When Stars Burn Out

by Carrie Aarons

  Things were getting serious with Paxton, and I was dead scared.

  The way he’d introduced himself as my boyfriend. Met my parents. Stayed the night. Worked his way inside me, both mentally and physically. It was all too much.

  I was spiraling, didn’t know which way to turn or think. So, I’d resorted to self-preservation, dodging his calls and avoiding seeing him for a week.

  Paxton was getting too close, and I could feel my hackles going up. I could feel every instinct inside of me springing into action, mounting an army of anxiety and self-destruction against him, and myself. I couldn’t explain it to him, didn’t want to ruffle feathers or stop what we had going on. Last time, he’d left me without so much as a “see ya later,” and I’d been devastated for longer than I cared to admit.

  And just like that, I was the same basket case who had been jerked around by him for two years during college. I wanted him, but I didn’t want him. I was in love with him, madly and blindly, but I also knew just how irrevocably I could be hurt if I admitted that to him. I wanted us to be together, but years of systematic rejection had wounded me so deeply that I still hadn’t dug myself out of the hole.

  Pax had done damage to me all those years ago, and I still wasn’t sure he quite saw that. And until I addressed it, I wasn’t sure that I could move past it with him.

  But for now, instead of acting like a big girl and confronting it, I was hiding in my backyard, or at my office. I’d made excuses to get out of dates, faked headaches and late nights at work to avoid seeing him. My body craved him, but my brain was shouting alarm bells. So I stayed away.

  Taking another drink of my Riesling, I picked up my phone and called the one person who I knew would give me a straight answer.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks.” Chels picked up on the second ring.

  “What’re you up to?” I kicked my feet up onto the empty chair next to me.

  “Watching Dexter reruns in my apartment with a sleeve of Oreos.” She was nothing if not brutally transparent at all times.

  “So, we’re really working on that date-ability rating.” I smiled, wishing I lived closer to my best friend.

  “You know it. What’s up with you?” I hear her munch an Oreo.

  Sighing, I want her to guess. To pull it out of me. So I give the famous, one-word answer that every girl does to let someone know that something is wrong.

  “Nothing.”

  Immediately, I can feel Chels sit up straighter on the other end. “Demi, what’s wrong?”

  I sigh again, feeling better that she brought it up. “I have to tell you something.”

  “You’re dating Paxton Shaw.” Her tone isn’t mad, but it isn’t happy.

  Meanwhile, I’m about to go into cardiac arrest from the shock of her sentence. “Wha … how did you know?”

  “There is a picture circulating on some gossip sites online of the two of you at your annual gala. It labels him as your boyfriend, and you as his girlfriend.”

  I practically choke. I couldn’t handle just myself knowing that I was dating and sleeping with Paxton Shaw. I needed some download time, and now the whole world knew? My level of anxiety went through the roof.

  “Why didn’t you say anything the minute you found the picture?” I don’t want her to be upset with me.

  “Because you’re a grown-ass woman and I figured you’d fess up sooner or later. I’m not going to say I’m happy, Dem, but I know you need to make your own choices.”

  I knew that she was the right person to call, for that specific reason. Chelsea was going to be honest, not friend honest. Not that white lie bullshit that sort-of friends did, but the deep, brutal kind of evaluation that left you with the only answer or solution that made sense.

  “It’s … different this time, Chels. He’s pursuing me. Making promises. Sending flowers and chocolates every week. Wooing me. He met my parents.”

  “Paxton Shaw meeting the parents, that’s something I never thought I’d see. And how did they seem?”

  “Well, you know I never told them about him, Chels. That was back in the days when I wasn’t a dried up old shrew, and they would have beat me with the Torah for going out with a gentile.” And my mother would have killed me for being so weak.

  I hear her cackle. “You’re not a dried up old shrew. But I appreciate the theatrics.”

  I smile. “Thank you. But, of course, they loved him. Everyone loves him. He’s Mr. Mayor, man about town, the charming gentleman. Even my dad was joking with him by the time Shabbat was over.”

