Back Stage

by T Gephart

  Last night I had comforted her in the only way I knew how. Having her underneath me, screaming my name never got old but lately going slow was becoming a new favorite. I still made her scream—that was not negotiable.

  “You thinking about your mom?”

  “No,” she answered with zero hesitation.

  “Then what’s on your mind?” I scooted up on to my elbow to get a better look at her. God she was beautiful, the view never got old.

  “The tour ending, things going back to normal.”

  “The tour? Sure it will eventually end, but the band has done well. The crowds love you. I would be surprised if there isn’t a recording contract waiting for you in New York when you get back.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the band,” she said slowly.

  “You were talking about us.”

  “Is there an us? I mean we’re here, in this bubble and it feels like a relationship but it’s not really, is it?”

  There was that word. The one I had been fighting so hard to avoid. Anytime I had attached a fucking label to it, the fucking thing went down the tubes. This wasn’t a relationship; it was something else.

  “What do you want me to tell you?”

  There was no way I could explain to her what was going on in my head when it didn’t even make sense to me.

  She sighed slowly, like she’d been holding a breath for too long and then closed her eyes, the conversation shutting down with them.

  I swallowed, refusing to move the hand that was glued to her side, keeping her close even if I wasn’t sure it’s what she wanted. “What do you want to happen?”

  “I want us to be together.” She said it slow, letting each word fully ring out before she said the next.

  “Aren’t we together now?” My hand around her tightening, bringing her even closer so her face was inches from mine.

  “I’m serious, Jase.” She pushed away from me, her hands straining against my chest. “This all ends tomorrow. We both go home. What happens?”

  “I don’t know.” She was asking me questions I had no answers for. “Let’s not worry about it for now.”

  “Then when do we worry about it?” She shuffled up against the headboard, pulling up the sheets to cover her body.

  “Jesus, did you want to fight? Is that what you want?” I sat up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand.

  “No, I don’t want to fight but I also need to know that when we go back home there is going to be a place for me.” Her voice louder than it’d been before.

  “There’s a place for you, we’ll work something out.”

  “What’s there to work out?” She laughed, and not in a funny cute way. Condescending was more the vibe she was rocking. “Are you going to work me into a rotation? Do I get you on weekends or when I can come visit you in the city? Or am I like the alternate for when you feel like slumming?”

  “That was a cheap shot, even for you.”

  “No, it’s reality. It’s my reality and I need to know what I mean to you.”

  “Angie, this is the closest I’ve come to anything real in a long time. Just please don’t push it.”

  That handle on things I was struggling to keep, wasn’t doing so hot under the current conditions. My need for control also extended to this conversation. The one where the good stuff we had going on between us, distanced itself like Angie had, moving herself as far away from me on the mattress as possible.

  “Would it be so terrible to be in a relationship? It’s not so different to what we are doing now. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” She pushed her hair back from her face in frustration.

  “Why are you worrying about hypotheticals when we don’t have to? Like I said, it’s months away. We’ll work it out.” My voice had more edge to it than I would have liked.

  She didn’t back down, her tone matching mine. “You’re not sleeping with anyone else, neither am I. We don’t use words like girlfriend or boyfriend, but what are we?”

  “We’re here, in the moment. So let’s enjoy that.” My hand slammed down on the mattress in frustration.

  She flinched as her eyes nailed me from the other side of the bed as I pushed back the covers and grabbed my boxers from the floor. The conversation had entered into fucking territory I no longer wanted to be in.

  Things had been fine. Why couldn’t we just leave things the way they were? I wasn’t sure who I was madder at—her for pushing, or me for being unable to give her what she obviously wanted from me. Like she’d said from the beginning, I was an asshole. And we’d rehashed that so many fucking times, it had its own soundtrack. No shit, and I had to listen to it every fucking night.

  Her voice had stayed level despite me ejecting from the bed. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time you left?” She reached out and touched my arm trying to pull me back onto the mattress.

