Adrenaline: An Ode to Love and Heartbreak

by Sunniva Dee

  “Honestly, Inga, he’s acting very strange.”

  “Oh. How?”

  “Well, he’s being himself in that he’s mouthing off and propositioning people for threesomes—”

  “He is?” Not sure why that surprises me. Guess I haven’t heard him do that in a while. Shit, and I’m not happy about it. “Does he have any luck?”

  Arriane chuckles. “Not enough luck, they say. You know how it is. He’s good-looking and so crazy he’ll get takers, but he needs two at the same place at the same time. Apparently, that has yet to happen.”

  I’m simultaneously relieved and annoyed. “Dude’s a fucking piece of a cocksucker.” Arria gets snippy when she’s taught me the exact words not to use and I still forget. “Sorry. Too strong, right?”

  “Yep, inappropriate.”

  “Who was the last taker, then?”

  “Jade told me he’d asked the new girl, Tara, and that they went to the Blood Bank after hours to find Beth.”

  “Beth,” I yell.

  “Shush, Inga. I can hear you just fine.”

  “Yeah, but Beth? Seriously? She’s the only chick the man whore hasn’t slept with in that entire piece of shit club—I want to fucking… Dammit.”

  Bo pops his face out, frosty greys zooming in on me. I let out a sigh as he shakes his head once. I nod back that I get it: no shouting in the corridors.

  Arria must have been holding the receiver away from her ear. She does that sometimes when she’s over asking me to behave. There’s the faint sound of her drinking something. “Of the BB girls, she’s also the only one who’s said ‘yes’ to a threesome.”

  I’m numb. I totally start counting days. I’ll be home in two and a half days. That’s two party nights. Fuck. What are the odds that he’d get Tara and stupid Beth in the same bed at once before I’m back?

  Wow, I can’t believe I’m worrying about this. He’s so immature. Why the hell would I be emotionally invested at any level? “He… So—he never got them on one plate, you’re saying?” I finally ask because it’s going to bug the shit out of me.

  “Right. Beth wasn’t there.”

  Relief.

  After we hang up, I text Cameron. I’m not calling him because God knows what he’ll want to talk about that I’d rather not discuss. My lingerie, for instance.

  Cameron, hi.

  He doesn’t reply at once. I count hours and realize it’s Saturday freaking night at the club and that he’s on the patio mixing drinks and flirting with all the girls. That Tara’s there, that the party’s on. That I’m not there and that I’m not liking this.

  Hey, Kitty, he finally answers.

  Had any lame sex lately? I ask. Bagged some sluts?

  You need another crash course in proper language.

  You need a goodsex-practices course.

  Look who’s talking, he types back, infuriating me.

  I’m not the one jonesing for threesomes with pathetic girls.

  At least I’m not at my ex’s every beck and call.

  Low blow.

  Because you don’t have one.

  Clearly I’m better off.

  I need to be outdoors anyway, I decide. There’s an emergency exit at the far end of the corridor. I press it open and wedge a rock from the desert garden into the crack to keep it from closing.

  I wish he’d answer my question, because I need to know. So who’d you fuck last night? Tara? Another BB girl?

  He takes a minute, not answering. Cam’s going to ask me, now, if I’ve slept with Bo. I know it. What am I going to say? Cameron’s my friend, though. I can tell him if he insists. The only thing, I’m not sure I want to know what he’s been up to. Why did I ask again?

  No.

  No what? I prod stupidly although hope’s rising.

  I haven’t slept with anyone since you left.

  Crap. I’m so relieved. I feel guilty and feather-light at once, like I’ve won something I don’t deserve. I can’t tell him how happy I am about this. What would he think?

  Tara working tonight? I type out instead, like that’s not transparent to ask.

  Yep, we’re freezing our balls off in the patio.

  Okay, that’s not good.

  Arria. I need to ask her a favor: to move Tara to the main bar. She can send Jade out instead. Yeah, Jade’s awesome. She has already rejected a buttload of invitations from Cameron. The girl won’t budge.

  Is Beth there tonight? I’m so obvious, I blush as I write it.

  Gotta go, Ingela. Don’t use the red lace.

