Broken Lullabies

by Nicole Simone

  “You’re in the wrong field. You should have been a reporter.”

  I pinned Matthew to the wall with a patient expression. It was the same look my mom gave when she wanted you to talk. Sure enough, it worked like a charm.

  “Fine,” Matthew conceded. “My parents and I are close, but like I told you, they don’t exactly believe in what I’m doing. They would prefer I got married, moved back home, and pumped out five kids.”

  “But you said they’re hippies.”

  “Hippies in the sense my mom grows her own food, half the furniture in our house is built by my father’s hands, and they believe medicine is a Band-Aid, not a cure. But they are traditional in their values. What about your parents?”

  “They’re typical upper middle class. My dad retired a year ago and he spends his time at the country club playing golf while my mom organizes charity functions for various causes that hold little meaning to her.” Realizing how that sounded, I grimaced. “They aren’t bad people. They’re incredibly caring and supportive.”

  “I sense a ‘but.’” Reading my lengthy pause, Matthew spoke. “No judgments.”

  My hands twisted themselves in my lap. I didn’t want to speak ill of my parents. They’d bought the best therapist money could buy after the incident.

  “It’s nothing,” I lied. “They’re great.”

  “My parents are great too, but they’re also a pain in my ass.”

  My laughter quickly turned somber as I confessed what had needled me since I’d moved home four years ago. “At least they know you. I feel like my parents want me to be this version of myself that existed in high school. Perky, happy-go-lucky Camille. How can I be that person when I saw what happens when evil is unleashed? That is…”

  The intensity in Matthew’s stare burned brighter than the North Star. “That is…?”

  “That is, until I saw that picture of us in the tabloids and realized she wasn’t dead. The old me still exists. I could tell by the way my smile reached my eyes. It wasn’t forced or faked, and it’s because of you.” My confession tumbled out like an avalanche and there was no stopping the onslaught. “You turned the light switch back on.”

  I couldn’t be the reason she’d found happiness again when I was the fucking person who’d bestowed the nightmares and misery on her in the first place. I knew this would happen. I knew if I gave into my desires, the trigger would be pulled. It was only a matter of time before the damage of my actions followed. Anguish clawed at my throat as Camille’s beautiful face fell.

  Her voice hardly above a whisper, she spoke. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

  It would be an honor to hold her sunshine in the palms of my hands, but it was an honor I didn’t deserve. This – whatever this was -- had to come to an end, which pained me as much as getting my leg blown off would have. Camille would be fine though. She would move on, find a nice guy, get married, and move to a house with a white picket fence. The whole nine yards. Because she deserved it. I would be a distant blip in her memory. But if we continued down this path, Camille would eventually see the monster that lurked inside me. And that would be worse than missing a leg. That would be equivalent to having my heart blasted to smithereens.

  Rising from my chair, I picked up her plate from the table. “Are you done?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Her politeness sliced through me like a double-edged sword. I wanted the banter and comfortable ease to our conversation back. Anger bubbled to the surface. Why did Camille have to bring the past into our present? I wanted an hour, a fucking hour, to pretend she could be my mine to worship, to kiss her lips whenever I pleased, to make her laugh with silly jokes, and to drink coffee on the terrace together. I wanted to be that nice guy she deserved so badly, my knees almost buckled. Clearing our plates, I kept a lid on my emotions until my feet crossed the threshold into the kitchen. The plates clanged loudly against the metal sink basin. My head fell to my chest as my breathing came out in ragged spurts. For the past four years, I had had to live with never being punished for my actions, which compelled a raw, gut-churning guilt that sometimes woke me in the middle of the night. But this right here was my true punishment.

  Footsteps sounded behind me.

  “Do you want some help cleaning up?” Camille asked.

  “I’m okay. You can go.”

  My body tensed, waiting for the fight that was about to ensue. The room crackled with tension as Camille’s gaze burned a hole between my shoulder blades.

