Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4)

by Jean Haus

  Ever.

  Chapter 3

  ~April~

  In over two short weeks since the start of school, Wednesday afternoon lunch with Riley has become an official tradition. Since we both have class in the morning—me, Community Psychology and her, Probability and Statistics—we always meet at the Market, a little shop in the university’s main building that serves sandwiches and soups.

  I didn’t warm up to Riley at first. Honestly, I was jealous of her. Not of her budding romance with Romeo—though he and I dated, a real romantic connection between us never materialized —instead, I was terrified she would damage our friendship. Romeo had become one of my closest friends, out of very few friends. Once I realized how much he truly liked her, I let go of my jealousy, and overtime Riley and I became friends. Riley is hard not to like. She’s upbeat, a bit quirky, and an incredibly genuine person.

  “So you’re coming next Friday, right?” Riley asks as she crumples her empty sandwich wrapper.

  Recalling the upcoming party, and the fact that I already agreed to go, I almost choke on a gulp of water. “Um…”

  Dang.

  I want to let out a number of expletives. I’m quite sure Gabe will be there given that the reason for the party is the band signing with a label. Besides the fact that his dislike is almost tangible, I don’t want to be anywhere near him since my strange reaction to him twice, but I want to go to the party for Romeo and show my support.

  “April?” Riley asks, her forehead scrunched. “You’re coming early to help me get ready, right?”

  My mind is stuck. I can’t come up with a legitimate excuse that won’t have me feeling guilty. “Yes, of course,” I say, forcing a slight smile. I can do this. Gabe just caught me off guard in the parking lot, and the time previous to that I wasn’t myself. I won’t lose control again.

  “It’s not going to be fancy or anything. And it will be only our close friends. Romeo was irritated I even wanted to have a get together.” She rolls her eyes. “But come on. They’re getting signed!”

  “It’s very exciting,” I agree, then take another sip of water, forcing myself to think of the conversation instead of being in close proximity to Gabe. I want to get off the topic of the party. It’s making my insides jittery. “Do you wish you were in the band now that they’ve signed with a label?”

  Not many people know about the label’s offer. Romeo is keeping it under wraps. Even before they went on tour and opened for two nationally known bands, they’d been celebrities on campus. If the label thing got out, life on campus would totally suck for the members that go here—meaning not Gabe.

  Riley pauses lifting her bottle of tea, then slowly sets it on the table, obviously collecting her thoughts. “I miss playing with people who are at the top of their game. My band’s coming along, though it’s obviously nowhere near Luminescent. But the touring? The possible fame? The interviews?” She shakes her head. “No thank you. Seriously, I don’t think I could deal with all that.”

  Her response doesn’t surprise me. She’s wonderfully in tune with herself. “It seems like Romeo would feel the same way about the fame part.”

  She tilts her head and taps her cap on the table. “He wants…the full experience. He doesn’t let things go to his head, whether it’s fame or stress. And yeah, one day he might step in the background and become the producer or the manager or the songwriter, but for now he’s learning. Romeo’s always learning.”

  I smile genuinely for once. Riley understands Romeo more than I ever could. How lovely it would be to have such a connection with someone. Not that I ever could. I glance at the clock. “I need to get going, need to get in three hours of filing today. Do you need me to bring anything on Friday?”

  “No, I’ve got everything. I’ll just need some help pulling it together.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there by five,” I say with a quick wave, heading over to the psychology wing.

  Inside the wing, I pass a few people I’ve had classes with in the past, but only offer a slight wave. The whole Gabe in group therapy, along with the addition of the party, has me feeling like I’m stuck between a rock and a very hard place. I enter the department offices, greet the secretaries, store my bag under the community desk, jot down my time, and begin filing papers—my fifteen hours a week job. When I started this job freshman year, there had been five of us. This year I’m the sole paper filer. Other students work on computers, putting the information in databases. After a half hour, I find myself in Dr. Medina’s office, knocking on the open door.