  It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve had it. Sure, I slept a few hours, but only after getting shitfaced at the Blood Bank again and in my stupor fending off several girls who could’ve warmed my bed. Beth’s still out of town, and Tara had puppy-eyes when I left her behind to go home on my own.

  “Up for a Firam Peak jump today?” I ask Dan, who’s got a meticulous shaving situation going down in the sink. It’s fucking gross, floating in the water over there, with tons of suds. “Baby face,” I add.

  “Okay, yeah.” He eyes me suspiciously in the mirror. “Late afternoon, though, right? You’ve got the mother of a hangover right now, don’t you?”

  “Naw, the sooner the better.”

  Dan sighs. Dude’s not exactly a sage himself. Trying to seem wise doesn’t suit him. “Cameron—”

  “Okay, yeah. Anyways. Suit yourself,” I snap, surprising him. “I’m having breakfast, and then I’m off.”

  He does half a swing until he’s turned fully to me, staring. “What’s up, man? You’re not going unsafe, now, are you?” His eyebrows lower under unkempt hair.

  I scoff at that. “Unsafe? Hell no.”

  “So what’s up? Where’s that chick of yours anyway? Problems?”

  “I don’t fucking have a chick!” My voice reverberates off the walls, and for an instant everything is quiet. Dan blinks. Then, he turns to the mirror and continues shaving.

  “All right, then. Let’s go obliterate a mountain.”

  Feet apart, Dan and I shoot off the cliffhanger at once. The draft makes the wings of my suit vibrate so fast it’s like they’re flapping, only I don’t move my arms. I lunge in the air. Do a somersault. Dan whoops next to me, his sudden baby face after years of beard making me howl with laughter. He looks fucking younger than me.

  “This is the shit!” My voice echoes off the stone. “Watch.” I narrow my wings to fall faster, dropping below Dan. Then, I dive closer to the granite, stretch my hand out, and actually graze a twig with my fingers. Fuck, what a rush.

  The adrenaline pours through me, leaving me more alive than I’ve ever been. If I died now, I’d die a happy man. I won’t, though, because dead is one thing, while alive as hell is a whole other. And because I’m going to experience this sensation over and over again.

  We deploy our parachutes at the same time. Dan swears at me. He demanded that I deploy a while before I decided to do so. Dan’s turning into my mother, it’s ridiculous. Yeah it was risky, but he knows calculations are my forte.

  “What’s with the party-pooping?” I huff at him as we gather our ’chutes at the bottom of the ravine.

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re”—he lifts his head, drilling bulging eyes into me, and continues in a shout—“out of your mind! What the hell was that, Cam? Flying fucking into the wall and refusing to deploy the parachute? Dude, do you—”

  “Oh shut up,” I mumble, smirking. That was possibly the best run we’ve ever had. “Coward.”

  “No, no, Cam—DO you have a death wish?”

  He’s not supposed to ask that. From your brother-in-arms, it’s a question you don’t expect to hear. From my ten-year-older, straight-laced brother, Patrick, yeah I’d expect it, because he doesn’t get my lifestyle. But from Dan?

  “No, I don’t. Why’re you even asking that?”

  “Pussy,” he says. His head goes side to side, incredulous as he finishes folding his parachute. “You know, Cam, if you’re willing to kill you
rself over pussy problems, that’s too bad. She isn’t worth it. If she’s left you or whatever…”

  I’ve got him against the wall in a chokehold. I’m thrusting him into it, his chin on my knuckles, and making him stop—stop fucking chattering. “Did. You. Not. Hear? I don’t have a chick. No pussy’s left me, all right?”

  Dan makes no attempt to break free. All he does is loosen my hold on his throat enough to speak. “So Inga doesn’t have you whipped? And whatever she’s up to instead of hanging with you doesn’t bother you?”

  I drop him. I’ve had it with this conversation. “Fuck you, Dan,” I say. Gather my stuff from the ravine floor and haul ass to the car.

  Bo tilts his head playfully at me. In this instant, he reminds me of when we were teenagers. My heart goes soft and melts in my chest before it sinks to my stomach. How did things go so awry?

  I smile at him over the table. “What?”

  Bo’s wasted, and he’s the sweetest drunk. I haven’t seen him this way in years. When he’s lit, he’s always quiet but much more open than he is even with his closest friends while sober.

