Lithium Tides: A Lithium Springs Novel

by Carmel Rhodes

  “See, this wasn’t so bad, right?” Quinn asked, grabbing a cupcake from the snack table set up in the back of the room.

  “I’d still rather be home drinking on the couch, but it’s actually kind of fun,” Kensie admitted. She lurched forward as someone brushed past her, causing her to spill wine on her shirt.

  “I can’t wait for tonight,” Tiff squealed in a sugar voice that was anything but sweet. “The guys were awesome on Big Mike. They are going to rock the stage tonight, then I’m going to rock CT’s world.” She was talking to her friend, but her eyes were trained on Kensie.

  Fuck you.

  Fuck you.

  Fuck you!

  Kensie chanted in her head. More karma. She was a bitch to Tiff before, and now the bartender was getting her payback. Way to kick me when I’m down. Kensie swallowed past the lump in her throat. Yes, they broke up, and yes, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, but she could barely pull it together for work and he was sleeping with other people?

  “He’s like totally obsessed with you,” Tiff’s friend said.

  Jamie turned to the two cackling bitches. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “This isn’t about you, Kitty Cat,” Tiff said.

  “You made it my problem when you pushed my friend. I like you—you know that—but Ken is my family.”

  Kensie downed another glass of wine. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She wasn’t. It wasn’t, but her new motto was fake it until it doesn’t hurt anymore. She grabbed Quinn and Jam by the arm and led them back to their seats, hoping to avoid further embarrassment. “Are you guys going to the party tonight?” she asked, partly to change the subject, and partly because she wanted them to go and cockblock Fuckface.

  Jam and Quinn looked at each other in confusion. “How do you know about the party?” Jam asked cautiously. There was going to be a farewell party for the guys at the Rabbit Hole. Tonight, was their last performance until after the tour.

  “Him,” Kensie said nonchalantly. She could feel her face heat. She put a moratorium on all things Lithium Springs and Fuckface-related for weeks, and now she was bringing it up so that her friends could spy for her. She knew it was illogical. She knew she didn’t have a right to be jealous, but she still loved him. She hated his fucking guts, but she loved him all the same.

  “I thought you weren’t talking to him.”

  “I’m not!” Kensie defended as her friends narrowed their eyes. “I’m not talking to him, but he calls and I listen to the messages.”

  “How often does he call?” Jam pressed. Her inquisitiveness made her a great reporter, but an annoying friend.

  “Like…I don’t,” Kensie ran her fingers through her hair, “every night, I guess.”

  “Babe,” Jam admonished.

  “What?” I’m pathetic? I’m weak? I’m an idiot? I know.

  “I thought you wanted to move on.”

  “I do. I am moving on.” It was a lie. She knew it and her friends knew it too.

  “You’re never going to get over him if you’re listening to his voicemails every night and stalking his Instagram all day.”

  “I. Do. Not.” Another lie. She made the account specifically to stalk him. Old habits.

  “You do. You’ve never had Instagram and now, suddenly, you’re on it ten times a day.”

  “I just…I miss him.” Finally, the truth. “What would you do?”

  “You know what I’d do,” Jam said matter-of-factly. Jam didn’t tolerate lying, at all, ever. Lucky for her, Ryder was honest, at times brutally so, but it worked for them.

  “What about you?” she asked, tipping her chin toward Quinn. She and Quinn bonded in Napa and despite being directly related to Fuckface, Kensie really cherished her friendship.

  “I don’t know, Ken. I’m biased. He loves you. He fucked up, but I don’t think it’s something you can’t get past.”

  “He used me.”

  “You used him, too,” she countered. “You used him as an escape. You weren’t happy in your relationship and instead of ending it…” She stopped talking, she didn’t need to finish. The reality was harsh enough without voicing it.

  “But I was upfront about that.” Kensie’s voice cracked. Don’t Cry. Don’t Cry.

  “He confessed. He didn’t have to,” Quinn countered, softly. She ran her hand down Kensie’s shoulder. It was comforting, but it only made Kensie’s eyes burn more.