  She looks up from her desk and smiles. “Hello, April. Do you need something?”

  Dr. Medina is the department head of Psychology. I’ve had her for three different classes in the past. Most importantly, Dr. Medina refers students for the Clinical Counseling Graduate Program. Though my GPA is a four point, she has been hesitant to refer me to the program. I’ve never told her about my past, but the woman has psychological x-ray vision because she can see right into me. She believes I need to accept whatever is in my past before I can counsel others. Thus the group therapy prior to the recommendation, and although Jeff can’t tell her anything specific, he can tell her if I’m making progress or not. What I need to do is get my head out of my behind and open up about something soon or he’ll deem me progress-less. What I want to do is get out of that group.

  I nearly bite my lip off before I blurt, “Do you think it’s too late for me to find another group?”

  In the mist of writing something, Dr. Medina’s pen pauses hovering over the paper she is grading. “Why would you want to switch groups?” she asks in a cautious tone.

  Her tone has me wanting to take the question back. “Well,” I say slowly. “I’m not sure the fit is…um, right.”

  “Jeff tells me that the group is comprised of all young adults, it should be a perfect fit. People at the same place in life tend to see and understand things the same way.” She puts her pen down. “Plus, you told me that it was going great a few weeks ago. Why this sudden change of heart?” Her expression is thoughtful and a bit suspicious.

  Crap! I should have never opened my stupid mouth. “I…the last session felt extremely uncomfortable,” I say, trying to be honest because I respect Dr. Medina very much.

  A soft smile curves her mouth. “Then that is exactly where you belong. Your boundaries need to be pushed, April. A little discomfort may do you good.”

  Yup, a rock and a hard place.

  I have to get into the program. And Dr. Medina holds the key. I draw in a deep breath so I can force out the words, “You’re probably right. I’m sure you’re right. I’m just being a coward.”

  Her head shakes. “Not a coward, just human.”

  I force a smile. “Thanks for listening to me.”

  She picks up her pen. “Anytime, April.”

  I go back to filing papers. While I work, I try to calm myself and tell myself I can handle Gabe.

  But I’m worried.

  I haven’t reacted to anyone like that in years.

  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever reacted that way to anyone.

  Chapter 4

  ~Gabe~

  Riley watches me playing the drums, foot tapping to the beat, forehead wrinkled in concentration, and hands gripping the edges of the chair. She ignores Romeo, her boyfriend, playing the guitar to the left of me. I used to find her intense attention unnerving. After a while, it just became part of practicing. Also, beyond finding her stare uncomfortable, my dislike for her used to border on hate.

  Though I’d never admit it, she intimidates the hell out of me. She beat me out over a year ago for the drumming spot in Luminescent Juliet. They offered me the job when she quit. Because drumming is my addiction, a calm in the storm that is me, I swallowed my pride and took the job. Without the release of playing, I probably would have landed in jail or prison long ago.

  I learned how to play the drums by ear and practice, practice, practice. I didn’t know the proper lingo, how to read musi
c, or even the fractional way music is broke down. I simply learned how to copy to the point of perfection.

  Once Romeo had taught me all he could, I had to swallow my pride again—which was shit ass hard, since there are times pride is all I have—and take lessons from my nemesis. Though I cling to pride like a motherfucker, I’m not stupid. So when he brought Riley in, I swallowed pride like a heroin addict prostitute swallows in a back alley—without a blink of an eye, even as their insides have to be retching like hell. Drumming is my heroin, Romeo my pimp, and Riley my pusher.

  I roll into a drum fill, adrenaline and anger pushing my energy, then bring down the energy as Romeo strums out the ending riffs of the new song.

  Riley smiles wide. “Perfect! You finally toned down the intro and ending.”

  Yeah, pounding lightly is a problem for me. Over the last three rounds of the song, I’ve forced myself to ease up a bit more each time through.

