Broken Lullabies

by Nicole Simone

  Hitching my overnight bag over my shoulder, I raised my hand to hail a cab. Matthew’s melodic voice stopped me in my tracks as I was about to open the passenger side door.

  “I would sell my musical talent to the devil in exchange for the heartache I have caused you. You are my sun, my moon, and my stars. You are my everything, Camille. I’ll never stop waiting for you because you’re it. The end of the line.”

  With tremendous reluctance, I climbed in the backseat and stared straight ahead.

  “The airport please,” I said to the driver.

  As he navigated the vehicle into the flow of traffic, the dam burst and an ugly choked sob leaked out. Twisting my neck, I caught one last look at Matthew through the window. He wore a mask of devastation and appeared adrift in the sea of pedestrians.

  My palm flattened against the glass. “You may not deserve it,” I whispered. “But I love you. I will always love you.”

  Up here in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but trees and forest animals, silence turns maddening and thoughts turn introspective, and stage lights are traded in for darkness and a microphone for an ax. This was my sacrifice for the future I stole from Camille, one I was more than happy to make. Even though it had been two months, five hours, and one minute, my love for her burned as bright as the North Star. She was my guiding light, the reason I woke in the mornings, and the reason I would stay on this mountain until I felt as if my duty had been fulfilled.

  “Where is Matthew Lee?” the headline read on the latest issue of Star Magazine. I stared at the grainy picture they had blown up of a supposed sighting. Matthew had become the human Lochness Monster. After Florida, he had dropped out of sight and cut off all communication to anyone he knew. None of his bandmates had even heard from him. Nor had I, but that wasn’t a shock.

  “Miss?”

  I tore my attention from the magazine to the checkout lady. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said you do want plastic or paper?”

  “Oh, paper is fine. Thanks.”

  A teenager in line next to me let out an ear-piercing squeal. As I looked over at her in annoyance, her eyes widened and she flapped her hands in front of her as if she was running in place.

  “O-M-G!” she said. “Are you like Camille Barker? Matthew Lee’s ex-girlfriend?”

  “No, I’m sorry you have the wrong person.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s totally you. Do you know where he is? I’m so good at keeping secrets if you want to tell me.”

  The teenager’s loud voice carried throughout the supermarket, drawing a crowd of onlookers. Anxiety shot through my veins. I shut my wallet and threw it into my purse as I hurried out of the store.

  “Miss! You forgot your groceries! Miss!” The checkout lady called out after me.

  Ignoring her, I didn’t stop until I got to my car and was safely inside with the doors locked. My forehead rested against the steering wheel.

  Holy shit.

  That has been my daily mantra since Matthew and I called it quits. Actually, since I called it quits because technically he wasn’t the one that broke things off, but that was neither here nor there. Opening my cell phone, my thumb involuntarily clicked open the photo app and scrawled to the most recent snapshot dated over two months ago. Matthew singing at the bar in Poughkeepsie, eyes shut as his fingers fondled the strings. I could hear him singing the lyrics to “Broken Lullabies” as if he were sitting next to me. A pang of longing wrapped around my heart.

  A knocking on the window caused my ass to fly skywards. I glanced over and saw the checkout lady smiling sheepishly.

  Rolling down my window, I arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but you left your coupons.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  I accepted them from her outstretched palm, feeling like a world-class jerk. Lately, the media shit storm that surrounded Matthew has sucked me into the center of it. I have had phone calls from reporters all hours of the night, demanding to know where he has gone off to. Meanwhile, certain diehard groupies have started a rumor around the interwebs that I killed him and buried him in my basement. On top of that, the trial against my attacker was in full swing. Since the woman he’d beaten into a coma had woken, the manslaughter charge had been dropped. Despite that, he still faced two charges of aggravated assault, or nine years in prison. You could say I had a lot on my plate, but honestly, I could handle the death threats and endless flights to Florida if it didn’t feel like a part of my soul had gone missing.