  “Of course, I said we’d made a mistake.” I answered without turning around to look at her. My body giving the wall some face time even with her hand on me. My feelings jacked up.

  My not turning around didn’t help the situation, with the thud of her feet hitting the floor soon after. The rustling that followed I assumed was her getting dressed. But it didn’t change anything. My heart beating so fast I wasn’t sure it wasn’t going to explode.

  Stopping her and talking about it probably should have happened, but I didn’t think anything was going to be solved tonight. And the last thing I wanted to do was say shit I didn’t mean, because I felt backed into a corner.

  She stepped in front of me, mostly dressed; the hurt on her face evident. Her eyes on me demanded that I look at her and I wasn’t surprised she was ready to leave. The bed beside us wasn’t going to be getting any more attention tonight.

  “But you didn’t ask me, you just told me you made a mistake and you left. I didn’t get a say. No right of reply, nothing. I had barely got my clothes back on.”

  “How many times can I say sorry?” My fist punched against the headboard in frustration, my hand hitting the wood hard. It hurt but I didn’t care. Hating myself was an understatement, I hated everything about this situation. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

  “I was in love with you.” The first tear fell.

  It all stopped. Noise. Movement. I couldn’t feel or hear anything. The words she had said hanging there, between us.

  “What?” I asked like a dumbass, not because I hadn’t heard her but because it didn’t seem real.

  “I was in love with you,” she repeated, her eyes wide. “I was young, but it didn’t make it less real. I hung on your every word. Every single time you showed me the slightest bit of interest it would make my world turn. And then you slept with me and left. I felt like a whore, Jason. Used. I was in love with the guy who treated me like that. I would have given up everything for you. Just to be with you, and you didn’t even care.”

  There was lots I knew about that girl she’d been back then. She was beautiful, she was smart and she was full of attitude. Same as she was now, and for some unknown reason would give me all kinds of time. Loving me was not one of the things I knew.

  “Angie, I didn’t know. I thought it was a crush, I wouldn’t have done that if I had known.”

  Never. I would have been stronger, put my dick in a fucking blender before I would have used her like that.

  “You mean you wouldn’t have slept with me or you wouldn’t have used me?” The pain in her eyes floored me as she waited for my answer. “Actually.” She raised her hand as she looked away. “Don’t answer that.”

  “I’m no good at this. I’ve tried to tell you from the start, but you didn’t want to listen.”

  Every single muscle in my body screamed to touch her and yet my fists stayed white-knuckled at my side, neither my hands nor my feet able to move.

  “You’re wrong.” Her voice shook, unsteady. “I listened, but not to you. I listened to my fucking heart instead.” Another tear fell. “And I’m in love with you again.”

&nbs
p; I couldn’t breathe. It felt like a hundred pound weight was sitting on my chest as I tried to suck in air.

  “Angie.”

  “I know, I know.” She wiped her eyes as she gave me a weak smile. “Dumb, right? Who makes the same mistake twice?”

  The pain in her eyes was real. Like someone had just punched her in the face. And it was there because of yours truly. Me. Well done, asshole, take a motherfucking bow. Those fucking tears she was crying had my name all over them. I had done that.

  “Then this has to stop.” My mouth said the words as I wanted to rip out my own fucking heart. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  “Too late for that, dumbass. You already have.”

  “Which is why it has to stop.” I fished around for my T-shirt, pulling it over my head in an effort to move away from her.

  “So you’re just going to dump me? You’re not even going to try?” Her face contorted, horrified.

  I was the last thing she needed. She needed someone who was going to be there in every capacity, not some asshole with commitment issues. I couldn’t change who I was. I couldn’t be what she needed me to be.

  “I can’t do what you are asking me to do,” I fired back, wondering why the hell she wasn’t listening to me.

  “Are you fucking serious?” She coughed in disbelief. Like actual bewilderment flashed across her face. “You can say whatever you want to fucking say but we have been in a relationship. I wasn’t your whore. We shared other things besides bodily fluids. Nothing bad happened.” Her rage kicked up a notch as she continued. “I understand some bitch from your past fucked you up, but for fuck’s sake, get over it!”