  Romeo places his guitar on a waiting stand. “I’m going to go get some food before practice. You two finish the sheet music.”

  Romeo is a bossy dick, and if he weren’t the driving force that keeps our band on track, along with the hours he has spent helping me hone my skill, I would have beat his ass long ago. He could piss off a saint, and I’m the furthest thing from a saint.

  He murmurs something in Riley’s ear—that has her smiling wider—then he takes off down the stairs that lead to this second floor dungeon above an old antique shop.

  Riley waves a clipboard at me. “Finish this up, so I can head out.”

  I tuck my sticks in a back pocket and go over to her. Now that we have a label, every instrument needs to be composed on paper before we head into the studio over the next couple of months. And though Riley taught me how to read music, writing it is difficult. Therefore, she sets it up, I finish it out, and she checks it over.

  Swallow fucking swallow.

  I am getting better at this shit though, even though it’s only been a month since we got back from the tour. Plus, Riley helps me swallow my pride by always being gone before the other members of the band come for practice. I’m honest enough to admit I’d be humiliated if the other band members knew how much she helps me.

  Sitting next to her, I grab the sheets attached to the clipboard and start working on the drum notation.

  She waits and texts while I start filling in the drum keys.

  After a few minutes of silence, I nonchalantly say, “Can I ask you something? If you don’t want to answer, feel free to tell me to fuck off if you feel like it.”

  She pauses texting to look at me like I’ve grown another head, then she nervously presses her lips together before blurting, “I don’t want to be in the band. I can’t work with Romeo on a regular basis like that. It put a huge strain on our relationship. The idea of touring, living on a bus for weeks, sounds like hell. You’re pretty much as good as me now and—”

  “Whoa,” I say, raising my hand. “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

  She blinks at me.

  I’m not surprised at her response. Working with her at first, I probably was noticeably resentful, and yes, I used to agonize about her coming back into the band and leaving me high and dry until I talked myself into not giving a fuck, or at least trying not to give a fuck. Between her starting her own band and Luminescent going on a major tour, I began to lose that worry. With the worry mostly gone, I’m still all work and little conversation. Talk is cheap. But her response isn’t unexpected. The question she supposed I asked has been silently sitting between us every time we practice.

  I force a close lipped smirk. “I’m glad you’re not planning on taking over my spot, and ah…thanks for the compliment, though you’re a better player than—”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not really. I do have an edge as far as mechanics, but you have an edge because of your intensity. Thus it all evens out in the end.”

  This time I blink at her. I try not to compare myself to this girl. She’s that good.

  “So what were you going to ask?”

  I let my shock over her evaluation of my skill go. “I wanted to ask about April…” I don’t give a shit what Riley or anyone else thinks about my mental state. It’s fucked up. End of story. I’m just not comfortable sharing that April is in group therapy. I don’t snitch on people to the cops or their friends. That shit was pounded in me at the age of thirteen during a two-month stint in juvie. Got caught stealing tennis shoes—my second shop lifting offence—that I truly needed. I also learned how information could prove to be the scale tipper while in juvie, and I need information on April. Usually I don’t care enough to play games, yet I’ll do just about anything at this point to get rid of her.

  Riley’s face constricts in confusion. “April Tanner?”

  “Um, yeah, she’s your and Romeo’s friend, right?”

  “You’re interested in April? I thought you were dating…that one blonde girl,” she finally says, obviously not able to recall the name of my last girlfriend.

  “Ah, Kristy and I haven’t really connected since I got back from tour.” I don’t have time for clingy Kristy’s drama between all my probation demands, working at the garage, and writing a new album.

  Riley’s eyes grow huge. “So you want to ask April out?”

  A harsh laugh escapes me. “Ah, no,” I say, thinking people like April don’t date people like me, or vice versa. I’m on the other side of several tracks from her. I’m on the real side of life. She’s on the lucky side, with her nose stuck in the air so far I’m surprised it doesn’t have wings. Sometimes her side slums on my side for some adventure, but that shit never lasts.