  “Take care of yourself,” the checkout lady said with a jaunty wave goodbye.

  Her kindness brought tears to my eyes. Sniffling, I swiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Jesus, get a hold of yourself, Camille. You’re a mess.”

  The sight of my reflection in the rearview mirror made me take pause. Five pounds that didn’t need to be lost had sunken my cheeks and sallowed my complexion. I appeared sickly -- weak. No wonder the cashier told me to take care of myself. She probably thought I was on the verge of death.

  Note to self: Eat a cupcake.

  The thought of a sugary dessert soured my taste buds. A steak, then, or a pot of pasta, but nothing sounded appealing. My appetite had all but vanished. Last week, Marlene had broken out the big guns and baked me a three-layer triple fudge chocolate cake. She served it to me in bed where I spent the majority of my time if I wasn’t in the courtroom or at school. I had tried to stomach the chocolate avalanche, but I couldn’t get past the first bite. Out of concern, Marlene threatened to call my parents. I reassured her I wasn’t depressed, just grieving like how she’d done when Luke had abandoned her. To which she pointed out she’d had their child growing in her stomach. Semantics.

  Shifting the car into reverse, I left the grocery store and headed to get my nails done with my mother. She wanted to have a girls’ day, which sounded as appealing as a root canal. I would rather go home, change into my sweatpants and watch Princess Bride for the umpteenth time. Be that as it may, if I used another lame excuse on my mother, she would throw a hissy fit.

  The pungent scent of acetone assaulted my nostrils as I walked inside the salon. My mother was already in a chair near the back, her feet submerged in a tub of water. Smiling, she gestured me over.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, darling! You look…” My mother faltered when she took sight of my torn jeans and oversized men’s plaid shirt. “Funky. Do you want to pick a color? Maybe something fun, like fuchsia or turquoise.”

  “I’ll use whatever color you’re using.”

  I lifted myself into the overstuffed massage chair while a petite Asian woman came around and switched on the jets in the water. Grabbing my ankles, she set my feet into the basin.

  “So what’s new?” my mother asked.

  “Same old. Getting harassed by the media and dealing with the trial.”

  “You’re almost done.”

  “With the trial? Yea, hopefully his dad doesn’t pay off the jury members or something.”

  My mother scowled. “He wouldn’t commit bribery twice.”

  “Who knows what he’s capable of?”

  “At least you are getting justice. Many assault victims don’t, even though the evidence is written on their bodies.”

  Unsettling images swirled in my head. Shaking them off, I changed the subject. “How’s Dad?”

  “Good, playing golf and staying busy. Have you given any more thought to the internship?”

  The internship my mom was referring to was the same one she had been harping me about for months. While an amazing opportunity, I couldn’t bring myself to email him.

  I picked a hangnail on the side of my thumb. “Kind of.”

  “The deadline to send your resume is approaching.”

  “I know.”

  My mom let out an exasperated sigh, which I understood. I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with lately, but being my flesh and blood, she should cut me some slack.

>   “How about that woman? Did you call her back yet?” My mom questioned as her nose scrunched to the side. “Martha? Matilda?”

  “Her name is Marie. I’m going to call her once I get home. Considering where the offer came from though, I’m not sure how comfortable I am accepting it.”

  “You don’t know for sure Matthew arranged it. And besides, don’t let your pride stand in the way of your dream. Having your work performed on stage would be incredible.”

  A rare smiled lifted my lips. “It would.”

  Last week, a woman called from the Cornish Playhouse and left a message, stating my screenplay had landed in her inbox and she would love to discuss the possibility of re-writing it for the stage. While, she didn’t specify who’d sent my screenplay, only one person had access to it: Matthew. I had given him a hard copy the day we left for his parents’ house.

  My mother shot me a sideways glance, heavy with sympathy. An emotion all my friends and family wore on their faces these days. It would have been annoying but I knew it was rooted in a place of concern.

  “Have you talked to him?” she asked.

