Wargasm

by Sosie Frost

  “I hired you.”

  “Hired me?” Another blow. The panic attack seized full control now. Sweat prickled on my forehead and rolled down my back. “This is your party?”

  “It’s Mariah’s thirtieth birthday. I told Nate I’d help him organize it. And since your friends played so well at my rooftop party, I thought I’d give them the job...”

  Ben fell for her smile and blushed. “Thank you ma’am, we’re happy to—”

  I wasn’t listening. “So Mariah and Nate and you are here.”

  Simone looked me up and down. She recognized the dress.

  “The gang’s all here, pet. No one would miss this for the world.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Anthony should be here any minute.” Her laugh turned cruel. “I can’t wait for him to see you.”

  I’d probably die first.

  I wanted to collapse into my chair, but Caitlin had set my violin there. Better to fall and crack my head open on the floor than ruin the instrument. Maybe then I’d get some sort of quick-onset amnesia and I wouldn’t remember why the name Anthony caused my blood to run blistering hot and bone-chillingly cold.

  “Go get ready.” Simone’s order was just as demanding here as it was in Duchess. “Twenty minutes until the guests are scheduled to arrive.”

  She stalked away. I gave her ten seconds before barreling through Ben and Caitlin for the nearest bathroom. I couldn’t splash water over me, not in a dress this nice, so I settled for curling onto the floor by the sink and letting my flushed skin rest on the cool porcelain.

  Ben, Caitlin, and Paul gently knocked on the door. Caitlin came in first, waving the others in as she saw me camped out like a freak in the corner.

  “So…” Ben said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and warily eyed the tampon dispenser. “Everything...okay?”

  I banged my head back on the wall. “I need a minute.”

  “You aren’t sick too, are you?”

  “No. Just an idiot.”

  Caitlyn knelt by my side. “You knew that lady?”

  Understatement of the year.

  “Yeah. She’s a...friend of my ex-boyfriend.”

  All three of them nodded. Caitlyn was the only brave one.

  “Is he going to be here?” she asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Bad breakup?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Maybe they won’t know it’s you.”

  Simone had probably lit up the Duchess phone tree by now. “They’ll know. I’m…recognizable.”

  Ben shrugged. “So what? He’s just an ex.”

  Paul handed me a bottle of water. He was a sweet guy. I’d hated always out-chairing him during school, but so far he was the only one with a musical career, teaching elementary students.

  “I dated him before I started playing again,” I said. “I don’t want him to see this.”

  “Why?” Caitlin asked. “You’re an amazing violinist. Wouldn’t you rather rub it in his face?”

  Absolutely not. I’d learned that lesson after outwitting him with a two pair during strip poker at Duchess. Gloating was a mistake. Spankings hurt even when he was naked and I still had my jeans.

  “I can’t believe you’re letting this intimidate you.” Ben’s dreadlocks shook with his head. “You are so crazy talented. Don’t get all head-games now.”

  “It’s all one big head game. And a bad situation.”

  “Is it lose a thousand dollars bad?”

  Music wasn’t supposed to be about money. Music was art and the emotions and the human condition. At least, that’s how we rationalized it while scrounging for change in the couch to pay for a McDonald’s cheeseburger.

  I needed that thousand dollars. My repay-Anthony-for-the-car-repair-fund had taken a hit with my new lease and its increased rent. That thousand would finally be enough to pay him back.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I can get through it.”

  Their sigh of relief sliced me with guilt. It wasn’t just my thousand dollars in the balance. It was theirs too. Not like I could back out now. They depended on me.

  And it sucked.

  Caitlyn helped me to my feet. I adjusted my dress and followed Ben to gather my instrument and music. The party rumbled with the arrival of a few of Mariah’s guests. My insides froze as each stepped out into the hall.

  I didn’t want to see him, but I couldn’t help but stare at each of the tuxedo’ed men who loomed between us and the stage.

  Reed was the first to recognize me. He offered me a bewildered smile. “Mo! Thank God. I thought this party would be boring!”

  The others couldn’t be far behind.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  And there was Shannon.

  Caitlyn bumped into me as Shannon and Genn burst out of the crowds like prowling velociraptors. Ben gestured me to the stage, but I’d meet him there. Last thing I needed was anyone hearing what Shannon would say.

  “Morgan, pet, is it really you?” She nudged Genn. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m still not allowed to touch you.”

  I hadn’t forgiven her yet, but now I was armed with a very expensive musical bludgeon. “Excuse me, I have to get up to the stage.”

  “It’s been a long time since you were our entertainment,” Genn smirked. She touched the violin before I could pull it away. “I don’t think this will be as much fun.”

  “Oh, we’ll have to make it fun,” Shannon said.

  I cleared my throat. “I really have to go.”

  “What happened with you and Master Anthony?” she asked. “Last I heard, he kicked your ass out.”

  “They’re waiting on me.”

  “Do you miss it?” She plucked a flute of champagne off a passing waiter. “Spreading your legs like a whore and getting fucked?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I brushed past them, but Shannon’s laugh carried over the hall.

  “Please play something I can dance to!”

