by JD Hawkins
“Shit, that’s me,” Isabel says, shoving her beer at Teo and running backwards into the crowd. “Love you guys! See you after the show!”
“Make it a good one!” I shout after her as she disappears into the crowd.
She reappears with her bandmates on the stage, and they get their instruments ready as the audience whistles and shouts. Isabel steps up to the mic, eyes closed, and puts one hand on it, the other on her guitar. The drums tap a gentle rhythm, bass throbbing like a melodic heartbeat. The warehouse is getting packed as more people come in from outside, closing up the space until we’re all shoulder to shoulder. One solid mass, entranced by the hypnotizing figure of Isabel on stage. She starts to sing softly, like a half-whisper, and goosebumps run their way down my entire body.
“Pretty incredible, huh?” Teo says, leaning close so I can hear him.
“Yeah,” I say, our faces close enough to almost touch. I lean toward his ear, smell his cologne, and say, “Do you remember the Jawbreaker gig we went to in San Diego?”
When I pull back to see his face I can see he’s already grinning with the memory, already smiling just like he did back then when we were seventeen and shoved together in a moshpit, making out as the walls vibrated and people danced all around us.
“I love the way you dance,” he says, and in that single phrase it feels like we’re back there again. Not ‘danced,’ but present tense, as if I’m the same, he’s the same, this is the same. I know that now, if I don’t say something to stop this and pull us back into the present day, we may as well be back there all over again.
“You’ve got great taste in music,” I say instead—the same words I said to him back then, as if we’re reciting the old lines, an incantation that’ll bring us back to the past.
I force myself to turn back toward the band on stage, feeling Teo’s strong presence behind me. The song builds until it’s too tender, too achingly beautiful to carry itself. Until the crowd is almost begging for some resolution. That’s when Isabel clutches her guitar and the chords crash down like some satisfying explosion. The audience erupts into joyous shouts, arms in the air as they dance against each other in the cramped space. I lose myself in the darkness and its flashing lights, carried from moment to moment by the glorious shift of those chords, by Isabel’s soaring, powerful voice and the roar of the crowd singing along with her.
I look up over my shoulder at Teo, still standing there behind me, his body barely touching mine. As the song builds I look at him and laugh in disbelief at how good this is, and he smiles as if he’s enjoying my happiness.
Time seems to stop, catalyzed into one perfect moment of nothing but music and dancing. The drums possess me, the guitars send me into a trance of never-ending movement. Deeper and deeper I go, out of my mind and into my own body. The music shaking something deep in my core, rhythmically and primally.
It could be minutes, or it could be hours, until I feel his hands on my hips. Firm, tough hands that seem to know how to touch me. Fingers search under my tank top for skin, press inside the waistband of my pants against my abdomen as I gasp for air. I let Teo press me against him, against the big, hard front of his body. Both of our forms fitting together with a sensual satisfaction, moving against each other to the rhythm set by the bass.
I put my hand up behind my shoulder, where I know his face will be. I feel the grit of his stubble as I arch my shoulders backward into him, letting him take the weight of my body. He nuzzles my palm, bites at my finger, then tilts down to bury his face in my neck. His cool breath shivers against the sweat of my body, his lips brush against the soft spot behind my ear. A tease, he pulls away as I push into him. His hand still against my front, he pulls my swaying ass to his cock, straining against his pants. I smile as the music shifts, as I trace his bulge with the crease of my ass and make him growl, low and close, into my ear. The sound makes me wet.
“I love the way you move,” he whispers again, so close to my ear that his lips brush against it, so close that I can hear him even over the raucous music. My body feels electric, more full of energy and joy than it has in years. I remember this feeling, and it’s not just the music. It’s him.
My hand in his hair, my ass on his cock, his fingers under my shirt. We grind against each other until I feel like my body is about to explode, until even this closeness isn’t close enough. He must feel the same because he puts a hand on my throat, twists my jaw around to his waiting lips. In this moment, there’s nothing I want more than his tongue in my mouth.
Teo tastes like lust and aggression, alcohol-hot tongue writhing in my mouth. His stubble grates satisfying against my skin as he holds me captive against him. My body fills with the taste of him, with the sensation of his rough hands, with music, with the atmosphere, with the smell of his cologne. I feel like I could stay here forever, and yet I’m desperate for more, desperate to get rid of even the small obstacles between us—this club, our clothes, my inhibitions. I want him inside me.
His lips break from mine, leaving me lost, disoriented. I bring a hand to my forehead.
“I’m a little dizzy,” I laugh. He smiles back at me, then takes my hand and leads me back through the crowd. That tattooed arm leads me to the side of the warehouse. He pushes open a door and steers me outside, into a small alleyway. Out here, the air is cool and fresh. A single streetlamp out on the road and a half-filled moon reflect across puddles, just enough to exaggerate the darkness.
The door shuts behind us, turning the crashing guitars into a muffled monotone, suddenly distant. I turn to look at him, his narrowed eyes catching the light, the glint of his watch, his belt buckle.
He puts a hand on my cheek.
“You ok?” he says.
I take a deep breath and nod.
“I feel great,” I say. “Just got a little overheated.”