  “She has a point there,” Jam agreed.

  “I don’t think I can trust him,” she whispered. Another truth, and that one did it. That one broke the dam and the tears flowed freely.

  “You’re trapped in purgatory. Either tell him to back off or give him a chance, but you can’t survive like this,” Jam said, wiping the tears away from Kensie’s big doe eyes.

  She nodded, pulling out her cell phone.

  Kensie: You need to stop calling me.

  His reply was immediate.

  Fuckface: Baby, please talk to me. Tell me what can I do? I’ll do anything.

  Kensie: Let me move on.

  Fuckface: I can’t do that.

  Kensie: You’ve moved on, why can’t I?

  Fuckface: Baby, I’m a fucking mess. I will never move on from you. You’re it for me, you know that.

  Kensie: I’m staring at your girlfriend right now.

  Fuckface: Are you looking in the mirror?

  Kensie: Don’t play dumb.

  Kensie looked up from her phone to see a carefree Tiff laughing with her friends. She used to be that girl, the girl who found humor in the most mundane things. The girl who enjoyed being around people, around friends. Instead, she was this mopey shell of a woman, watching from the sidelines.

  Tiff threw her head back in laughter, and her long black hair fell from her shoulders, exposing her neck, exposing the large purple bruise on her throat. The sight of that hickey gutted Kensie.

  Fuckface: Baby, I’m glad you’re talking to me but I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  Kensie: Tiff, and it seems as if I’m not the only one you like to mark.

  She dropped her phone back onto the table and picked up her paint brush, determined to salvage what was left of her night. Asshole. I hate him. He probably calls you every night after he fucks her. Fucking douchebag.

  “Now that the background has had a chance to dry, we are going to work on the dandelions,” the instructor said, beginning again. Kensie tried to focus on what the woman was saying. She poured her emotions onto the canvas. Her brushstrokes were harsh, giving what was supposed to be an ethereal painting a hard edge. Her eyes wandered back to her phone, the new message notification taunted her.

  Fuckface: Tiff has never been and will never be my girlfriend.

  Kensie: Got it. You’re just fucking her. I’m home every night crying my eyes out while you’re balls deep in someone else.

  Fuckface: I am not fucking her or anyone else.

  Kensie: It’s fine. We broke up.

  Fuckface: You’re pissed. You need time, but you never stopped being mine and I never stopped being yours.

  Kensie: YOU HAVE TO STOP THIS! We broke up because you lied to me. I don’t trust you.

  Kensie put her phone down and grabbed Quinn’s glass of wine. “How’d you do that?” she asked, pointing to her friend’s canvas. Somewhere along the way, she must have missed a step.

  “You two are hopeless,” Quinn huffed, dipping her brush in the white acrylic, fixing Kensie’s painting.

  “I’m trying to get him to leave me alone.”

  “Sure you are.” The redhead rolled her eyes.

  Fuckface: I’m not Prince Charming. I’m not the hero. You knew that from the beginning, but got past it then, why can’t you at least try now?

  Kensie: That was different. This isn’t healthy.

  Fuckface: Fuck that. I love you. You love me. Why can’t we be together?

  Kensie: Please stop this. Don’t make me have to block you.

  Fuckface: Kensington, I ne
ed you. Even if it’s just talking to your voicemail. I need to feel connected to you.

  Kensie: I guess I have no choice.

  Fuckface: Don’t do this. Please

  Fuckface: Please

  Fuckface: I’m sorry.

  Fuckface: I love you. You’re my best friend. Please.

  Kensie swiped angrily at the tears leaking out of her eyes. This had to stop. She needed time to herself and as much as she hated to admit it, he needed to move on.

  Kensie: I love you. I probably always will, but love isn’t enough. I need to know I can trust you.

  Fuckface: Don’t do this.

  Kensie: Enjoy your life. Have fun on tour. You won’t even miss me once you’re gone.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she blocked his number and then deleted his contact information. She deleted the text chain and every picture of him, except the one they took that day at Gas Works. Was it all a lie? She didn’t know. She’d like to think he was sincere then, in the van, and under the stars, but it didn’t matter now. They were over. He was leaving and she needed to start living again, this time for herself.