  The mention of Em wasn’t a slap in the face, it was an explosion. That control I thought I’d lost a few minutes ago not even close to what was happening now as I struggled not to put my fist through the fucking drywall. Get over it? Like I hadn’t been trying for the last ten years?

  “Get out.” I didn’t recognize the voice that flew out of my mouth. The words distorted I’d screamed them so loud.

  Angie flinched, her voice not as confident as when we started. “No. I deserve an explanation. I’m not Em—”

  “Don’t fucking bring her into this. Don’t you fucking dare do it.” I cut her off, my nerves juiced up at the mention of that motherfucking whore’s name.

  “You don’t get to walk out on me twice,” she screamed, her fists flying at my chest. “You don’t get to break my fucking heart twice. That’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fucking fair, Angie.” I took every hit in the chest she gave me as I watched the tears bleeding out of her eyes. “And I’m all out of explanations. I warned you. I told you what I was like.” I stepped forward, the edge in my tone making her slowly back away. “You didn’t fucking listen because you know everything.” Her back hit the wall, her effort to get away from me running out of room. There was a moment of panic that flashed through her eyes when she realized she had nowhere else to go as I got real close to her and sneered. “Why don’t you take your own advice and get over it.”

  Evil. Pure evil was pouring out of me and I couldn’t stop it. This is why I couldn’t be with her; right fucking there was the evidence. She wanted to see it; she wanted to know how much I could hurt her. Well, there you fucking go. Rinkside seats, right on the motherfucking ice.

  “Why are you so cruel?” She wrapped her hands around her chest, looking like a wounded animal. “God, I hate you so much right now.” Her voice was barely a hum.

  “Good.” I got closer to her, no doubt scaring the hell out of her as I measured each word. “Remember that, and walk the hell away. We’re done. Now leave.”

  The harsh reality was worse than a screaming match. His words had felt like barbed-wire, stinging just as much when he hurled them at me as when he ripped them out.

  The unrelenting pain consumed me. Swallowing me whole. My heart, my mind and soul completely shredded. My body empty, like something inside me had just gotten up and left.

  And the depth of how cruel he was chilled me to my very core. He had cut me so deep I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop bleeding. I was so fucking raw I didn’t even want to go on stage. Rusty and the band the reasons for me getting in front of that mic.

  I still cried myself to sleep though.

  Every. Single. Night.

  It was over.

  Really, finally and truly over.

  The one thing I hadn’t been able to do was the finale. What was usually the highlight of my evening made me want to dry heave. I wasn’t strong enough, not even to give him the fuck you he deserved.

  Did he deserve it though? Maybe he was right, and I just liked playing the role of the doormat. He had warned me. He had spelled it out in the beginning that he did not want my love nor would he be giving me any in return.

  I was the one who had changed the rules.

  So instead of bouncing around on stage, tricking up some pop song and laughing at the irony of the lyrics, I walked off. Rusty and Max took over and sang the old Beastie Boy’s song “Hey, Fuck You.” And wasn’t that appropriate. Yep. Fuck you. It wasn’t just directed at Jason. There were plenty of fucks that were directed squarely at me. Not in the song, but in my own head. Which just made me cry harder.

  Avoiding Jason was surprisingly easier than I thought. It seemed that all our past interaction had been intentional, with there being no need for the bands to even cross over. We did sound check at different times, our rooms were on different floors, traveled in separate vehicles and when we flew we were in coach. It was better that way; it’s where we belonged.

  Show after show I sang. My body and my voice gave the audience a hundred and ten percent, even though my heart wasn’t in it. And the performances were amazing despite my soul being crushed. The accolades I had dreamed of finally getting thrown at my feet, and yet I couldn’t enjoy the ride.

  At least my career was on the incline—rave reviews coming in after each performance—even though my love life was in the toilet.