  When she spoke, hope was woven into her tone. “I thought we could watch a movie and eat ice cream.”

  Cuddling up on the couch with Camille next to me sounded like bliss. My fingers turned ghost white while I struggled against what I had to do versus what I wanted to do. The longer Camille stood in my kitchen, acting sweeter than cherry pie, the harder my decision would be. What I had to remember was that angels don’t fall in love with the devil.

  “We aren’t a fucking couple, Camille,” I bit out.

  “I’m aware.” She exhaled an annoyed breath. “Will you please face me? I can’t talk to you like this.”

  “Why? So you can yell at me? Save the theatrics and just go.”

  “Oh my God! You are the most incredibly frustrating man on the planet.

  She tugged at my shoulders, forcing me to turn around. Her green eyes were full of compassion as she looked at me. Cupping my face with the palms of her hands, I resisted the urge to lean into her touch.

  “Why is it when I mention my past you become a different person?” she questioned.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Matthew, I’m not a moron. I see how you react.”

  “Yea? How do I react?”

  “You retreat into yourself. It happened the night I cut my foot open as well.”

  My heart stopped beating in my chest as I forced my lips to move. “There is no great secret I’m keeping from you, Camille.” I shook my head. “I should have seen the writing on the wall. You have made me into this messiah, keeper of your happiness, which is fucking ridiculous.”

  Her hands fell to her sides as her features hardened. “You’re twisting my words.”

  “Whatever. I can’t handle this right now.”

  “Of course you can’t.”

  “Can you blame me?! I’m a rock star. I don’t have time to fix a broken girl who has issues longer than my arm.”

  “I never asked you to fix me, Matthew.” She said my name as if it tasted like poison. “All I said was that you make me happy which isn’t a fucking crime. Look, I don’t know what secrets you hold and why you’re so bent on destroying us, but it won’t work.”

  My eyes blinked rapidly at her, unsure I’d heard her correctly. “What?”

  Camille set her hands on her hips, her mouth pursed in determination. The flecks of gold in her green eyes shimmered.

  “I like you, and based upon where your mouth was earlier, you like me too. Also, we have an agreement that is in effect for another week. After that, you can run if you really want to, but right now, can you please resist being an asshole? I’m finally happy.” She held up her hands in front of her. “Not solely because of you, but because I’m having fun trying new things like kickboxing. Although…” Her mouth tipped into an adorable grin. “Maybe we should resist physical activities until your nose heals. It looks a little rough.”

  “I…”

  She interrupted me. “I’m going to go home and get some sleep. I’ll meet you back here around ten tomorrow morning.”

  I stared at her speechless as she turned around and walked out of the kitchen. The front door slamming shut shook me from my stupor. What the bloody fuck just happened?

  I cradled the glass of whiskey in my hands. Katherine had poured two neat shots like I’d asked but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. Getting drunk wouldn’t solve my problems, or one particular problem --- Camille. Somehow I wound up with the most stubborn woman in the Northwest.

  “Hello the
re.”

  My sights landed on a pair of manicured fingernails, the tips painted a bold red. A large diamond shimmered on her ring finger. Another married woman looking for a quick fuck because her husband didn’t know how to satisfy her. Normally, I would’ve welcomed the distraction, however, nothing had been normal lately.

  “I’m not interested,” I grunted.

  “My, my, aren’t you presumptuous?”

  The thin thread of patience I had snapped and my manners evaporated. “What do you want?”

  “My name is Augusta Bailey. I’m a record executive at Interscope Records. I’ve left you several messages.”

  “Several” was an understatement. The bitch had called every day the past two weeks. I never listened to what she had to say because I wasn’t interested in her elevator pitch. After Five Guys, my stint with traditional record labels was kaput. They manipulated your songs into Katy Perry pop ballads because that’s what sold. At this stage in my career, I didn’t give a shit what sold. I wanted to produce the music I wanted to hear.

