by Carian Cole
My heart pounds so hard I’m certain he can feel it against his own chest.
I force out my next question. “You think I’m falling in love with you?”
“Why else would you be here?”
I tremble as he grabs my waist and presses his hard body against mine. I want to deny his accusation, but his lips on mine stop the lies from spilling from my mouth. I’m pinned like a butterfly specimen, splayed open with no way to hide, vulnerable to his physical and emotional scrutiny.
“I know you want me, Piper.” He slides a gentle hand along the curve of my hip, then down over the back pocket of my jeans. He cups my ass cheek in his hand and squeezes hard—like he’s claiming ownership. “And I know you’re falling in love with me.”
“Blue….” I say his name like what he’s saying can’t possibly be true.
“Don’t worry, baby. I think I’m falling in love with you too.”
He lifts me off the floor in a single motion that seems effortless. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and hold on tight while he carries me to the other side of the room, releasing my hold on him only when he lowers me onto the thin sleeping bag.
“And….” His eyes darken for a moment and it fills me with that flash of worry that he’s got one foot ready to run if I get too close. He’s scared. Maybe as much as I am. “… it’s scaring the fucking hell out of me.”
He climbs between my parted legs and lowers his mouth onto mine, kissing me in that crazy, desperate way he does, like there’s something inside me he needs and can’t find.
When I can’t breathe anymore, I pull away. His long hair falls into my face as I stare up into his eyes. The thin sleeping bag offers no protection from the wooden floor, and I shift slightly beneath his weight while I gather my thoughts.
“We can be scared together,” I whisper reassuringly, trying to convince both of us that it’ll be okay. Although honestly, I’m not sure anything can extinguish the fear his eyes convey.
He nods, his eyes locked onto mine, and slowly rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. The shaking of his hand is like a vise around my heart, and it clenches and explodes into millions of little pieces aching with love and protectiveness over him.
“Have you been in love before?” I ask softly. Did she hurt him? Was she the reason he left his home? Did she kick him out?
It takes him a few moments to answer, and he uses those moments to slowly remove my clothes while I use those moments to hope his answer is no.
He trails a finger from my stomach all the way up between my breasts, and my nipples harden into peaks from the feather-light, tickling touch.
“I have,” he finally answers, gently cupping my breasts and pressing his palm against the sensitive tips. “Been hopelessly in love.”
Jealousy creeps in like a monster, distracting me from the exquisite sensation of his warm hands on my body. “What happened with her?”
He bends down and circles my breast with his tongue, flicking his piercing over my aching nipple. The cool silkiness of his hair fans out over my skin.
“It wasn’t a woman. I was in love with drugs.”
The truth is unexpected but equally devastating.
He kisses a trail along my throat, his tongue teasing me while he palms my breast. “And now I’m in love with music and freedom. And a little sweet, sexy chick with a funky name.”
He flashes me his irresistible, crooked grin. I feel immediately grateful that his shaky hands have stilled and in place of the sadness in his eyes, I now see playfulness. Smiling, I reach up and touch the feather hanging from his ear.
“Tell me about this. Something as unique as this must have a story, right?”
“It does.”
He sits up and leans against the wall, and I rest my head on his lap as he lights up a cigarette. Acorn curls up on the sleeping bag next to us and rests his chin on an old, ratty stuffed penguin. I wish I knew what Acorn’s backstory is and if he sleeps on the toy because he’s afraid someone will take it away or if it gives him comfort. Probably both.
“I have this aunt who rescues birds,” Evan explains. “She must have at least a hundred birds of all different species. She has three that are over fifty years old.”
“Wow. I didn’t know a bird could live that long.”
He nods and exhales. “Some do. They often outlive their owners. That’s how she got them. The relatives of the deceased didn’t want them.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It is. My aunt lives in an old house with a massive screened porch, and the birds are everywhere. It’s noisy as fuck, too. Some talk, some chirp and sing, some just squawk, but she loves them. When I was younger, I used to visit her and help her take care of them. Every night, I’d climb out the bedroom window and onto her roof and smoke to try to chill out from the bird noise in my head. Sometimes she’d come out there with me, and we’d look at the stars and wait for the birds to sleep.”
“Were you two very close?”
“Yeah. She’s my mom’s sister, and I was closer to her than I ever was with my mom. When she was around.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. “She had this one cool little blue bird. I’m not sure what kind of bird it was, but it was much smaller than a blue jay. It used to sit on my shoulder and chew on my hair, and it would fly right to me as soon as he saw me. He was my favorite for years, and when he passed away, she made me the earring out of a few of his feathers. She told me it would protect me and bring me peace.” He smashes out his cigarette. “I’m still waiting for the peace part.”
“It sounds like the bird really liked you.”
He shrugs. “I think he just liked my hair and wanted to make some kind of epic nest.”
I laugh. “You want to know what’s funny? The first day I saw you, a little blue bird flew into my head right outside my office. It scared the heck out of me.”
“Are you kidding? A bird flew into your head?”