  I could practically hear Chelsea’s eye roll through the phone. “Of course. You know I could still skin that guy alive for what he did to you back then?”

  “I could too.” I sighed. “But … I don’t know. He’s so different, he’s been through … hell, I don’t know how he survived what he’s been through.”

  “His parents, right?”

  Again, shocked. “How did you know about that?”

  “Demi, everyone in the United States knows about that. It’s just your fault you aren’t like the rest of us rowdy Americans and sit glued to your TV every Sunday from September to February.”

  “Fine. But yeah, his parents. And I’m not the same.” At least I didn’t think I was.

  “Have you slept with him?” There was the question I’d been waiting for.

  “Yes … and I haven’t called him for a week since.” I bite at my lip, nervous to hear what she’s going to say.

  For a few moments, she is dead silent. And then she speaks.

  “I think that shows how much you have matured. You know to preserve yourself, to be weary of him and everything he did. But … I also think he has changed. At least I’ll trust you as a grown-ass woman to know when a person has really changed their stripes. And you’ve obviously pursued this, you need to see where it leads. Let’s face it, you haven’t been happy in years. Possibly since the last time you saw him. Every guy you date, you compare to him, am I right? I’m not saying I like it, but I think you know that this might be the big one. And if it works out, I’ll be rooting for you both. But … if he fucks up again, I’ll chop his dick off.”

  I can’t help but laugh, the sound freeing. And with it, goes all the nerves that were rumbling around in my stomach.

  “Deal. But if things do work out, can you just leave his genitalia where it is? I kind of like it.”

  Chels makes a vomiting noise. “Gross.”

  Twenty-Five

  Paxton

  I know that Demi is avoiding me.

  From the moment I was inside of her again, she’s backed away. We woke up the next morning, with her enveloped by my arms and legs, our limbs molded together, and I could feel the distance she was building between us.

  All week, my calls had gone unanswered. My flowers met with not even a thank you text. Demi was retreating, and I had to get her back, take her by the hands and lead her through her fear.

  It was a miracle she’d agreed to swing by my place tonight. I’d kept it casual, saying that I was having a beer and watching the game, and would she want to swing by. It was something I would have said all those years ago back in college, to get her to come over and hook up. Was that why she went for it? I hated myself for putting things so nonchalantly, because that was absolutely not the case of how I felt about Demi.

  I setup on my rooftop, letting the night sky calm my nerves. I could feel a storm brewing between us. Old Paxton would have left it alone, choosing to ignore and avoid it. But present day me knew I had to confront it head on.

  “Hey, stranger.” I crossed the rooftop patio when I heard the door swing open.

  I’d texted Demi instructions on how to get up here, because I wanted to show her this. Maybe it would relax her, maybe I could have this one thing to my advantage.

  “Hi. It’s beautiful up here.” She let me kiss her cheek, but her eyes remained focused on the sky.

  “I know, it’s half the reason I rented this place. Look, you can see the little dipper ri
ght there.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, gently nudging her chin to look to the right area of the sky.

  “Oh, how nice.” She went stiff in my arms.

  “Demi …” I tried not to say it sternly, but I couldn’t help it. I was annoyed that she was boxing me out.

  She moved out of my embrace, and I huffed, annoyed.

  “I know you’re avoiding me. Are we going to talk about it, or are you going to act like a child?” My temper got the best of me.

  “Ha! Me? Act like a child? That’s rich, Paxton,” she scoffs.

  “Yes, you’re throwing my past in my face. Again. Can we talk about it like adults? Or are you going to dodge my phone calls?” I should put a lid on it, but I can’t.

  “Then let’s talk about it.” She stomps her foot, and I have to bite back a smile.

  Even in an angry, exasperated state, she’s drop-dead gorgeous.

  “You still aren’t open to me. No matter how hard I try, I see it. All of your walls are still up, you’re not giving this a real chance.” I point at her, accusing her.