  My eyes were trained on the manicurist who was filing the bottom of my foot as I ignored the ever-present lump in my throat. “Nope. We ended things. Why would I speak to him?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s been almost two months.”

  “So?” I snapped.

  “So you might want to consider moving on, Camille. You’re young and beautiful with a bright future ahead of you. Moping around like this isn’t healthy.”

  “I can’t turn it off like a faucet.”

  My hands twitched at my sides while anger swirled like the tides of the sea inside. What my mom didn’t understand was that if I could wake up in the mornings without a cloud of grief above my head, I would, but it wasn’t that simple. Which summed up Matthew’s and my relationship as well. From the beginning, we’d moved swiftly from friends to lovers without slapping a boyfriend/girlfriend label on it. His hot and coldness aside, I knew he cared about me. It was in the way he always found my hand when we were together, or the tenderness that flooded his face when he looked at me. Shoving our relationship into a neatly labeled box didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. However, for everybody else it did. They couldn’t fathom how I could act this way when Matthew wasn’t my boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. To them, he was a man I dated for a few weeks and amicably parted ways with, run of the mill stuff. It didn’t feel run of the mill though. Matthew and I shared a connection I hadn’t ever found with anyone else, which was why when I handed him my trust, there wasn’t a shred of reservation about doing so. Naïve? Yes, but my desperation to knock down the walls I had built compelled me to hand over the keys to the wrecking ball. Unfortunately, I handed them to the wrong person. Naked and bare, Matthew’s betrayal could be felt in every fiber of my being.

  “I’m not asking you to turn it off,” my mom replied.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m simply saying you should focus this amount of energy on someone who deserves it.”

  You couldn’t miss the hatred in her tone. My mom had found out about the gory details of our demise after busting into my apartment and catching me crying into a stack of tissues. She’d asked if I wanted to hire a hit man. Although I’d thought she was joking, I should have known better. My mom doesn’t joke. After reassuring her I wanted Matthew to stay alive, she’d gone out and bought a pint of fat-free sorbet to drown my sorrows.

  “It’s not about whether or not he deserves it, Mom. My emotions are my emotions,” I said stubbornly.

  “Fine, but there comes a point when you have to stop living as a ghost and re-enter society. You did it once before and you can do it again.” She looked at me from underneath her black lashes. “Don’t let a man break your spirit, Camille. I raised you to be stronger than that.”

  I swung the axe above my head and slammed it onto the log. The wood splintered as it broke in two. Adding it to the pile of firewood, I wiped my brow with the back of my hand. My parents’ cabin didn’t have indoor plumbing or heat, which was a bitch in late spring. I’d lost count how many times I had nearly frozen my balls off during a middle of the night pee run.

  Coming in under 550 square feet, the fireplace did a serviceable job of keeping the place warm. I moved my air mattress in front along with an overabundance of blankets and fell asleep to the sound of crackling embers at night. Although loneliness ate at my soul, I couldn’t complain.

  I gathered the stack of wood into my arms and went to go back inside to dry my feet. Five inches of snow covered the ground and like an idiot, I hadn’t invested in a pair of boots before coming up here. My white Converse were coming apart at the soles and the duct tape did a poor job of keeping the cold out. In the distance, I heard a branch snap, which wasn’t unusual. The forest held its own symphony of noises but the distinct murmur of a human voice that followed made me take notice. I stood completely still, my body as tense as a stretched rubber band. Neighbors didn’t exist when you lived on top of a mountain, so whoever it was wasn’t stopping by to borrow a cup of sugar. As I considered using the axe as a precaution, the trees rustled.

  A curse floated on the breeze. “Son of a bitch!”

  My ear tilted toward the sound, positive my brain was playing tricks on me. It couldn’t be. Although it could since he and Luke were the only two that knew of my location. However, the unmarked road and four-mile hike up the steep mountain would deter even the most determined. I fixed my eyes on the clearing. The ground swished with movement and through the thick cluster of trees, my hunch proved correct. Sean appeared, winded. He placed his hands on his knees and bent forward. Although it wasn’t the woman I had dreamt about the past two months, I couldn’t explain how good it felt to see an actual mortal that talked back to you. Unlike the squirrel I’d nicknamed Joe who hung around my front porch, searching for nuts.