  I regretted talking to them. Ben, Paul, and Caitlyn picked their chairs, leaving me the closest one to the edge of the stage. I plopped into the seat and released a breath. I didn’t want to move anymore. Breathing and existing were traumatizing enough.

  I closed my eyes and willed the night to spontaneously end. Freak transformer explosion that blacked out the city. A rogue asteroid plinking me in the forehead. Anything.

  No such luck.

  “Which one is your ex?” Caitlyn leaned over to me.

  Morbid curiosity possessed me to glance over the crowd. I spotted the emerald dress first. Simone led me right to him.

  His hair was shorter since I last saw him. No longer above his shoulders but to his chin, cleanly tucked in his favorite half ponytail. He greeted Simone, but he didn’t smile.

  God, I’d missed his smile.

  The tux cut over his chest in all the right places, his vest perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders. The outfit was accented with the same green of Simone’s dress. My heart flipped and then belly flopped. Simone clung to his arm, leaning up to whisper in his ear. I looked away as she pointed to me.

  I didn’t want to see his reaction.

  I couldn’t see his reaction.

  Would he be proud? Relieved? Disgusted?

  Angry?

  I’d ignored his call the day after our fight, deliberately sending it to voice mail. I immediately deleted his simple Morgan, call me.

  It was the strongest, stupidest thing I’d ever done.

  I wished I’d gotten sick in the bathroom. Throwing up wouldn’t relieve the shadow of hysteria lingering in the back of my brain, but it was something proactive. The easiest way to cope with every terrible passing moment.

  “He’s in the tux with the lady we met earlier,” I said.

  Caitlyn sighed. “Oh, holy hell.”

  “I know.”

  “You gave that up?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Un-co
mplicate it. Jesus.”

  If only.

  I held my breath. He must have seen me. From the corner of my eye, Reed, Thomas, and Nate clustered together, pointing towards me. The word was out.

  I’d finally made a dedicated effort to better myself, and the first time I picked up my violin, I crashed into the same emotional anarchy I’d just escaped.

  And I did it to myself. Sold my talent to the highest bidder without asking about any of the details.

  I’d fucked Anthony and degraded myself in half a dozen different ways in front of all his friends, but now was the first time I actually felt violated. Exposed.

  Like a whore.

  After I’d yelled and pouted and stormed out of his apartment because I vowed never to touch the damn violin again, I’d landed on a stage performing for him and his closest friends.

  He probably thought I was a hypocrite.

  Ben shrugged at me. Ready to play? I gripped the bow in trembling fingers. I wasn’t good enough for Anthony then, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel better about myself now.

  Shannon’s veiled insult hung in my mind. She wanted something they could dance to.

  If they all wanted to watch me, the least I could do was put up a good show.

  It’d have made Anthony proud.

  If he still cared.

  I pulled the sheet music from the back of the pile and showed it to the others. Caitlyn shrugged and reshuffled her music. Ben flipped through his iPad to find the right song.

  “You never used to like classic rock this much.” He adjusted the cello.

  But classic rock was the only thing Anthony and I ever listened to in the car. Like some Pavlovian dog, I now salivated over Aerosmith and AC/DC. I shrugged.

  “It grew on me.”

  “You sure you’re up for this one first? Heavy solos.”

  I raised the bow to my violin. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Guns N Roses was never a favorite, but our improvised version of Sweet Child of Mine focused heavily on two things—the guitar solos translating perfectly to violin riffs, and me rocking the melody since Paul wasn’t too familiar with the main part and had tendency to slow the tempo.

  The first notes rang out over the gala. A dozen of Duchess’s regulars gossiped and twisted to find Anthony. My entire body warmed—a welcomed relief from the cold grip of the panic attack.

  The familiar opening resonated with a few of the guests though. It was Reed who cheered as I tackled the first guitar solo with enough grace and poise to absolve my mortification for capturing the attention of all in attendance.

  Except the comfort wasn’t faked enthusiasm or the first indication of a welcomed aneurysm.

  The music came easily, a blessing from my insisted rehearsals and late night practices on my own. The song’s fingerings and notes transitioned to pure muscle memory, granting me a few moments to check over the crowd. To listen to the music.

  To enjoy playing the song.

  They watched me. Listened to me. Talked about me. Praised me in their own little groups.

  Reed even lit his lighter and held it above the crowd.

  And just like the sixteenth notes locking into place on my second solo, everything clicked. They might have watched, Anthony might have watched, but I deserved it. Not because I was the chronic screw-up that gossip trailed like a shadow, but because I was good.

  Better than good.

  Downright impressive.

  I rocked the song and inadvertently proved to everyone that Anthony was right and I was a freaking idiot.

  And I didn’t even care.

  I ended the last solo with a flourish and we immediately launched into something quieter—a little Adele cover that hardly masked my panting breath. Fortunately, the rampant applause from the audience covered it.

  But the music only protected me if I kept playing. Rests and pauses between songs tempted me to look for him. No matter how good I was playing, a single glance from Anthony would probably break me.

  And so I forced Ben to keep playing. Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, the Beatles. I even indulged Mariah shouting from the audience for a Brittany Spears cover.