  “I just want…” Her to quit group and never touch me again. I’ve been trying to quit or get myself moved into another group for the last three days. My probation officer refused to move me. Since he’d already spent a huge amount of time finding me the “right” group due to my new semi-fame—his words not mine—he determined that I was trying to get out of any group therapy. But people rarely recognize me, unless I’m with the band. Usually, I’m low key or working at my job at the garage. Yet, even though I told him this, he refused to change my group.

  Riley’s expectant and confused stare has me looking at the drum notation and mumbling, “I might be a little interested in her.” I internally punch myself in the face. I hate lying, but nothing else to do. I plaster a forlorn look on my face and meet Riley’s wide smile. “So what is she like?”

  “Well…” Riley tucks her phone in pocket. “She can seem a bit standoffish. Justin used to refer to her as the ice queen. She’s just very private and usually quiet. Kind of like you…” My brows rise in unbelief. Yet she just draws a knee up and wraps her hands around it. “Anyway, when Romeo and I were going through some problems, she pulled me aside and bitched me out. So she’s not shy or anything, but she doesn’t date much,” Riley says with a frown, slouching in thought before perking up. “She’ll be at the get together Friday. You could try talking to her there.”

  I nod like that’s the best idea ever. “Anything else I should know about her?”

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you anything super personal. I can only tell you she’s very driven. She’s going to college to be a counselor. She’ll be graduating this year, a semester early. College takes up most of her life, which is probably why she doesn’t date much…”

  Counselor? Maybe that’s why she’s in group, part of her education, which makes her being there worse. Like I’m a caged animal to be poked and prodded and dissected.

  The fucking cherry on top of this mess is that I want therapy to help me. I never buy into hope, but when we got offers from several labels, a different future than the shit I always anticipated flashed in my imagination. Now I need therapy to help me. Yet I’m beyond uncomfortable bearing all my shit to some chick I see from time to time out of therapy, who used to screw Romeo, and who is still friends with Romeo and Riley. Like I said to her, it’s just too weird. And beyond th
e weirdness, I don’t think I can admit all my dirt with her sitting across from me. The wannabe slut, the jean picker, and even the spoiled douche bag I can handle, but the princess?

  Nope.

  She’s so calm, cool, and collected, gazing down her nose at the rest of us. With her back stiff, her hands clasped, and her expression smooth, she makes me feel dirty merely looking at her.

  Yet, out in the parking lot she lost some of that cool, her blue eyes flashing angrily, her mouth twisting in fury. She didn’t look like the ice queen then. And my previous assumption, that her icy, cool beauty was a turn off, changed in an instant. Cracking her cool, bringing out that fire, became a hot, sexual fantasy in an instant.

  And fuck that.

  Fuck my dick and its fantasies. I will never go there. I force my features to smooth and glance back at the music sheet. “Yeah, I’ll definitely have to talk to her at the party.”

  Chapter 5

  ~April~

  Although I loathe group therapy, following my little talk with Dr. Medina, I left myself with the only option of participating more. It doesn’t matter that Gabe stoically sits across from me or that people may find out about me being in therapy. I have to make it appear that the therapy is working to some degree because I have to get into the program. Therefore I sit in my chair, listen attentively, and wait to participate.

  After his usual introduction monologue, Jeff asks Chad then Misha to share. Apparently, he wants to get the usual crap out of the way in the beginning. Next, he turns to Jason. Thumbs tapping on the sides of his thighs, Jason tells a short story of his mother giving him a surprise birthday party when he was ten. We’re all intent on listening since Jason never says more than two words. And even with the shortness of the story, it’s apparent that the memory is a fond one.

  “I always wanted to give someone a surprise party, so that was a great memory, Jason,” I say, wanting to participate with a bit of honesty.