  “Are you okay there?” I yelled.

  He raised his middle finger, causing a chuckle to escape. Dropping the wood I had in my arms, I made my way over to Sean. “For somebody who brags about being in better shape than Arnold Schwarzeneggar, you seem a little out of breath.”

  Sean lifted his chin and scowled. “Couldn’t you have picked someplace that had a defined trail or at least cell phone reception? I almost got lost, which is fucking terrifying without Google maps.”

  “No, because that was the whole point. I didn’t want to be found.”

  He came to a standing position, which put him at my eye level. “I understand the whole tortured artist thing, but you have taken it to a degree past acceptable.”

  “You don’t know shit.” Turning on my heels, I re-gathered the firewood and said over my shoulder, “If you came here to chew me a new one, then you can drive home to your sad empty townhouse and leave me in peace.”

  “This isn’t peace. This is avoidance.”

  “Save your helping bullshit for someone who cares.”

  Sean scampered after me as I yanked open the front door to the cabin. Light filtered through the dingy windows, illuminating the sparse room. The pile of blankets on the air mattress hinted at occupancy, but otherwise, it was as if no one had lived here for months. A sprinkle of dust marked the floors and kitchen cabinets. Sean sneezed as his shoes kicked up a cloud of dust bunnies.

  “Bless you,” I said.

  Since the temperature hovered two degrees above freezing, I went to work on building a fire. Sean took a seat on the only piece of furniture available while he watched. Striking a match, the red tip ignited the crumpled newspaper stuffed between the logs. A roaring blaze crackled, emitting tendrils of warmth.

  Sean rubbed his palms together. “Impressive.”

  “I have had eight weeks of practice.” The air mattress dipped beneath my weight as I sat next to him. “Has Marlene had her babies yet?”

  “Not yet, but she is as big as a house. Luke said it’s only a matter of waiting now. I know it would mean a lot to him i
f you were there though.”

  I stared at the fire. “Yea.”

  “Are you planning to stay here and grow old?”

  The edge in his voice made my chin turn toward him. His hazelnut eyes were shaded with annoyance. “I don’t know what I’m planning to do, but I deserve to be shut away up here, Sean.”

  “You worked hard for years to get where you are and you’re going to throw that all away?”

  “She’s worth it.”

  “Who?

  “Camille.”

  His eyes widened along with his mouth. “I never thought I would hear you say that. Music is your life.”

  “Things change.”

  “Then why aren’t you with her?”

  “Because she hates me.”

  Ignoring his probing glare, I got up and walked into the galley kitchen. I yanked open the fridge which had a wheel of moldy cheese and little else. A memory of teaching Camille how to cook stole my breath and nearly brought me to my knees. While I had escaped to the mountains as punishment, I also did it to forget, but that was easier said than done. Camille’s presence couldn’t be outrun.

  “Are you going to expand on that statement?” Sean asked.

  The fridge slammed shut as I faced him. “No.”

  “I know you aren’t a fan of talking about your feelings but I think in this case, it would be really helpful.”

  “Why? So I can remember a woman that brought more happiness into my life than I knew was possible and then lost because she saw me for the monster I am? Yea, that sounds helpful. While we’re at it, you can stick a butcher knife into my chest.”

  Sean blinked rapidly at me, lost for words. Sighing, I collapsed onto the air mattress and stared up at the ceiling.

  “I didn’t know you had it that bad,” he said.

  “Yea, I do. It’s awful. Someone should invent a cure for it.”

  Laughing, the mattress tossed as Sean adjusted his weight. “It’s not that awful if the other person reciprocates your feelings.”

  “Thanks for reminding me of that, asshole.”