  “Is this what you want, Kensington?” he asked, walking her backwards. Her legs hit the edge of the bed as she took in the sight of him. Broad shoulders covered in ink, hard chest rubbing against hers, and a face so handsome that it physically hurt to look at him too long. The perfect mix of blue collar and blue blood.

  “Yes,” she moaned, pulling his mouth down on to hers. He tasted like cinnamon and spice, but there was nothing nice about the way he licked into her mouth. Nothing sweet about the long, lazy strokes he used to claim her.

  “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, wrapping his long, calloused fingers around her neck.

  “Mmm,” was the only response she could muster. It was a heady combination, his tongue dancing with hers, his hands wrapped around her throat like ivy, his scent, clean, with a hint of fireball whiskey. All of it too much, but somehow, not enough. She would never get enough of him. She’d spend the rest of her life with him buried deep inside of her because the opposite, the emptiness, was unfathomable.

  “Does he fuck you like I fuck you?” he grunted. His voice hard, almost angry. Like the thought of someone else fucking her drove him mad, but the thought of Trey fucking her pushed him past his limit—took him to a dark place.

  Kensie shook her head, ignoring the devil hiding behind his blue eyes. She wasn’t blind to the devil, not if she was being honest with herself, she’d always known about it. It was there, even in the beginning, but his pull was just too strong. “No one has ever fucked me like you fuck me,” she answered. Not because he needed to hear it, but because it was true.

  Smirking, he pulled her Lithium shirt over her head, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were so tight, they were almost painful. He eyed her body like she was his plaything, a toy he’d stolen from his friend. A toy he had every intention on breaking.

  “Is this mine?” he asked, dipping his hand into her panties. It was rhetorical, of course it was his. It was his since the moment he made up his mind to take her. “I want to hear you say it,” he growled. His fingers slid through her folds as he rubbed her, spreading her wetness up to her clit, not too fast, not too slow. His mouth ducked down to her chest. He tugged on her right nipple with his teeth, biting and licking her. Her legs began to tremble as he moved over to her left nipple, giving it the same treatment.

  “Of course, it’s yours,” she whined, “but now that he knows, do you still want it? Do you still want me?”

  “Fuck,” Kensie hissed, shooting up out of bed. She was wet, from sweat, from tears, and from need. “God, this is so fucked up,” she gasped, running her fingers through her hair. It wasn’t the first time that she’d had a sex dream about Him since they split, but it affected her all the same.

  She eyed the clock on her bedside table. Ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, a new day, and she made a promise to herself and to Jam that today would be better. Today, she would try to get back to some semblance of normalcy.

  Throwing the covers back, Kensie threw her arms up over her head. Step one in rejoining the real world was a shower, a very long and very cold shower. She needed to wash away the desire, and the regret, and the anger.

  Once she was all cleaned up, she got dressed in real clothes, not work clothes, not sweatpants or pajamas, but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that hung off her shoulder. She put on makeup for the first time in a month, mascara, lip gloss, and blush, then she tied her hair into a high ponytail.

  It wasn’t fancy, she didn’t look like the perfectly polished princess she portrayed when she was with Trey, or like a girl who belonged backstage at rock and roll concerts. It wasn’t much, but it was Kensie. She slipped on her sandals, grabbed her bag and headed out of her room. The apartment was quiet. She assumed Jam was still in bed, or at the guys’ house, but as Kensie rounded the corner toward the kitchen, she spotted Ryder pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Hey,” she said, choosing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the breakfast bar, “will you let Jam know I’ll be back later tonight?”

  “Hot date?” he asked eyeing her suspiciously.

  “I am going to visit my parents,” she bit angrily. Just walk away, Kensie. Just leave. Just walk away. She tried to leave, she willed her legs to move, but she was tired of ignoring the tension between them. Step two: confront your issues head on. “Do you have something you want to say to me, Ry?” So much for diplomacy.