  Augusta sat cross-legged on the stool in a grey-checked pantsuit tailored to her boyish figure. Her white hair was cut in a bob popular amongst my mom’s friends. I’d assumed she would be younger due to her youthful voice, but the wrinkles etched into her skin said otherwise. My guess, late sixties. Since the chance of her propositioning me lowered to slim to none, I met her stare but didn’t drop my guard.

  “I didn’t call you back for a reason,” I said. “How did you know where I was?”

  “Connections.”

  “So you paid someone to watch me and report on my whereabouts?”

  Augusta raised a slim shoulder. “Do you want another drink?”

  Disgust at my lack of privacy rolled in my belly. Apparently rock star status gave people free range to act like stalkers. It was one of the downsides to the career I’d chosen. She put in an order for a vodka tonic then turned her attention back to me.

  “So where were we?”

  “Nowhere.”

  Her mouth tightened into annoyance. “There is no reason to be rude.”

  “See that’s where I disagree. There is every reason to be rude. You show up here like a shark that smells blood in the water.”

  “I’m here to talk to you about the possibility of you joining a new family at Interscope Records.”

  “You are not a family. You are a business that treats their musicians like sheep. Bleeding any originality from the music.”

  “I’m sure we can find a middle ground that suits the both of us,” Augusta said amiably.

  “If you are talking about money, I already have enough in my bank account.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Reaching into my jacket pocket, I slapped a ten-page agreement onto the bar my lawyer had drawn up that morning. It was meant for Luke but on the way to his house tonight, The Blithering Idiot beckoned.

  Augusta padded her pockets. “I don’t have my reading glasses on me. Can you give me the general gist?”

  “I want full royalty rights on digital downloads.”

  To my astonishment, she didn’t hesitate at the outlandish term. “How ‘bout sixty-five percent?”

  “Seventy-five and that’s my final offer.”

  “All right.”

  “And I also want full creative control on my next album, which means I write the lyrics to all my songs and act as producer.”

  “All right.” She downed her drink and got to her feet. “I’ll show the contract to the higher ups and get back to you in the next couple of days. Things are going to move fast after that though. We want to jump on the bandwagon while it’s hot and fly you to New York to record.”

  “Why can’t I record in Seattle?”

  “Because that’s where our studio is.” She pinned me with a look as if I were a bratty child. “You are already patently getting far more than most musicians get. Don’t push it.”

  “Fine. When will I fly out?”

  “Next week. I’ll talk to you soon, Matthew.”

  She exited the bar as quickly as she’d entered it. Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I pondered the consequences of this deal. It could sever the ties permanently to Camille, which a couple of hours ago, I was trying to do exactly that. She wouldn’t be able to bully me into hanging out with her once we were on opposite coasts. The notion of not seeing Camille’s face ever again brought on a sense melancholy. In a short amount of time, she had become the best part of my day.

  “Aunt Camille?” A finger poked my ribcage. “Are you dead?”

  “Honey, leave her alone. She’s sleeping.”

  “She doesn’t look like she’s sleeping.”

  Another finger poked my ribcage. Moaning, I turned onto my side and yanked the covers over my head. Seconds later, harsh sunlight assaulted my eyeballs as the sheet was pulled back. The distinctive giggle of a four year old floated into my sleep clogged brain. Opening my eyes, Marlene’s daughter, Nil, was sitting cross-legged on my bed. Her expression exploded with glee when she saw I was awake.

  “Do you want to play?” Nil asked.

  My tongue felt coated in a thin layer of fur. Swallowing, I spoke. “Now?”

  “Duh! Silly. I got a new Barbie doll. Her name is Lindsey, but I call her L for short. You can’t have her, but you can have her best friend, Amy.”

  Marlene walked through the doorway of my bedroom, holding a cup of coffee. Thank God for small miracles. I couldn’t handle children before I’d had a sufficient injection of caffeine.

