The look on Darlene’s face is far colder than the glass of water she throws at me. I gasp at the surprise before shaking the wetness from my hair. When I look back to her she looks almost happy, as if her assault has given her great relief. She really does hate me. I guess that’s better than feeling nothing.
Hate I can work with.
Not allowing her a second to avert my advance, I slam my body into hers, pressing her back against the built in bookshelf that spans the length of our hallway. Our lips collide and I almost fall to my knees in gratitude that she’s actually kissing me back. It takes a moment, but she drops the glass and her hands find my hair, twisting into the wetness and tugging aggressively.
Fuck.
I bend down, lifting her from the back of her knees and guiding her svelte legs around my waist. She grips hard and when I feel the friction of her center against mine I can’t stop the groan as it echoes into her mouth.
This is the passion that we have been missing, the aggression that we have needed to kick-start our reunion, to awaken our libido. I’ve wanted her to reject her apathetic attitude for weeks, months, and she has. Now she burns with rage, the flames warming her coldness and hinting at what we once had, and in the ashes we will find us again.
She tastes sharp, like tequila and lime and I have to bite back the annoyance of what she has been doing tonight. I use the annoyance to up the fervor, fisting my hand in her hair as I guide my lips down her neck, sucking and biting in a frenzy of need. I haven’t tasted her in so long. Her skin is inexplicably sweet and smooth like flavored milk. When I reach her shoulder I feel the goose-bumps under my tongue.
I can still affect her.
Spurred on by her response, I pull aside the strap of her dress, easing my lips down until they meet the fullest part of her breast. She’s moaning in appreciation but when I reach for the zip on her back she freezes.
“Reid, I...”
I gaze up at Darlene to find her hand covering her mouth, looking completely uncomfortable. She squirms in my arms until I reluctantly let her down, silently panicking that she’s going to run again.
She does.
To the bathroom.
Slamming the door behind her before I can see her retching into the toilet. I sure can hear her though.
Leaning my forehead against the bookcase, I work on steadying my breath and readjusting downstairs, anticipating a major case of blue balls. So close, and yet now I feel even more rejected than before. Noticing all of the books that have fallen to the floor in the midst of our brief excitement, I wonder if she’ll re-alphabetize. I take the empty glass from the floor and walk to the kitchen to fill it up for her, leaving it outside the bathroom door when I’m done.
There was a time when I would have stayed up all night with her, holding back her hair and cooing sweet words of comfort. But after everything that’s happened tonight and everything that is still left unsaid, it doesn’t quite feel like the right thing to do.
With the rise of the sun comes an immediate reminder of the night before. I am in bed alone having left Darlene in the bathroom to deal with the aftermath of her binge drinking by herself. I am slapped with guilt, but I shake it off because I bitterly remember how I am not to worry about her.
It’s still early and the apartment is silent. I find Darlene on the bathroom floor, wearing only her underwear. She went all out there too. Champagne lace. I close my eyes and blink back the heat that threatens to pump through me. This is not the time.
At some point in the night she has kicked off the blanket I covered her in. She’s no doubt going to be freezing when she wakes up. Maybe I should put her in our bed after all. I bend down to wake her, nudging her shoulder gently.
Shit.
Freezing is an understatement, she’s ice cold! Her skin feels taut and alien and I can feel a subtle shivering. I nudge her harder. “Darlene!” I call, and as my voice echoes around the tiled bathroom she shudders awake, her eyes wide with panic. She flashes me a look of confusion before the depth of how cold she is hits her. I see it physically hit her. She jolts from the floor before clinging to me, her fingers like a snare around my arms.
“Oh. My. God. I’m. So. Cold,” she manages between shivers.
“I know, baby, hold on.” I lift her easily, and take us to the shower. Turning it on, I wait for a minute for the water to heat and then I step in with Darlene cradled in my arms like a child. She, in turn, has her hands hooked tightly around my neck. She gasps in pained surprise when the water sprays her and the guilt I felt earlier unleashes a full blown assault on my conscience. I did this to her. Out of my petulant pride, I did this to her.
“I can stand,” she whispers.
“I know. Just let me hold you a little more.”
It’s been too long. I want to forget the reason for us being in here and just appreciate the feel of her skin against mine, but her skin is too foreign with cold right now. I just want to wait. I lean my head into her neck, relishing in the closeness but drowning in remorse. Has it really come to this? I’ve dumped the majority of blame of our wilting relationship on Darlene’s neglect and yet I have just let her damn near freeze to death. I’ll never forgive myself for this, but I will make it up to her.
When Darlene has finally warmed up, we cleanse. It should feel erotic, I should be rock hard with desire but it feels completely clinical, even when she lets me wash her back. I savor the feel of her skin under my fingers and store it away for a time when I don’t feel so overwhelmed by guilt.
Finally warm and clean, I wrap her in a thick bath robe and carry her to her chair. She insists that she can walk by herself but having been granted the permission to hold her I’m not going to relinquish it so easily. I make her a coffee and roll my eyes when she refuses any breakfast. There’s not much more I can do, so I get dressed for work. If ever there was a day where I wish I could call in sick, it would be today.