  “I think this whole thing is fucking stupid. You’re miserable. He’s miserable. All he does is sit in his room writing sad love songs.” His voice was severe, his hazel eyes narrowed in on hers.

  “I’m sure he keeps plenty busy.” Sarcasm dripped from her words as the image of Tiff’s bruised and bitten throat plowed through her mind.

  “You really think that little of him?”

  “Are you really asking me that? Me? Of all people? He lied to me. He manipulated me. I turned my entire life upside down for him. I got into a fucking fight with my father. I quit my job.”

  “But you love your new job.”

  “That’s not the fucking point!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “The point is I trusted him. I would have done anything for him and all he wanted was revenge. I gave myself to him, mind, body, and soul. He owned me, and then he broke me. Now, because he tripped and fell in love, I’m supposed to forgive and forget because he left me a few voicemails? Fuck that. I need more than that. I need actions. He’s already proven that I can’t trust his words.”

  “You want a big romantic gesture?”

  “I want it all. I want the small stuff and big stuff and all the stuff in between. I want to be able to trust him. I want him to work for it.”

  “For him to do that, you’ve got to cut him some slack.”

  “But that’s just it—I don’t. I know I wasn’t perfect. I know none of this would have happened if I just stayed away from him. I know no one could make me cheat, I get it, but my mistakes didn’t break us, his did. I’m working on fixing my shit. He needs to figure out how to fix his, and don’t tell me that’s not fair because I’ve fought for this from the beginning. It’s his turn.”

  “So, you’re saying there’s a chance?”

  “I’m saying that if he really loves me, he’ll show me, and if not, then tell him to move the fuck on because this isn’t fair to me. It isn’t fair that you and Javi make me out to be the bad guy because, oh lookie, Fuckface actually does have a heart.”

  “I’m not trying to discount your feelings. I care about both of you.” She snorted. Like hell he did. He was unequivocally Team FuckFace. “I do,” he said setting his mug on the counter. “Look, you’re Jam’s best friend. I think she loves you more than she loves me,” he chuckled, “and you’re my best friend’s girl—”

  “I am not his girl.”

  Ry looked like he wanted to protest but decided against it. “Whatever, all I’m saying is, you and I might not
be as close as you and Javi are, but we are family, and if I thought you’d be happier without him, then I’d say that. But you’re not. I know he fucked up, but he loves you.”

  Kensie shook her head. “It’s a lot to forgive.”

  “I know, but—”

  “There is no but,” she sighed, sadly. “I should go.”

  Emotions were immortal spirits hiding in mortal beings. You could free yourself by releasing them out into the world, or you could let them eat you alive—but you couldn’t change what you wouldn’t confront.

  Sunday dinners resumed after the wedding, but they weren’t the same. The emotions ran high in Madison Park, yet despite the issues she had with her father, it was still home.

  “This is great, Mom,” Kensie said, complimenting Jacquelyn’s halibut. They spent the afternoon at the farmer’s market, picking up fresh ingredients for the meal they now shared.

  “Thank you,” her mother beamed, “I’m just glad you’re eating again.”

  Kensie half-shrugged, half-grimaced. Of course, her mother didn’t have an issue giving voice to her emotions. She not only noticed her daughter’s lack of appetite, she never missed the chance to express her concern. Kensie couldn’t blame her. She had been thin before, but since the breakup, she’d lost five to ten more pounds, transforming her from fit to frail.

  “It’s bullshit, if you ask me,” Victor grumbled stabbing at his plate. “Sundays are for God, family, and steak. In that order.”

  “The doctor said your father’s cholesterol was a little high and suggested we cut out some of the red meat,” Jacquelyn explained to Kensie before turning to her husband. “Having a healthy meal every once in a while, won’t kill you, but I might.”

  Kensie smiled to herself, listening to her parents bicker about steak versus fish; that was the biggest issue in Jacquelyn and Victor’s marriage. It was nice, but it made her wonder what was wrong with her. She’d grown up in a house filled with love, yet she constantly chose assholes.