Metal Urge

by Wilbourn, E. D.

  He imagined the taste of cotton candy, sweet and sticky against his mouth. He had no idea if he greeted her or when she slipped away from him to get the other band member’s autographs. He became aware of his surroundings once more as she snuggled against him in a cloud of intoxicating scent, placing her hand on his hip as the photographer snapped the photograph. When her hand slid down his thigh and dropped away, he pressed his palm against the burning spot her touch had left behind and stared at her. A security guard started to lead her away, but Thom gave him a look, one which the guard knew well. He nodded at Thom who visibly relaxed, confident that he would see the tasty lass waiting for him in his dressing room. Alistair stared at him in astonishment, but he didn‘t give a toss. His band mate had no idea how gut-wrenchingly lonely and rejected he felt at the moment. Let him find his own comfort in this strange city so far from home, and bollocks to his judgmental self-righteousness.

  A piercing squeal echoed in the dimly lit hotel hallway. Thom shielded the brunette as he watched Brad and Alistair manhandle a bleached blonde in a tube top against the wall outside of Alistair's room. Brad pulled her skin-tight shorts down to her ankles and proceeded to drag her bright pink bikini panties down her bronzed thighs with his teeth. Laughing, Alistair rolled her tube top down, releasing huge, jiggling breasts. He licked a large berry colored nipple as the girl moaned loudly. She was pushing Brad's face between her legs when Thom hurriedly unlocked his hotel room door.

  “Wow!” the brunette laughed, peering around Thom's back at the sexy spectacle down the hall.

  “How old are you darlin’?” Thom asked, quickly ushering the girl into his room.

  “Nineteen.” She answered, her sweet Texas drawl shooting flames of pure lust up his thighs, blazing right into their target at the center of his groin.

  He wasted no time getting her back to the hotel while making sure that Nigel was none the wiser. It wouldn’t do to add fuel to the wanks own relentlessly raging desire to steal Deanna away. He was quite sure Brad and Alistair hadn't noticed him and his pretty companion either. Luckily, they’d been preoccupied with the overly endowed blonde. The girl slipped past him and looked around the room. Once he shut and locked the door, she walked over to him and looked up at his face with eyes so huge and brown he felt he could easily lose himself in their depths forever. He ran his fingers through her silken hair and cupped her heart shaped face in his hands, enjoying the feel of her soft skin. She closed her eyes and tilted her face, full red lips begging to be kissed. He looked at her sweet face, guilt flailing him with tiny clawed fingers and nipping him with sharp little teeth. Letting go of her, Thom backed away, wiping his face with trembling hands.

  “Is somethin’ wrong?” She asked, childish concern flickering over her face as she crossed her arms against her bare midriff self-consciously. Gone was the cocky self-assuredness she had displayed earlier when she felt certain she could seduce the gorgeous blonde guitarist who possessed the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen.

  He looked up slowly, his gaze moving over her body. Ignoring the guilt still lashing him mercilessly, he pulled her against him and covered her mouth in a kiss so fraught with pent-up emotion it took their breath away. He was gasping and murmuring his need for her as he peeled off her leather jacket, tossing it to the floor. She cried out and pulled at his studded leather clothing, moaning and begging him to hurry. They stumbled to the bed and he pushed her down, running his hands under her skirt, pulling at her panties, desperate to feel the molten heat of desire in her soft, wet flesh. When she pushed against his groping hands, he pulled back in shock.

  What the hell was he doing?

  “I’m so sorry!” He sprang up and tried to button his leather pants, unable to grasp the metal buttons on the first try.

  The girl grabbed the bedspread and pulled it over her exposed breasts, tears wavering in her hurt-filled eyes. “What’d I do wrong?” Tears of embarrassment began to trickle down her face and she wiped them away with the edge of the bedspread.

  “Nothing, love. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me, I‘m afraid.” Thom held up his left hand, and she gazed at the glistening wedding band, shaking her head.

  “You’re married?” How could you do that to me?