  Demi makes an anguished noise and throws her hands up. “And why do you suppose that is, Paxton? Come on, it’s not rocket science! What you did to me was psychological warfare. You warped my mind, tortured my heart. For two years you strung me along, like a mouse chasing a piece of cheese she was never going to get. You knew it too, summoning me night after night. You knew you were never going to commit, and yet I’d come running when you crooked your finger. That is cruel and unusual punishment. So excuse me if I’m not over it, if I’m never able to forget it. A person doesn’t just forget the dismantling of their heart, ventricle by ventricle.”

  I ache, because there is nothing I can do to go back and undo all of the hurt that I caused her. But apparently, nothing I’ve done in the past few months has helped at all. I want to go to her, touch her, but I hang back.

  “I’ve admitted that I was a horrible person to you back then. I was a cocky, selfish, abusive asshole who knew the power he had over you and chose to use it anyway. But Demi, you know what I’ve been through. How losing my parents changed me. How it made me see that life isn’t just all fun and games, that to make it mean something, you need to surround yourself with people that matter.”

  She walks across the roof, unable to look at me. Her brown hair glistens in the setting sun, and her slim shoulders shiver in the chill that dusk brings.

  “I understand that, Paxton. But you also have to understand that a person doesn’t just easily forget that. That just because you had a life-altering event rock your world and change who you are as a person, doesn’t mean I experienced that with you. I was still here, sitting with my hurt, nursing it like a wound. You have to allow me to have that, to heal in my own time. And I’m trying, but you have to bear with me if I can’t automatically and openly give my all to you.”

  Demi turns around, her eyes guarded. “Do you know that I was engaged? About four years ago, my boyfriend asked me to marry him and I said yes. Only … I couldn’t even book a venue. I had a ring on my finger less than a month before I took it off. I knew he wasn’t the one, yet I was trying to force happiness because I thought if I talked myself into it, it would actually become real.”

  Anger, at myself, ricochets through my bones. Jealousy, that she wore another man’s ring, is like an arrow through my heart. “Because deep down, you know you have feelings for me still. And it might suck that you do, but it’s true. And I’ve been going insane trying to prove that I am worthy of you now. I might not have said it back then, but I’m crazy about you, Demi. I was a fucking moron, a clueless college jock with an ego the size of Texas. It took me a long time to set my priorities straight. And they’re set straight on you. I didn’t realize you were the one who got away until it was too damn late.”

  A sob bursts from her lips, but she holds a hand up when I try to comfort her. Here we are, two broken people standing under the most beautiful of night skies. How disappointed are my parents in me if they’re up there listening?

  “I think I should go home.” Demi moves toward the entrance to the stairs.

  I walk to her, putting a hand to her elbow. “I think you should stay. Even if you don’t want to talk, it’s late. Stay. I’ll sleep on the couch, in the guest room … wherever you want me to. Just stay.”

  We’re at a standoff, when all I want to do is kiss her. “I promise, Demi, I won’t try a thing. I just … I want to be in the same place as you.”

  “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? Dammit, fine … but I’m locking the door.” She moved to the stairs that led back down to my apartment.

  Twenty-Six

  Demi

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air when I step out of Paxton’s guest room.

  My mouth waters, and I realize I’m like one of those Pavlovian dogs. If Paxton is my weakness, then coffee is my drug. I’m one of those people who could drink a whole pot and still go to sleep. My tolerance has become so high that I now drink it black, the bitter grounds fueling my veins when I get to the bottom of the cup.

  In the two months since we’d begun seeing each other … again, I had refused to come here. Call it post-traumatic stress disorder from all the late-night booty calls in college, in which I’d walk by myself through the dark campus over to his dirty, groupie-filled house.