  The set list changed as well. The colorful finales—done. We kept it simple and wrapped with one of our more upbeat originals, took a group bow and walked off stage. Then left the stadium before Power Station even hit their first note. Better to be safe than sorry.

  “Where are we?” I laughed as I finished my sixth beer for the night. I knew the laugh was alcohol-induced and yet, even though it was manufactured I didn’t care. It still felt good and it had been a while since I’d laughed.

  “Phoenix.” The bartender took the empty bottle from in front of me and wiped down the condensation on the bar. His hand movement so efficient and I couldn’t help staring. Whoa. Look at that. Fascinating.

  “Awesome, I like the desert,” I responded, not peeling my eyes from his hand and the bar.

  “Hey.” His voice snapped me from my daze and called me to attention. “I’m going to have to cut you off.”

  “But why?” I whined, annoyed that I was just starting to feel the buzz and Mr. No Fun wanted to cut-me-off. It was a total power play, making the big man feel good by telling me no. I bet he probably hadn’t gotten laid in a while either. There was no way I was that drunk.

  “I know I sound drunk, but I’m just happy.” I tried to stand up but had to hold onto the bar to steady myself. “See.” By some miracle I was able to stop swaying and lifted my hands triumphantly. Look, barman, no hands. “Just happy and I’m staying in the hotel so it’s not like I have to drive.”

  “Even still, you’ve had enough for one night.” He folded his arms across his chest, the international sign for we’re-done-discussing. Was poking my tongue out an acceptable response?

  “Fine.” I sunk back onto the bar stool, my need to show my sobriety no longer valid. “Ruin my life even more.” My dramatic flair usually increased the drunker I got, and while I wasn’t going to be winning any Oscars, I would have definitely been a shoe-in for a daytime soap.

  It was late. We’d—by we, I meant the band—come off stage
sometime around eight and I’d—by I, I meant me, solo, lone wolf—come straight to the bar. It’s not that I’d turned into an alcoholic, but I was spending more downtime with a synthetic high than not. It beat facing reality, which was that I was a dumbass. Give me a D, give me a U, give me a M and B, give me an A, give me a S, give me another S—what does it spell? Dumbass. Hurray. All I needed was the pom poms and the fucking ability to do a backflip. I’d have to work on my cheer though, not smooth at all.

  “Rough night?” A tall athletic guy in a nice suit sat down beside me. He smelled nice. And he had nice eyes. All four of them.

  “Pfft. When did everyone get so fucking sensitive about public intoxication?” I slurred at the four-eyed-man. “I mean it’s not like I took my top off and flashed my tits.” My eyes rolled so hard I almost saw my brain. Not really. I meant, mentally. Because I was being sarcastic. Oh, never mind.

  “Maybe that would improve the bartenders disposition. Who can say no to a beautiful, topless woman?” My suited companion laughed beside me.

  Wow, look at that. Boom. He grew another head. Two heads. At least he’s good looking. Not that I really was in any condition to judge.

  “I bet he would still say no.” I pointed to the bartender who was doing his best to ignore me. “Besides, I’m not beautiful.” I scoffed as I stood up to illustrate my point. “I’m too short and my ass is too big. Plus I have these fucking childbearing hips.” My hand moved around my body like a game show model. “Look at this. It’s like the trunk of a Cadillac.”

  Newsflash. I was not my biggest fan.

  “I think you’re beautiful,” the two headed, four-eyed and obviously delusional man responded.

  “Then you my friend, must be drunker than I am.”

  I’d meant to think it but it came out of my mouth anyway. Meh. I’m not sober enough to care and hopefully drunk enough not to remember.

  “Actually this is my first beer, so maybe you’re the one who is wrong.” He lifted his mostly full beer as he stared at me amused.

  Great, now I was the sideshow.

  “Didn’t your momma tell you to never tell a woman she’s wrong?” I laughed not having a more coherent or intelligent argument.