His eyes rove down my body and back up again. The heat between us is undeniable. For a split second the cool air stills us, until we crash into each other like animals, clawing at each other hungrily with hands and mouths. His hand reaches between my legs, rubbing me through my pants, and I grind into the delicious friction until I’m gasping for air. He pushes me back into the brickwork, and I’m ready to tear off his clothes, eager to put my mouth over every inch of his body.
His strong hands reach for my zipper, sliding it down as I grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer toward me. Every part of me thirsting for him, purposeful and untamed, so much I almost scare myself, almost forget who I am, forget who he is…
He traces a finger down my slit and pushes it into my aching pussy, sliding it so deep. Our eyes lock and all of a sudden I remember who he is, what he’s done to me, and how close I am to letting it all happen again.
I shove him back onto the wall, push myself away from him, putting distance between us.
“Wait!” I say breathlessly, the word more instinct than thought. “I can’t…”
“What?” Teo says. “What’s wrong?”
He takes a step toward me and I take another step back, pulling my jacket tighter around me, closing it over my breasts, the air suddenly seeming cold and uncomfortable. My mouth goes dry, my head starting to spin without the music to orient me. I breathe long and deep, shuddering all the way.
“I can’t do this, Teo. I can’t just pretend like this is ok.”
“Who’s pretending?” Teo says, stepping toward me again, but I move away again and hold a palm up to stop him.
The air between us feels dry and brittle now, already crackling. I search for the right words, but all I can find are the simple ones, the self-evident truths. A wave of regret that I let myself get this far hits me, a sense of wrongness that I let it get to this point without even a second’s thought for my mental and emotional well-being. The things I didn’t say—at Mandala, at the Canyon, back in the club—bubble to the surface now, raw and powerful. I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep acting like it all doesn’t matter.
“You left me, Teo,” I say, a
lmost choking on it. “Three years together, and we went through everything, my mom dying, you finding your way through your art, all the highs and lows. In love…and on the night you were supposed to prove it to everyone, you left.”
In the dim light I see his face go hard, his eyes look away.
“You just disappeared,” I say, shaking my head. The disbelief and despair I felt about it still fresh. “We were so happy. All the things we did, the things we said to each other…gone in a second. I still can’t understand…you lied. Did you think I’d forgotten? What happened to ‘us against the world,’ Teo? I gave you everything. We had a future.”
I hear him sigh heavily, angry and challenged. But he says nothing.
“Tell me,” I urge, “what happened?”
Teo’s boots shuffle on the ground, he folds his arms and looks around him. Like a cornered animal, prideful and trapped.
“Is that really how you remember it?” he says, finally directing an intense stare at me, lasering the words home on that stoic look.
“Remember it?” I reply quickly. Despair turning to indignation. “I’ve remembered it every day since, Teo. I remember living my life like a half-conscious zombie for years afterwards, until I went numb to cope with the pain, to cope with the heart you stole from me.
“I remember staying up late every night for years afterwards, sure that tonight would be the night you called me, explained yourself, begged me to forgive you. I remember each and every time you told me that you loved me, and I remember trying to come up with reasons for why each one might not have been a lie. I fucking remember it all, Teo. You know, seven years isn’t a long time when you’re stuck trying to get over the past.”
“You know what I remember?” Teo says, voice firm and unfazed by my choking voice. “I remember asking you—over and over and over again—to leave with me. To leave that shitty town behind and build a life together. And I remember you laughing at the idea at first. Then changing the subject. Until eventually you just shut it down and said you didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“We were seventeen!” I say, loud enough for it to echo against the tight walls of the alley. “We had no money, Teo! No jobs! What were we going to do? Where were we going to go? You used to spend half the time complaining that you couldn’t even afford to put gas in your bike. About how much of a hard time it was finding work.”
“I couldn’t find work because to everybody in that fucking place, me and my dad may as well have been the same person.” Teo opens his arms wide with hopeless frustration. “Nobody wanted to hire my dad’s son. I didn’t stand a fucking chance there!”
“And you think skipping a state border or two would make things so much easier? For a couple of teens who hadn’t even graduated yet?”
“It would have been a clean slate. A fresh start. We could have made a new life together.”
I sigh heavily, feeling like he’s not getting it.
“A clean slate might have sounded great to you, Teo, but what about me? I’d just gotten a scholarship to Berkeley, I was about to follow my dreams. I had ambitions and I wanted to do something meaningful. I wanted more than to get some shitty job to pay for a crappy apartment in a place I hardly knew. I had friends, family—was I supposed to cut them all off? Throw all of that away?”
Teo lets the words linger in the alley, as if waiting for them to settle before he speaks again, his tone lower, faded, resigned.
“Well there’s your answer, Ash. That’s what happened to ‘us against the world’—you decided the rest of the world mattered more.”
I look away, pace a little to shake off the chill of the night, the emptiness left by the kiss.
“That’s unfair,” I say slowly. “Even if you felt like that—even if you hated me for it—you could have told me. Could have said something before you left. You know I wouldn’t have told anyone where you went. I deserved better, Teo.”
“You did,” Teo says, regret in his voice. “But I didn’t plan it out like that. It was…complicated.”