  After two hours, my violin practically smoked, and my neck threatened to crimp permanently on its side. Ben launched to his feet after Don’t Stop Believing and announced a quick break.

  I offered a solo.

  Caitlyn pulled me from the stage. “Take a breather before you spontaneously combust.”

  That’s what I was trying to avoid.

  She shoved a bottle of water into my hand, but I couldn’t stay out in the main hall. Not without a melody or shield.

  I bolted to the dressing room, glancing up in time to catch Simone patrolling the exit.

  Beautiful angelic demon spawn of a woman. Half a room away was too close to her.

  I checked for other exits and ducked behind an elegantly dressed table of white frosted cookies and glittery roses. A secondary exit was almost in reach.

  “Morgan.”

  His voice cascaded through me. The shiver nearly toppled me into the fancy dessert trays.

  I froze. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard him. Not after I flinched like he lashed me with a flogger.

  This wasn’t happening.

  I closed my eyes. Anthony wasn’t a sadist. Maybe he’d let me go with a polite hello? Then it’d be just like every other awkward, obligatory conversation between exes that inevitably ended with everyone feeling worse about themselves and gaining five pounds courtesy of a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

  I forced a smile. I’d be as smooth as my tachycardic heart could permit.

  Anthony stood taller than ever, or maybe my shame drove me to the ground. My gaze flitted over his chest and met his set jaw. He was closer than I thought, and I’d practically spun into his arms.

  I caught his scent and nearly fell to my knees.

  For a week after the breakup, I’d bought the same soap he’d used and poured a little bit of it into my shower, letting his scent steam the room. Too many days passed before I decided that was unhealthy I pitched the bottle.

  Now his scent shattered me. Weakened me to a point I doubted I could carry a tune let alone the burden of this conversation.

  “Evening, Morgan.”

  “Hello, sir.”

  Fuck. Sir?

  Why didn’t I just open with a sobbing wail and drown myself in the champagne fountain? It wasn’t a slip-up, it was a disaster. My throat closed. The panic attack was back.

  “How are you?” He didn’t bring up the title. Not sadistic. Just kind.

  “Fine.”

  His eyes passed from my head to my toes. “You look good.”

  Maybe a little sadistic. He recognized the dress.

  I shifted. My feet ached in the strappy sandals, but I didn’t want him to think I was trying to walk away. I was, but no need for him to realize it.

  This was harder than I thought it’d be. Harder than it needed to be.

  For all the awful and terrible things he’d said to me, I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t. Not when my mini-concert was proving him right.

  “You’re playing.” He looked away from me. I could breathe again.

  “Yeah. First gig.”

  “The songs are impressive.”

  And the breath was lost again. Music was seductive enough. I couldn’t handle him complimenting it too. Not when the floor somehow turned to quicksand under my feet and I was slowly sinking in, around, and for him.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “How did you...”

  “They called me. Ben.” I pointed to him over the crowd. “He needed a violinist. I didn’t know it was Mariah’s party. I...didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you either.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What made you choose to play again?”

  Dangerous territory. I shrugged. The silence lingered. He expected an answer. I wondered if he’d prefer t
o fuck me on the stage. It’d be less revealing.

  “I once loved music.” I didn’t think I had the strength to speak. “Then I lost it. I used you to fill that void.” My pause lasted long enough to remember way too much. “Then I lost you too. I had to use the music to stop it from hurting.”

  “Did it work?”

  I eyed the stage. “I need to get back. They’re probably done with the break.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  A flailing of arms encircled me in a tight hug, and I froze as Mariah descended upon both of us in a squeal of delight.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so glad to see you together again!”

  And the hits kept coming. I stiffened, but Anthony couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Mariah held me at arm’s length.

  “After I heard what happened, I was gutted.” And Mariah was a bit toasty now. “You guys are perfect together.”

  I glanced over Mariah’s shoulder. From across the room, Nate offered a shrug and mouthed apology.

  “I can’t believe you’re in the band!” Mariah giggled. “You sound incredible, Morgan. Best present ever.” She smirked at Anthony. “Not that I don’t love the leather coat, sir.”

  “Simone picked it out.”

  “I know, but I love it anyway.” She squealed again. “Thank you both so much for coming. This is the greatest thing ever. Seriously. I am so glad you made up. Oh, there’s Genn! I gotta go.”

  Mariah ducked away to greet her friends. My breathing couldn’t sync with my heartbeat. Maybe passing out would restart my body so I could function again.

  Anthony’s whisper rolled through me. “We need to talk.”

  “She’s had too much to drink,” I said. “I need to get back. Ben will want to get started again.”

  “I talked to that conductor friend of mine.”

  I closed my eyes. I knew it was coming, but I hoped for an apocalypse before he mentioned it.

  “Funny thing,” Anthony said. “I apologized for you not making it to the audition, but he had no idea what I was talking about.”

  Did he want me to admit it? I stayed quiet.

  “He said you’d played beautifully, but he needed to hire someone more experienced.” Anthony let the implication hang. “You did go to that audition. Why did you lie to me?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters.”