  Outside our window, the moon shines night-lamp pale on dark waves. Random stars blink dully from above. It’s lovely to me—exotic—gorgeous. The moon lights up the unrest of the Pacific, which rolls in, hitting the poles of the restaurant we’re at.

  “You’re so beautiful, Inga.” Bo snorts quietly at his own statement. Even drunk, he’s big on censoring himself. “I shouldn’t say it. Not that it’s new, either. Everyone knows I—” Stopping randomly in the middle of the sentence, he quirks a grin, surrendering to happiness. If I could ever love this man more, this is it, when he’s content, relaxed, living-the-moment Bo. Not just sexy-as-shit, brooding-artist Bo.

  “Shhh,” I tell him. “You had fun tonight?” Bo and I took a taxi to Moonshadows after the international guitar crowd dispersed.

  “Yeah.” He snickers, thinking back.

  When the seminar closed at eight, we all went to some bar slash club in a strip mall with lava-rock walls, red lighting, and drum-n’-bass. Most of the students got Saturday-night sloshed. I, though, as soon as I caught on to my forever-boy aiming at the same, opted for quasi-sobriety.

  Now, I can ogle Bo without him retracting and worrying about my affection. He’s sweet. Handsome. In L.A., everyone’s stunning so no surprise there. At the moment, Bo’s just some good-looking man and not the scary love I can’t purge from my adrenaline-ridden heart.

  “They’re cool, huh?” he tells me, blinking slowly over grey ice.

  “Yeah, total guitar nerds.” I’m happy for him. He’s been in the band crowd forever but never with people who share his guitar obsession. This has got to be amazing.

  His laughter is so breathy it’s high-pitched. “What about Wen-Wen? And you thought I was nerdy.”

  “Crazy-level nerd,” I say, rolling my eyes in hopes he’ll break into a full guffaw. He does. God, his laugh is amazing. I smile big.

  The clientele at Moonshadows is thinning out. Waiters bustle politely around us, and I’m thinking it’s time to call another cab. Taxis aren’t expensive here compared to Sweden, but the drives are longer. Hopefully, he won’t be spending his scholarship on them once I’ve left.

  Bo gathers my hands in his palms and leans in. If I were as drunk as him right now, I’d be bumping into his face with my own, but Bo manages a small distance. He purses his lips, and he’s the cutest person in the world. He’s cuter than puppies, teddy bears, kittens, and pink cotton balls—hell, he’s more adorable than hedgehogs.

  “Baby. Baby-baby. You want me to show you the beach?” He trails upward as if he’s singing one of his songs to me. It makes me want to giggle again, but it might not go over well.

  Minutes later, we’re weaving fingers on the short beach below Moonshadows. A couple of startled seagulls, who I’m pretty sure should be asleep at this hour, dodge the floodlights still on from the restaurant and let out discordant screeches on their way to their hideouts.

  The wind is chilly as crap, much colder than in Deepsilver, which shocks me. “This is California, right?” I ask Bo, and he laughs. “It’s how it is in the West. Cold at night and warm during the day. You know what we’ve never done?” He changes subject faster than I can think tonight.

  “No, tell me.”

  “Make love on the sand.”

  “True.”

  “We should do that,” Bo clarifies as if I didn’t realize it’s what he was going for. But then he chuckles drunkenly. Yeah, he’s adorable, but honestly—since neither of us is a sand-tumbling expert, I can only imagine how it would turn out if we tried in his state. I’ve got so many jokes on my mind. If this were Cameron…

  Wow. Did I just think of Cam?

  Well, it makes sense. Most of my witticisms wouldn’t sit well with Bo—which is why I thought of Cam.

  “Some other day when it’s not so cold?” I suggest, although I’ll be tipping over like a good girl if he’s hell-bent. The world for this man.

  Bo sniffs, unaccustomed to getting “nos” from me. “Suit yourself,” he says. He’s not angry. He is, however, a tad miffed.

  It’s the early afternoon on Sunday, our last day together. Yesterday, we made love until we fell asleep. Still, as soon as we finished breakfast this morning, he suggested we check out a nice beach.

  His plan is so transparent, I want to laugh—again not something Bo would find funny. Here we are, at a different beach, and he’s scouring for a hidden yet comfortable spot to put down the blanket he’s brought. Bo didn’t bring a picnic, though. Nor did he bring sunscreen. Just a blanket.