“Yeah. Awkward stuff always happens to me. It’s embarrassing. I’m like a weird loser.”
“Hey.” He kisses my temple. “You’re not a loser. You’re cute. And you’re real.”
“Real?” I repeat.
“Yeah. You’re… you. You follow your heart, even though it’s taken you to a fucked-up person like me. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. Even though you’re kinda awkward, you’re still the most beautiful chick I’ve ever met. Inside and out.”
“Me?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “You repeat everything I say.”
“Sorry. You just say things no one else has ever said to me.”
“I might be the first to say them, but I won’t be the last. Trust me.”
I don’t want to trust him on this. I want him to be the only guy to ever say words to me that make my heart and stomach jump around with excitement.
He turns and slowly crawls over me like a large jungle cat, pushing me down on my back as he moves. He studies me with an odd frown on his face and runs his hand down the length of my body, then up again to rest on my hip.
“Don’t think about tomorrow, Piper. I can see it in your eyes, and it’ll only drive you crazy.”
I’m already crazy, though. I’m crazy about him, and I’m crazy for letting him fuck me here on an old, musty sleeping bag next to his dog and a stuffed penguin missing an eye, in a toolshed that smells like gasoline and fertilizer.
The thing about being crazy is that it can slowly become normal before you even realize it.
Chapter Eight
Last night, there was a message from Dr. Green on my answering machine, asking me to call her back at my earliest convenience. She left the message three days ago, but I had no idea that little red, flashing four on my machine indicated an important message. I assumed the four messages were all from Ditra, and I refused to listen to them because I knew she was beyond the joking stage about me not telling her all the details about my current life, and she had moved into the worried and
demanding phase.
In a few days I’ll call Ditra and share everything with her. But first I need to call Dr. Green and find out what my test results are.
Even though I don’t have a coworker immediately within listening distance of my desk, I wait until they all leave for lunch before I call the doctor’s office back.
“Hi, this is Piper Karel. I’m returning Dr. Green’s call,” I tell the receptionist.
“One moment, please. I’ll connect you.”
My palm is sweaty against the plastic phone as I listen to hold music that should be soothing but isn’t. The only music that soothes me now is Blue’s.
I’m sure the doctor is going to give me the worst news of my life once this moment of hold ends. We all know if she had good news, she would have left a simple message on my answering machine at home. She wouldn’t be torturing me by making me call her back.
Finally, the hold music is cut off.
“Piper, it’s Dr. Green. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, wondering if she expected me to be feeling sick, itchy, and feverish by now. Or maybe suffering with morning sickness.
“Great. I wanted to tell you that all your test results came back negative.”
My mouth falls open in surprise and I tap the volume button on the base of the desk phone to make sure I’m hearing her properly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Is anything going on to make you question the results?”
“No… not at all. I’ve just been worried.”
“I know, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you personally to put your mind at ease.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“As we discussed during your appointment, if you are going to be sexually active with a partner you’re not feeling overly safe with, then I suggest you use condoms in conjunction with the birth control pill. I’d like to see you in another three months for a checkup and to run the tests again.”
More tests. That means something could still be dormant inside me, waiting to sprout up at the most inopportune time.
Gulping, I twist around to make sure I’m still alone. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
“Given the information you revealed during your appointment, yes, I really do. It’s your choice, of course.”
Her words paint a much prettier picture than the reality of what happened during my appointment. The reveal of information was me having a sobbing, hysterical meltdown with my feet in stirrups and my ass at the edge of a paper-lined exam table. Dr. Green and her nurse were both incredibly sweet and comforting during the exam as I rambled on tearfully about Evan and the bridge and the bending over and the dick sucking. They listened to me with empathetic, non-judgmental smiles. The nurse held my hand as I was spread, scraped, and poked, then gave me a paper cup of ice water and a box of tissues. When I had finally calmed down enough to get dressed, I was given a small plastic bag filled with condom samples and pamphlets about safe sex.
“Well, yeah, but I’ve talked to my boyfriend since then, and he hasn’t had as many partners as I originally thought.”
The word boyfriend feels foreign on my tongue, as if I’m speaking another language or perhaps telling a lie.
“That’s good to hear. I still highly recommend practicing safe sex at all times and a checkup in three months. You can call back to schedule. And if you have any questions in the meantime, please don’t hesitate to call me or make an appointment to come see me, all right?”
“I definitely will.”
Relief overpowers me when I hang up the phone, and it’s so overwhelming I actually feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. I grab my water bottle and take a few sips between deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” Melissa asks, appearing suddenly and dumping a pile of file folders onto my desk. “These are from Anne in accounting.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look weird.”
Ignoring her, I slide the files closer so I can begin to organize them by priority. Melissa can’t take a hint, though, and continues to stare at me until I look back up at her questioningly.
“You know what’s odd, Piper? I could have sworn I saw you the other night, making out with that hippy homeless guy that’s always hanging around downtown, begging for money.”
My jaw clenches as I narrow my eyes at this girl who loves to antagonize me. I knew someday this was bound to happen. Evan and I haven’t exactly always been discrete about public displays of affection.