Last night, we came so close to opening up, to pushing through the silence that has shrouded us for months, and I feel like the more time we spend apart the quicker it’s going to return. Our reunion of minds was so close, as was our reunion of bodies, when she met my aggressive need for her and matched it. Then this morning I was able to hold her, to touch her naked flesh. I wish I could explore that more thoroughly today.
When I return to the front room she hasn’t moved from her chair, but her attention is now drawn through the window and onto the street below. She looks so lost again. Not like she is on the path to being found, like I had hoped just moments ago. I walk over and crouch at her feet, touching her leg so that she looks at me.
“Shall we do something this weekend?” I ask while the hope is still present.
Her brow creases a little before a hint of a smile makes itself known. “Like what?”
“Like, go away. Just you and me. We’ll take the car and just book into a hotel somewhere.”
“Why?”
“Because...” I sigh, heavily. “…Because I miss us.”
If Darlene was a crier she’d be crying right now. She’s biting the inside of her mouth to help push away the emotion. Sometimes I wish she’s just let go. “I miss us too.”
“This is what we need. It’ll be great. We’ll sleep in the same bed and wake up in the same bed and have breakfast in bed, and watch movies in bed...and, well we just won’t leave the bed.”
She chuckles and it’s almost as melodic as her singing. “Sounds perfect.”
“I’ll work extra hard to get everything done before the weekend. Okay?”
She nods and in a brave moment I pull her to the edge of her chair. She gasps in surprise but she’s smiling. It’s dazzling. I bury my head in her hair and take a refreshing breath. Her honey scented locks are like air to my claustrophobic lungs. I take in as much of it as I can before I have to leave for work. To my surprise I leave with the taste of Darlene’s mouth on mine and a fluttering of hope in my gut.
11
DARLENE
Four mis
sed calls and seven text messages later I finally pluck up the courage to talk to Blue. It has to be done, I owe him that at least. I’ve shaken off the last of my hangover with the help of a late breakfast and I’ve prepared for the possible cold my makeshift bed may have given me by dosing up on medication. Touch wood, I’m fine.
Calling Blue’s number, I fidget incessantly with the corner of my gold pillow, burying myself deeper into my chair in the hope of finding some comfort. It offers zilch. I know exactly what I want to say but I don’t know how easy Blue is going to make it for me. Maybe I should have just text him...
He answers, “Finally!”
...Too late now.
“Hi, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. It was a mad night,” I explain, feeling mortified again at my actions.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, sharply.
“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.” I’m completely shocked that he would jump to that conclusion. Is that how our relationship comes across? He couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Despite what you think, Reid isn’t like that.”
“He seemed pretty violent last night.”
“Yeah, to you. Are you surprised, Blue? You really didn’t have to antagonize him like that.”
“He came barging in demanding to see you. I wasn’t about to let him drag you home. You don’t have to put up with him, you know,” he says without a hint of irony, as if Reid is the bad guy.
“Are you for real? I’m his wife and he didn’t know where I was or what I was doing. Of course he was going to be a little mad. Just thank God that he never suspected what I was actually doing.”
“Are you saying you regret it?”
“Of course I regret it!”
“You shouldn’t. I don’t.” He really is shameless.
“Well, you should.”
I breathe out loudly, trying to push out the frustration and reign in some control.
“That’s what I was calling to tell you. Last night was a huge, drunken mistake. I’m not that girl and I don’t ever want to be that girl again. Which is why, like I said last night, I won’t be performing at The Nest anymore, and I certainly won’t be drinking there again.”
“Pilgrim...”
“No, I’m not Pilgrim,” I interject, finding it a little painful having to scold him when he regards me so sweetly. I close my eyes, needing to continue with this. “I’m Darlene Daley. But that doesn’t really matter anymore, because I can’t see you again, Blue.”
“Not even as friends?”
“Not as anything.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. It was just a kiss, Darlene.” He says my name with sarcasm. “A kiss fuelled by way too much tequila.”
“And I can’t risk it happening again.”
“So don’t drink.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“Sure,” he insists and he actually sounds believable. “Look, I know you want to perform and I know everyone wants to see it. We don’t have to make this out to be such a big deal, because it’s not. It was a little slip. We’re friends, Darlene,” he says, cutting right to the core of my hesitance. That’s inevitably what I would miss the most.
His friendship.
A Friendship.
I’m dithering for what feels like forever as I weigh up my options, running my hand through my matted hair as if it has any chance of soothing me. I naively thought that maybe he felt the same pull toward me, but perhaps it really was just a drunken mistake. Maybe I’d imagined all of the flirting beforehand and the chemistry onstage. Maybe he wants me back purely because he has a slot to fill at the bar and me and my guitar can fill it. I guess it all boils down to whether I can believe him.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I admit.
“So don’t. You don’t need to trust me if you trust yourself.”
Ah, touché, Blue.
“And that’s the million dollar question. Do you trust yourself, Darlene?”
“Yes,” I answer, confidently. Whether either of us believes it is questionable.