  The scorn in her voice made him feel as though she had slapped him hard across the face. “I don‘t know. It was wrong…everything has gone so wrong.” He paused and looked at her; so lovely even though her cheeks were rosy with shame and tears stained the golden skin of her flawless face. “I couldn’t seem to stop myself,” he said, desperate to wipe the wounded look off her face. “Look at you---so incredibly beautiful.” He spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “You’ve no idea how much I want you, but I can't let that happen.” The pain in her eyes nearly did him in. “I didn't mean to hurt you,” he stammered. “I don‘t know what else I can say.”

  She kept the bedspread wrapped around her as she gathered her discarded clothing from the floor. Turning her back to him, she struggled to get dressed. Keeping a wide berth between them, she grabbed her purse and sprinted to the door, unlocking it. She looked back at him and frowned. “You may think I’m just some slutty Texas hick you turned to putty with your pretty compliments and your pretty face, but you‘re wrong. I don't sleep with married guys---musicians or otherwise.” Jerking the door open, the girl gave him one last contemptuous look. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

  She was gone before he could respond to her harsh insult. He picked up the bedspread and threw it across the bed. Slumping down on the rumpled fabric, he covered his face with his hands. He had come too close to cheating. Far too close. If the dire state of his marriage didn’t improve very soon, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself the next time temptation presented itself in all of its wicked glory.

  Chapter 37

  A static, metallic voice announced the flights descent into Heathrow Airport, bringing the tiny “fasten seatbelts” and “no smoking” signs dinging to life. Thom glanced over at Jayson and Penny across the aisle and smiled sadly. Nestled closely together under a British Airways blanket, Penny’s head rested on Jayson’s shoulder. Even in sleep it was obvious they were madly in love with one another. It would be a troubling, unpleasant homecoming for him and Deanna. They had spoken briefly on the phone two nights ago, the first time in nearly three weeks. She insisted on meeting him at the airport but he could tell it was out of obligation---not love. He wished she would just stay home.

  Thom waited until the other members of Metal Urge had gathered their luggage from the baggage claim area and were quickly whisked away in a sleek, stretch limousine before searching for Deanna on the crowded sidewalk outside of the airport. He spotted her waving from the open door of a black taxicab. She hurried over and grabbed his luggage while he picked up a small carry-on and his guitar case. They didn’t embrace or kiss, instead they sat as far apart as the seat would allow, staring out of the cab's windows as the drab cityscape streaked by. If it was this bad now, what repercussions did he face when he told her about his thwarted betrayal with the Texas beauty? Sighing heavily, Thom pushed up his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, weary from the ten hour flight, dreading what was bound to happen after his guilt-ridden confession about the young brunette. To his surprise, Deanna clasped his hand but didn’t look at him. She held his hand in her slightly chilled grip, caressing the thin band of platinum on his ring finger with her thumb until the cab parked in front of their flat.

  “Let me get the door,” she said, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

  Thom nodded and waited for her to unlock and push the heavy door open. She carried in his luggage, taking it straight to the ground floor bedroom where he immediately observed that all of her belongings had been removed. Saying nothing, he laid his guitar case down, removed his jacket, and stood by the door murmuring that he was jet-lagged and tired. Deanna started to speak, but thought better of it and left, hearing the door slam and lock behind her. Thom
lay on the bed, head pounding, wondering just what that hand-holding stunt was about. He had taken it as a sign of hope but after looking around at the barren spaces left by his wife’s missing personal items, he couldn’t fathom what her motive had been. The thought of losing Deanna hurt so much it brought hot, stinging tears to his eyes. He knew there wasn't one bloody thing he could do about it as he dialed his father's phone number with trembling fingers. Unable to staunch the flow of bitter tears, he laid the handset back in its cradle and wept silently into his shaking hands.