“Sure. Call it whatever makes you feel better. Complicated…difficult… You can’t call it right, though, can you?” I walk up to him now, close enough to see the hard, blank expression, but those blue eyes pained and broken. “You had seven years to explain, Teo. A phone call, a letter—that’s all it would have taken. But even now, even with me standing in front of you like this, you still can’t tell me the real reason why you left, can you?”
He rubs at his temples, the muscle in his jaw tensing. Then he fixes that icy glare on me, gazing straight into my soul. “Listen to me, Ash—there are some things better left in the past. Please trust me on this. Whatever happened that night, it’s nothing you need to know, and it would only hurt you—hurt us. It’ll do the kind of damage neither of us can repair.”
“Quit being cagey. Just tell me the fucking truth, Teo!”
I wait for him to speak, both of us aware that the only thing he can say now is the only thing he won’t. I wait until I can see the pain he carries holding it back, until I know for sure that Teo won’t ever tell me.
I look down, step away, and shake my head.
“Do you think that whole ‘tough guy who doesn’t care’ act works on me? Withdrawing into yourself, shutting down everybody else… You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still the same scared little boy who can’t take responsibility. Who runs away when things get tough. And now this…as if you can just step back into my life and hook up like none of it mattered.”
“Hey,” Teo says, “you’re the one who walked into my shop.”
I look at him and laugh in disbelief.
“You never give up, do you?” I say, holding palms up as I walk backwards, away from him. “Well, I do. I’m done trying to understand you. And you know what else? I deserve better. See you in another seven years, I guess.”
I turn around to face the street and turn the corner, feeling some slight sense of half-victory, of bittersweet conclusion—nothing like what I wanted, but maybe enough to survive.
6
Teo
The morning after the gig I wake up feeling like hell, head spinning and a deep nausea in my gut. Except I barely had anything to drink. A psychological hangover. A twisting, engulfing, discomforting sense of something wrong that it’ll take more than an Alka-Seltzer and some aspirin to get rid of.
Not that I ever really get rid of this shit—the bad memories of mistakes and struggles, the guilt and grief. I’m just good at burying it. I never claimed to anyone that I was a good person—least of all myself. I know what I am: The high school dropout son of an alcoholic criminal. The kid who lived in that shitty trailer by the woods, the kid you wouldn’t trust to watch your jacket, to hire for your store, to be near your daughter. What good’s a free country when you’re given every chance you’ll ever get at birth? When the world takes one look at you and decides who you are?
It’s in my face. In my eyes. The way I stand, the way I talk. Bad boy. Unpredictable. Unemployable. Dangerous. You don’t get to choose that. The world does. Assumptions become inevitabilities. And before you know it the only friends you have all seem to possess criminal records, job interviews only last five minutes, cops like to ask you where you’re going, and girls wanna ride you to the wild side before they settle for the nice guy.
I don’t mind, except it meant I had to leave the one girl I ever wanted.
You don’t survive the kind of life I’ve had unless you get good at burying your feelings. The sensitive don’t last with fathers like mine, the expressive get into a lot of fights in the crowds I run in, and there sure as hell ain’t no time for self-pity when you’ve got to figure out how you’ll make rent.
It took me years to get where I am. After I left that town—left Ash—I just about did a grand tour of every cockroach-infested hellhole in America. Hustling money wherever I could, both sides of the law. Working the kind of jobs where the only topic of conversation was what we’d do when we had enough money, until I
finally got to Europe, found something to get passionate about, something to build a life around, only to realize the hurt was still there.
I thought about Ash every day, even though I didn’t want to. As far as I knew that part of my life was over. I sealed the feelings up real tight and dragged them around like a weight, held them underwater until they stopped moving. I numbed so much of myself—just to avoid that pain—that it got hard to experience even joy. I had to drink more, fuck more, ride faster and fight harder just to feel the same as the next man.
Now she’s back. And all those things I buried like the dead, all those feelings and memories I tried to leave behind, are back. Like ghosts here to haunt, a hurricane that’s been brewing for a long time.
I call Kayla and tell her I won’t be coming into work today. I haven’t missed a day in over a year, but I can barely focus on myself right now, let alone somebody else’s tattoo. I take Duke out for a long run but it only tires him out, so that when he comes home he eats half a bowl of his food and settles in the yard for a long nap. I’m still pacing around the house with a static I can’t get rid of, however, so I grab my gym bag and leave.
The boxing gym’s half-empty when I get there. I nod to the few faces I know, making it clear I’m not in the mood for small talk. Once I get my gloves on I skip the warm up and head straight for the bag—the old one, the one that never breaks.
For a half hour I play with it, moving and swinging, ducking and weaving, throwing combinations and staying on my toes like it’s a real fighter. This is how I let off steam, how I burn myself out enough so I can relax—except this time it isn’t working. The more I try to forget about her, the more I can’t. I move and jab but my body only gets tighter, more tense, more frustrated. I stop moving and just start hitting. Big, thunderous punches that echo like a quake throughout the gym, drowning out the loud grunts of anger escaping my body. Slamming my fists into it like I’m trying to break down a wall.