“Don’t you have work to do, Melissa?”
“Aren’t you even going to deny it?”
That’s when it truly hits me like a brick wall. I’m in love with Evan, and I don’t want to hide or deny it. I refuse to live a lie or cover up my feelings for him just to satisfy other people or to avoid being judged by them.
Love isn’t dictated by what a person does for work or where they live.
“Why should I deny it? He’s sweet, incredibly talented, and hot as hell.”
“He’s homeless, Piper. Are you fucking serious?”
“I am,” I admit casually. “By the way, how’s your fiancé? Is he still unemployed?”
Melissa makes a disgusted face, and I fear she’s going to come right over the top of my desk and murder me here on the spot.
“You’re a bitch,” she seethes. “No wonder you can only get a homeless guy to date you. Nobody else would ever want you.”
I feel guilty as she stomps away in the direction of her cubicle with tears in her eyes, but she instigated me. Saying hurtful words to someone isn’t something I enjoy at all, but as my mom is always telling me, I have to fight back sometimes so people don’t walk all over me. It’s not my fault Melissa is a rude, judgmental bitch who constantly goes out of her way to make me feel bad, so maybe she deserves a jobless fiancé.
Blue usually hears my car pull up in front of the abandoned house every night and waits for me at the shed door, but today when I get there, he’s not standing at the door. Instead, he’s sitting on the floor with his guitar, surrounded by a notebook and scraps of paper. He’s so immersed in scribbling madly with a black crayon that he doesn’t even look up at me.
“Blue?” I say softly.
Without acknowledging me, he rubs his hand across his forehead and plays a few notes, then shakes his head, starts over, shakes his head again, plays a few notes, then bangs his hand on the body of the guitar.
“Fuck!” he yells, reaching for the pack of cigarettes lying next to him. I glance over at Acorn, who’s curled up in the fleece dog bed I bought for him earlier in the week. He was so happy when I gave it to him he wagged his tail and spun around in circles for about fifteen minutes before snuggling into the bed with his cherished penguin.
“Evan.” I take a few steps closer to him. “Are you okay?”
He takes a deep drag on the cigarette and blows smoke up over his head. His eyes are wild, bloodshot with exhaustion, his expression tortured. The handsome smile I love is nowhere to be seen.
“Do I look fucking okay?” He grabs a bottle of vodka from beside him that I somehow didn’t see until now and takes a gulp of it before slamming it back down and picking up the crayon to write more on the tattered notepaper.
My heart sinks like a two-ton rock into my gut. “You’re drinking?”
I kneel in front of him and touch his hand, but he yanks it away as if I burned him.
“I’m trying to write, and I can’t fucking get it. It’s all a mess.” Eyes darting across the page, he shakes his head in frustration and crumples the paper into a ball and tosses it a few feet away with the others.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “Maybe you just need to take a break for a few minutes.”
His lip curls up in anger. “I don’t need a break. I need to fucking get this song right.”
“It sounds good, from what I heard,” I say, and that’s the truth. I didn’t hear anything wrong at all with the piece he was playing. It sounded just as awesome as all his other songs.
/> The face he makes is one of complete disbelief and repulsion. “Don’t pacify me. Are you deaf? It’s pure shit. It’s making my fucking ears bleed.”
I want to tell him how wrong he is, but it’s obvious he’s too far down into the tunnel of his own head to listen to any sort of logic, reason, or honest feedback from me. I don’t understand why this particular song has him so stressed out. I don’t think anyone expects it to sound a specific way.
My worry for him heightens as he presses his fingers into his temples, screws his beautiful eyes shut, then strums a myriad of beautiful notes in tune to the nodding of his head, then mumbles something I can’t understand to himself. Sighing, he scribbles some more onto his paper and repeats the process all over again.
It slowly sinks in as I watch him. He expects it to be a certain way. He must be suffering from a self-imposed artist vision of perfection that’s got him all wound up.
When he goes for the vodka again, I reach out and grab the bottle from his hand just before it reaches his lips.
“Evan… I don’t think you should be drinking this. You told me you had problems with alcohol in the past.”
He glares at me, eyes flickering with flames of anger and defiance. “I told you a lot of things.” He yanks the bottle from my hand, and the liquid sloshes around inside. “Don’t get all AA with me, Piper. Leave me alone or just get the hell out of here. Please.”
The venomous tone and nasty words slice through the comforting smile I had forced onto my face, and I slowly rise to my feet, hoping with all hope an apology will quickly chase away the hurt.
“Fine.” My voice shakes with the start of tears when I’m met with deafening silence. “I’ll leave.”
Chewing my thumbnail, I wait for him to look up at me, to ask me not to leave, to pull me down onto the sleeping bag and kiss me senseless, but he’s completely submerged in the song and whatever notes or lyrics he’s fighting a battle with.
“Are you doing drugs?”
The muscles of his narrow jaw tighten, and his tongue sweeps across his lips as he lifts his head to look at me. “No, I’m not. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”