  Slipping on her coat, Deanna hastily scrawled a note and left it on the countertop next to the coffee pot as she had always done when leaving messages for Thom. She picked up her heavy school books and left quietly, wanting to get out of the flat and away from him. What a sad and awful thing to crave distance and separation when she hadn’t seen Thom in over two months. Part of her missed him terribly, hence the need to hold his hand; the other part wished he’d never come back. She had tried so hard to get past their horrendous arguments, but she couldn't block out all of the painful, hateful things they had shouted, cried, and accused. It was as though they had the burning desire to stand idly by as their marriage and their lives were destroyed by red hot flames fueled by hopeless pain and anger.

  She entered the school library and found a table far from the other students who were flipping through their textbooks and scribbling on notepads. Studying was the furthest thing from her mind: she needed space---she craved space---away from Thom and their miserable failure of a marriage until she could figure out what to do. She could tell by the look on his face that he was crushed when he discovered she had moved all of her belongings out of his bedroom. It had to be done before he came home. His presence would only serve to cloud her judgment as he soothed her fears and concerns away with his loving blue eyes and the expertise of his nimble guitarist’s hands.

  Deanna pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Pride,” a voice said in her mind. “You are such a prideful girl.” Her mother’s voice rang loud and clear deep inside her aching skull. “You loved and respected Thom until you let your silly pride get in the way. Pride is the devil’s favorite vice, Deanna. Go home and make peace with your husband!” Swallowing hard, Deanna looked around. Maybe her hormones really were pushing her over the edge into madness. Exhausted, she shuffled out of the library towards the inevitable showdown with Thom: a confrontation that would render them both casualties of their foolish pride.

  ****

  Unable to move, Deanna stared at Thom’s face which juddered and blurred, making her feel dizzy.

  “Are you alright?” He moved towards her, but she threw out her hands to ward him off.

  “Please, my love. I am so sorry. I made a terrible mistake with that girl. You know I love you. We'd been arguing, and I felt so alone...”

  “Shut up!” She yelled, backing towards the stairs. “You slept with that Texas whore just to get back at me even though I told you that kiss wasn’t my fault.”

  Thom shook his head briskly, “I swear to you that I didn’t have sex with her. We were kissing and it got a bit out of hand, but I put a stop to it before we went too far.”

  In an instant her demeanor changed. “It's not like you didn't warn me with your “I'm a musician” speech, right? Isn't that what you're thinking?” She straightened up and looked him in the eyes with a cold, unemotional glare. “I need space. We’re going to set some boundaries or I'm out of here.”

  “You’re threatening to leave me?”

  “Yes, if you don’t give me what I’m asking for.”

  “No, Deanna,” Thom said firmly. “We're gonna sort out whatever the bloody hell has happened to us and to our marriage.”

  She stared at him impassively, forcing him to continue to try and reason with her.

  “There were too many assumptions and very few facts flung about during our ridiculous arguments. We won't survive...our marriage won't survive if we don’t sort out this bloody mess straight away.”

  “So be it.” Deanna whirled and started up the stairs.

  Thom stumbled after her, begging her to stop. She turned and looked at him like he was something slimy she had just stepped on. “Is that all our marriage means to you? Is that all I mean to you?”

  The look on his face was almost too painful to bear. Deanna turned away, fat tears rolling down her face. “Just give me some space, please.”

  He watched her slow descent up the stairs with a mixture of hurt, bewilderment, and fury until he couldn't stop himself from shouting; “You know as well as I do that this fucking mess is Nigel’s doing. He wanted this to happen, Deanna…can’t you see that?” Thom took a step forward, but she ran to the landing clutching at the railing with shaking hands. “He kissed you in hopes that it would destroy our relationship. If you turn your back on us now the bloody bastard has succeeded. Is that what you really want?” He could see her visibly flinch, but she didn’t turn around, instead she disappeared into her old bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cupboard, he unscrewed the top drinking it down quickly, ignoring the liquid dribbling down his chin. Carrying the dripping bottle into his bedroom he slammed the door and picked up the phone to call Jayson. He needed a friendly voice. Someone who was willing to listen as his decimated life crashed down around him.