  I didn’t want to seem like the one who needed him this time around, so I’d always have him pick me up from my place, or meet on neutral ground. The night of the gala was the first and only time I’d allowed him to stay over. And now I was here, in the one place I’d feared going. Even though Paxton’s house was now a beautiful, industrial-but-cozy three-bedroom sprawling apartment overlooking downtown Charlotte.

  He’s standing at the stove in gray sweatpants that show the grooves of his muscled ass underneath, and a plain navy blue T-shirt. His blond hair is tousled and sleep worn, the longest pieces tucked behind his ears. The small stud in his left ear is a black stone today, and it flashes me back to when I suckled on the lobe just a week and a half ago.

  Internally, I shush my lady parts, which were all too aware last night that this sexy piece of man meat was asleep just feet down the hall. I had taken the guest room, while Pax had closed the door to his room with a disappointed sigh. I’d left the door unlocked, half-hoping that he’d come in in the middle of the night, and half-hoping he wouldn’t.

  It turns out, both of my wants were met. Not intending to sleep over, I had nothing but the casual jeans and blouse I’d worn over here the night before. When I’d awoken, in my underwear, there was a T-shirt and shorts laying on the chair in the corner of the guest room. Which meant Pax had come in, but he had honored his promise not to touch me.

  The clothes were swimming on me, but it was more comfortable than eating breakfast in jeans, and I loved the smell of him.

  “Good morning,” I said shyly, feeling out of place in his kitchen.

  Pax turns, and a bright smile paints his face. “Good morning. I like you in my clothes.”

  His eyes roam my body, and I feel like he just lit me like a match. I shuffle my feet. “Thanks … what’re you making?”

  Pax moves to the coffee pot, pouring me a mug, and walks it over to me. “Sit, I’m serving you this morning. Eggs and bacon … I’m not a fancy cook but I think they’re pretty good.”

  “Smells great.” I’m not really functioning until I gulp down my first cup, so I start drinking coffee.

  “How did you sleep?” He peers over his shoulder at me, scrambling the eggs.

  “Well … thanks for convincing me to stay over. It’s nice to wake up and see you.” I need to make an effort, to open myself to him.

  Our fight on the roof played over and over in my head as I watched the ceiling in the dark last night.

  Pax walks over, on a mission, and bends down to kiss me. We’ve both been yearning for it, I can feel it in the urgency of the kiss. He cups my face and I tug on the strands of his hair. I nee
ded this, an affirmation that things were going to be okay between us.

  He was right, I had to let this go. I had to give us a fresh start … and even Chelsea agreed that if I wanted to take a stab at it, like she wanted to at Paxton, that I should take the leap.

  I pull back, taking a minute to smile at Pax.

  “You wanted me to try to be more open with you, and … I’m going to try. Starting now.” I take a sip of coffee before I begin. “I believe that all dogs go to heaven. I believe that chocolate is just as good of a medicine as any drug. I believe that Sundays should be spent in bed, and that the calmest place on earth is sitting in a rocking chair, listening to the ocean after dark. I believe that the book is always better than the movie, that you should open only one gift on each night of Hanukkah, none of this massive one-night present bonanza. And I believe that everyone is entitled to one big mistake in their life. And you … you used yours already. So please don’t hurt me again.”

  He nods. “I won’t. I promise. Now, I want to hear more, but I think I’m burning our eggs so I’m gonna pause you for just a minute.”

  Racing back over to the stove, he finishes up cooking our breakfast before bringing over two heaping plates.

  “This is enough food to feed about six people …” I stare down at my plate.

  “We’re learning about each other, so learn about me. I eat roughly four thousand calories a day, and I am a man who loves breakfast food. Therefore, I will always give you way more than you can eat, and I’ll probably end up eating off your plate.”

  Giggling, I dig in, because apparently fighting and then making up leaves me with a huge appetite. We banter over the breakfast table, and I can’t help but feel like I’m in the first good place I’ve been in in many years. I’m happy, but more than that … I’m content. Wholly comfortable and satisfied just sitting here in Paxton’s clothes, with him, chatting and munching on bacon.