  “Go play in the living room. We’ll be out there in a second,” Marlene said to her daughter.

  “But Mommy…”

  “No whining. Now scoot.”

  Nil jumped off the mattress and ran out of the room. The energy four year olds had amazed me. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I grabbed the mug Marlene offered and took a sip.

  “Sorry to barge in here, but I needed to get out of the house. I was going stir-crazy.” She rubbed her large belly. “Plus, these two are kicking up a storm.”

  “How are you feeling otherwise?”

  “Good, all things considered. How ‘bout you? How was kickboxing?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s really why you came here, isn’t it? You want the scoop.”

  “Oh my God! Is there scoop to be had?” I took another large gulp to stall, and Marlene playfully smacked my leg. “You can’t hold out on me now.”

  “I might have accidentally hit Matthew in the nose, causing him to bleed -- a lot.”

  Her squeal could have burst an eardrum. The coffee almost sloshed out of the mug as she bounced up and down. “Seriously? That’s amazing!”

  “Why is that amazing? He had to stuff tampons up his nostrils.”

  Marlene clamped her hand over her mouth. Her body shook with laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” I protested.

  “You are ninety-five pounds sopping wet and somehow you clocked a man twice your weight. You’re right, that’s not funny. It’s impressive.”

  “I didn’t mean to. He encouraged me by taking the first swipe.”

  Marlene’s howls died as she swiped at her tears of laughter. “Honey, you shouldn’t feel bad. It’s kickboxing. People get hurt.”

  “Yea, I guess.”

  “Would a doughnut make you feel better?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  She magically produced a white paper bag from her purse that had the logo of my favorite bakery stamped on the side. The smell of sugary carbs made my stomach growl. I went to bed last night still hungry due to the fact that Matthew had cleared my plate before I’d actually been done eating.

  “Why are you frowning? Do you not want the cinnamon sugar one?” Marlene inspected the doughnut in her hand. “I thought it was your favorite.”

  “It is. Thank you.”

  “We should probably eat in the living room. The last time Nil was left alone for longer than ten minutes, she drew a fairy tale on
the wall.”

  “She’s a born artist.”

  “I don’t know about that. The story consisted of blobs she explained as a princess and a wiener. When asked what it was, she said it was a weiner. I’m seriously considering putting her in an all-girls school.”

  Parenting issues weren’t my forte. I kept encouraging Marlene to join a mommy group so that she could bitch and whine with other women that understood. The only thing I could offer Marlene was wine…and now even that wasn’t an option.

  She exhaled and the two lines between her brows faded. “Sorry, rant done.”

  “No worries.”

  After helping Marlene to her feet, I walked, Marlene waddled, into the other room. Coloring books littered my coffee table. I was happy to report my walls were devoid of marks. Nil glanced up briefly then returned to business. Refilling my mug, I joined Marlene at the dining room table. She placed my doughnut onto a plate and slid it in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  The clock above the sink was a stark reminder where I had to be in less than two hours, even though Matthew made it clear that he wanted to nothing to do with me. The doughnut on my tongue turned sour.

  “That’s the second time you have made that face. What’s going on?” Marlene inquired.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s like extracting teeth with you. Fess up.”

  “You don’t have time for my long-winded problems.”

  “The restaurant is on hold until further notice, my husband is trying to build a record empire and only emerges from the basement for dinner, and I’m on strict orders from the doctor to take it easy. All I have is time.”

  I couldn’t divulge what had happened between Matthew and I last night without also exposing the skeleton in my closet. I didn’t know if I could without collapsing into an emotional basketcase.

  “Oh God. Is it bad?” Off my silence, panic crept into Marlene’s voice. “It is bad. What happened? Did Matthew try to do something you weren’t comfortable with?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  She studied my face intently. Staring into my mug, I gathered the courage to yank open the doors on my past. After a couple deep breaths and long exhales, I was ready as I would ever be.