  ****

  A group of students stood outside of Deanna’s classroom, laughing and discussing test scores. One of them called out to her as she started for the exit, “Come and have a pint with us.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to go home. I’m clocking some extra hours at the hotel tomorrow and I need sleep.” She waved and grinned at her classmate’s overly-dramatic show of disappointment as they groaned and clasped their hands to their hearts. She saw the bright red double decker bus in the distance so she jogged to the bus stop, holding onto the sign post while she caught her breath. There was no reason to be in a hurry she thought as she boarded the huge red bus. At this time of day the tube station would be practically empty so she would have no trouble getting an underground train to Chelsea.

  But something wasn’t right.

  An unpleasant tingling sensation worked its way down her spine, a subtle warning that all was not well. She didn’t get these premonitions very often---although she wasn’t keen to call them that. However, this one was strong and disturbing. Anxious to reach her flat, she hurried out of the idling bus and down the steps into the underground, grateful when she heard the rumble of the incoming train just as she reached the platform.

  Faint strains of music could be heard when she reached the quiet street her flat was situated on. As she drew closer, the sound intensified until it reached a deafening roar. “My God!” she cried, and ran for the front door, dropping her keys in her haste to get it open. The sound reverberating throughout the flat was so loud she had to drop her books and purse and cover her ears. The reel to reel tape machine was blasting out one of Thom’s favorite songs, and he was playing along, his amp turned up as loud as it would go. A half-empty liquor bottle lay near his bare feet, leaking its contents into the beautiful Persian rug. His fingers flew over the strings of his Flying V, but the sound was off key, the rhythm choppy and uneven. “Turn that down!” Deanna shouted over the nerve wracking din. She ran towards the tape player, tripping over a pile of empty beer cans, nearly falling flat on her face. “Damn it, Thom!” she screamed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She fumbled with the dials, the relentless noise making it difficult to locate the volume knob. She finally found it, but before she could turn it down, Thom grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back painfully.

  “Don’t touch that,” he said, pulling hard on her hair. Deanna tried to pry his fingers open which only made him pull harder. Grinning maliciously, he let go of her hair and started to play his guitar again then stopped when the intro to a new song blared out of the speakers causing the windows to rattle. “Oh, f
oxy,” Thom growled. He struck the strings of his guitar with such force, the sound crackled and shrieked through the small amplifier, creating a blast of earsplitting feedback.

  Deanna cried out and clapped her hands over her ears.

  Thom laughed and picked up the liquor bottle tossing back what was left before throwing the bottle against the wall, shattering it. “Foxy lady,” he sang. “You're a cute little heartbreaker and a cruel little cock teaser,” he pointed at her and sneered.

  While he abused the strings of his guitar, Deanna eased over to his amp and pulled the cord out, silencing the torturous noise.

  “Wha’…?” Thom slurred. Pulling the guitar strap over his head, he tossed the V on a chair and grabbed Deanna, pushing her to the floor. “Very naughty, my girl, very naughty indeed.” He seized a large fistful of her hair and dragged her away from the amp. She was crying and kicking at him, begging him to let go which made him laugh and jeer drunkenly at her feeble attempts to get away.

  “Please turn the music down, Thom. Please. Do you want the police to come?” she whimpered, digging at his hand with her nails which only served to make his grip tighten painfully. She could feel strands of hair being pulled out of her burning scalp as he dragged her over to the tape machine.

  Humming softly, he studied the knobs and switches for a moment before turning it off. “There now, are you satisfied you prissy, uptight, little bitch?”

  She thought he would let go of his excruciating grip on her hair, but he was busy undoing the button on his jeans. “No!” she gasped as he wound her hair even tighter around his fist, jerking her face towards his crotch. He pulled her closer, fumbling with the zipper, trying to pull it down.

  “Take a good look at this, darlin’,” he snarled, shoving her face against the metal zipper. “You’re still my wife so perform your wifely duty.”