’s Eve.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I kiss her on the cheeks before walking away.
“Lacey, please don’t go,” she calls out to me.
I wave at her over my shoulder, hiding the salty devils coursing down my face, and retrieve my coat off a rack setup in the entryway, putting it on when I enter the elevator. I ride it down and exit the building.
The streets are crawling with cabs, but as Gwen said, they’re all taken. It’s so cold out I actually consider going back inside. I glimpse up at the windows of the lively, inviting loft, listening to the intoxicating laughter and chatter, Banks booming from the speakers, vibrating the glass. But if I go back up there, I’d only be reminded of how Gunnar didn’t come for me.
For an instant, I get a risky idea. Gunn’s place is only a few blocks away. I could go to him and demand he read the article. Then he would know the one he read was written before I really knew him, before I fell in love with him…But he’s probably out or worse with another woman. He probably doesn’t even want to see me. He’s been back in New York for over a week and didn’t come to me.
Subway it is.
As I start walking down the street, in the opposite direction of where I want to be, I swear I hear my name. I keep moving, desperate to get out of this frosty weather.
My ears must be frozen over.
“Lace!”
Ok, now I’m sure I heard that. It almost sounds like…
I whip around and there he is, the man I never thought I’d see again striding toward me.
“Gunn?” I whisper, unsure if I truly see him. Halting in his tracks at the sound of his name, we watch each other for a few beats. “Are you really here?” I ask.
His breath is hard and quick. I see it drift in the air before dissipating into nothingness.
“Yeah, Lace,” he says, appearing hesitant, petrified even. “I’m really here.”
“How did you know where I was?” My voice is breathy, and my heart is drumming in my chest so hard it jolts me.
He holds his phone up. “Dylan called me…I-I’ve missed you, baby doll.”
I bite down on my bottom lip to fight back a sob and run at him, jumping into his arms, holding him with a suffocating grip. He embraces me back, burying his face into my neck with a sigh, his beard scratching the exposed flesh.
“I missed you, too,” I admit, weeping softly, my voice brittle.
He tilts his head back, staring me in the eyes with an absorption that makes me fall apart in his missed embrace.
“I was wrong.” He shifts some hair out of my face and wipes away a few tears that sprung free. “I read the article you published when I got home. I was so wrong, Lace.”
“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”
“I wasn’t sure you still felt that way about me.” He sets his forehead against mine, gulping loudly. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking, “I thought about you every miserable day, baby. I was terrified you’d forget me.”
“You became a part of me,” I confess, enfolding my arms about his neck. “That’s not something easily forgotten.”
As we embrace each oth
er, the unison cries of counting down to midnight floods the streets… Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven. He places his hand on my face, brushing my cheek with his fingertips. Six… My hands go into his hair, fisting and weaving it with my fingers. Five… Our lips creep closer, like a magnet drawn to steel. Four… Our breath mingles in the frosty air. Three…
“I love you, Lace,” he breathes into my mouth, his beard tickling my chin.
Two…
“I love you, Gunn,” I purr before our lips finally converge, fusing together in a brutally sluggish kiss, taking our time to drink each other in.
One…
With the sun setting behind us, I marry Gunnar on a beach in Malibu, our bare feet buried in the sand. We kept it simple, like jeans simple, and only invited Gwen and Dylan to bear witness. I would’ve invited my mother as well, but she wouldn’t have come anyway.
As I recite my vows, Gunnar holds my trembling hands, tears glistening in his eyes. There’s something beautifully heart-wrenching about my husband, with his tough exterior, breaking down without shame, so overcome with love he can’t hold back.
When he slips the heart-shaped black diamond ring on my finger, the Justice of the Peace finally says, “I know pronounce you husband and wife. You…”
Before he can finish, Gunnar scoops me up in his arms and dips me, slamming his lips on mine. One hand cupping the back of my head, he melds me to him until I can hardly breathe through our kiss. Gwen and Dylan whistle and clap and hoot, cheering him on.
When we break away, I giggle uncontrollably and tear up. He lifts his marked hands up to my face, cradling it, and stares deep into my eyes.
“You with me, Mrs. Haze?” he whispers, lovingly caressing my cheeks with his callous thumbs.
“Always, Mr. Haze.”
Jules - What can I say about you that would truly express what you mean to me. Without you, Metal & Lace would still be sitting on my laptop, unfinished. You got me through the rough patches when I was ready to call it quits and just give up on the book and myself. You have been my and this book’s biggest cheerleader. That’s why this book is dedicated to you, sweets. You are my Gwen. #Always