  People stroll on the sand. Some run after their dogs. I see Bo’s forehead bunch with annoyance. After fifteen minutes of walking, he finds us a spot that’s up from the water between twigs and dry little plants. It’s not pretty or romantic here, and I’m choking on my laughter when he curses under his breath, trying to smooth the cover out for us.

  “You’d like to rest, sweetie?” I ask him.

  “Mmm, maybe. Sit.” His frosty greys float up and find me. I sit.

  He kisses me. Early tomorrow morning I’ll be at the airport again. I’ll be leaving him behind, and I have no idea when I’ll see him next. Bo licks my lip slowly, tugging it into his mouth and letting go.

  “Will you be okay?” I whisper to him, my heart a rock behind my ribs.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about me, Inga. All’s good.” He warms a cold hand on my cheek and slides it down my neck.

  I puff out a whimper. “Fuck, you’re cold.”

  This amuses him. “Shhh,” he whispers. Arches one of his perfect brows and curls the right side of his mouth in a sassy, lopsided grin. “Shut your eyes.”

  Goddamn how I listen to everything he says. I’m a sucker. With the sun tinting my vision orange behind my lids, I let him glide icy fingers down my chest and inside my bra. Bo kisses me again, kneading my freezing breast. That breast will not be touched by him in a long time, though, maybe ever, so I arch into him, sucking it up.

  I jump at the sound of rustling bushes. A second later, a freaking deer of a dog stands over us, panting, slobbering long ferocious strings of drool and staring. Bo groans. Gets my jacket in place, covering me just in time before the owner comes up behind the dog.

  “Goodness, I’m so sorry—he got off the leash. Trick’s a real nice dog, though,” she assures us. “Would never hurt a fly. Trick. Trick!” Before she can stop him, the dog lashes the world’s fattest tongue across Bo’s face. I literally see Bo gagging, and the urge to laugh is killing me.

  As Trick and his mommy take off, a couple with three dogs walks by below us. One of them waves, and Bo shoots me a can-you-believe-this look. Then, he gets up, helps me to my feet, and gathers the blanket. “The boardwalk,” he decides. “This is not working.”

  “As long as you don’t plan on being… um—romantic there,” I say.

  At the airport, Bo kisses me like we’re girlfriend and boyfriend, like he’ll mis
s me, like he should be telling me to stay. He kisses me as if this—us being apart—makes no sense.

  I’m numb when the plane takes off. Frozen in place until the fasten seat belts signs go off. Deep down, I hoped he’d message me before I had to turn the cell phone off, and I waited, waited until the very last minute for the pling announcing what I wanted him to say.

  We’d been so good together.

  Adrenaline pumps fear into my veins again; I know the low is about to set in. How long will it take me this time? I think of my friends in Deepsilver. They don’t deserve this. I was fine before Bo called, and now I’ll be… not fine.

  In the pocket of the seat before me, a scrawny little plane blanket peeks out. I rip the plastic open and cover myself. Turn the overhead light off and pull the edge up over my eyes before the tears start rolling.

  Bo.

  Bo. Bo. Bo.

  “Ingela’s doing it again. I haven’t heard a word from her in twenty-four hours.” Arriane wets her thumb and rubs it against what looks like jam on Lyric’s chubby cheek. He swats at her, but really, he has no say in this. He’ll be clean the cat-mom way whether he wants it or not.

  “You picked her up from the airport last night, though, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Not that she’s on tonight at the bar, but you know how she is—Inga comes in anyway to hang out, at least to snuggle with this little guy.” Arriane smooches the spot she just cleaned on her baby. Am I seeing things or did she just lick him too?

  “How was she yesterday, then?”

  “She seemed collected. Wasn’t crying, but didn’t talk much either.”

  “Yeah, it’s not a good sign when Ingela doesn’t prattle—on and on and on.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Arria coughs out against Lyric’s head. He jerks back and glares at her. Damn, he’s fucking cute. I’d totally have one of those one day.

  You up, Inga? I text and get no answer. I call her. It goes straight to voicemail.

  “Do they have a phone line at Inga’s?”

  “No, who has phone lines anymore, Cam?”

  I shrug. “Besides my grandma? You guys.”