“Then problem solved. I’ll see you tonight. You’re on at eight.”
With that he hangs up the phone. How did the conversation get flipped from me refusing to ever see him again to seeing him tonight? Either that man has a magical way with words or I am a complete pushover. I think it may be both.
I can’t deny that I want to perform tonight. The stage is calling to me and refusing it feels completely wrong. But will it be putting my marriage at stake? Reid made it perfectly clear last night that he holds no warmth for Blue, but surely he’d want me to be happy? And he knows how happy performing makes me so how could he say no? He wouldn’t say no, because I’m not asking his permission. I never ask permission of anyone, but I will warn him. Actually, I’ll ask him to come. God, I hope he does.
Picking up the phone again, I dial his work number. I get through to the office secretary who patches me through. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Reid asks over the top of rustling papers.
“Fine, thanks. I ate, I medicated, I rehydrated.”
“Good.” I actually hear him sigh with relief. I don’t know why he feels so guilty. That emotion should, and does, fall on me.
“I actually called to see what time you’d be finishing tonight?”
“Probably late if I want to finish up before the weekend,” he says on a long exhale. “Why?”
“I thought about it, baby, and I’m still gunna perform tonight.” I sense him about to interrupt so I cut him off. “Before you say anything, I won’t drink. And if you don’t trust me then you can come with me.”
“Of course I trust you, Darl, that’s not the issue. I just worry about you is all,” he says, sounding a little hurt, or maybe exasperated. My guilt doubles.
“So can you come?”
“I’ll try. Really, really try.” For once, he sounds genuine and I allow myself to believe that he’ll be there.
Ordinarily when dressing for a gig I would wear something a little more notable than jeans and a loose fitting knit, but considering the situation, I’ve played down any minute sex appeal that I may secretly be emitting. My hair is restrained in a messy bun and my makeup is minimal. I’ll probably feel a little underdressed once I’m on stage but I know that the music will be a good distraction for me.
I wait around at home much longer than I should, hoping that Reid is going to come barreling through the door. But he doesn’t. With only fifteen minutes until I’m due at The Nest I disappointedly get on my way.
It’s with faint annoyance that I notice the burnt out sun hiding between the buildings around me. I wonder if Reid notices the sunsets anymore or if he’s oblivious like he seems to be oblivious to the slow sunset of our marriage. It’s a painful metaphor.
The bar is already busy considering that it’s still early and I begin to wonder whether there is a mistake. Maybe someone else is performing. But when Nile calls me over in a flutter of excitement I can accept that it is me they are here to see.
In a soft voice Nile instructs me to leave my purse behind the bar and get a move on. Apparently everyone is eager for the night to begin. He hands me a bottle of water and practically pushes me toward the stage. I’m greeted politely and eyed expectantly as I walk through the thickening crowd. When I get to the stage I see a stool, a mic and an amp already waiting for me. It’s only now that my nerves kick in. Thank God. I welcome them with open arms, knowing that without them this means nothing. Regardless of my longing to see them, their appearance has me regretting my decision to abstain from alcohol. A Corona would go down very well right now.
As I sip resentfully at my bottle of water I scan the room for Blue. He’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s decided to hide and give me the space I need. Somehow, I don’t believe that. I have no doubt that he will appear eventually. I wish the same could be said for Reid. I can barely see the door from all the way back here, especially with the crowd between us, but I know I’m going to be c
hecking it all night.
I lift my guitar onto my lap and notice the subtle quietness of the audience. I wonder how many have heard me before and how many are here out of habit or coincidence. I hope I don’t disappoint. I have a rough playlist in my head but I’m going to just play what I think the room needs, what I need.
Strumming the strings once, further hushing the room, I reach out and lightly alter the microphone’s placement before I speak into it.
“Evening, everyone. I have to say I’m both thrilled and terrified to see so many of ya’ll here, so tonight could go one of two ways. I’ll either be dancing along with the rest of y’all or I’ll be spending the majority of my time in them there toilets.” I cringe a little at the country twang in my voice that becomes more apparent whenever I take to the stage; a byproduct of growing up in the thick of a country band. The crowd chuckle though and I relax some.
It’s a little unnerving having no country music in my set list. Country is my comfort blanket but I just don’t feel it here. Country is the old me and the old me isn’t welcome in Chicago. Or at least that’s how it feels.
“We’re going to start off a little slow but we’ll pick it up later if y’all are still with me.” I smile a little knowing that I’m about to depress the fuck out of them. I don’t care, they’ll be dancing later and this song has been on my mind for months, so it’s about time it got played.
As I start to play Radiohead’s Creep I am instantly in my own little world. My voice is haunting as I sing the lyrics that I feel so connected to right now. Lyrics that tell of my loneliness, of my hate for that loneliness, and how that loneliness is only exaggerated by how easily Reid fits in here.
I wish I was more like him.
I’m singing it to Reid, telling him that I’ll try, that I’m trying. I’m doing my best to fit in when I feel so far removed from my comfort zone, to everything I know. I beg him to notice me like how he used to. I want him to feel this mass of space between us like I do.
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