Beautiful Musician

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Then why won’t you stay in my bed tonight?”

  “I just shouldn’t.”

  She searched my gaze. “Can’t you just sleep beside me? Can’t you at least do that much?”

  I was trying my damnedest to be good, to earn my Boy Scout badges or whatever, but she wasn’t making it easy. She could be persistent as hell when she wanted something. “Yeah, I suppose I could do that. But I’m keeping my jeans on.”

  “How do you normally sleep?”

  My skin went goose bumpy. “Naked.”

  She dropped her gaze to my fly. “I’ve never seen a naked man, except in pictures.”

  Did she have to go and look at me like that? “Don’t do that.”

  She ignored my order. Instead, she stood there, like the sparkling little fairy she was. I’d written a painfully romantic song about a blue-eyed fae, but I’d never played it for her.

  “How many naked women have you seen?” she asked.

  “Lots.” I fidgeted with the leather bands around my wrist. They were starting to feel like handcuffs. “There are girls who chase after guys like me.”

  “I know what groupies are, Seven.”

  “Then why did you ask me that question?”

  “I just wondered if you were sleeping with them.”

  “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

  “Because of me?”

  My breath clamped in my throat. “Yes, because of you. Now quit bugging me about this and go get your pajamas on.”

  “If you’re going to sleep in your jeans, then I’m going to sleep in my dress.”

  “Okay, fine.” I didn’t see where it made a difference, as long as we were both relatively clothed. “But we still need to brush our teeth.”

  “In case we kiss?”

  My pulse throbbed in all the wrong places. “No, Abby. Because that’s what people do before they go to bed.”

  “Oh, right. You know how I forget that kind of stuff.”

  She was smiling like an imp, which told me that she hadn’t forgotten a damn thing. She’d only wanted an excuse to bait me into kissing her. She was way more seductive than any groupie I’d ever been with.

  Innocently clever, I thought. Cleverly innocent.

  We went into the bathroom and brushed our teeth, taking turns running the water and spitting into the sink. It struck me as domestic, like something a married couple would do.

  I wondered what she would say if I told her that I had fantasies about marrying her and planting babies in her womb.

  Invisible babies? Kids who weren’t any more real than I was? The thought made me sad. And frustrated. And everything I didn’t want to feel.

  I removed my boots and tossed them in the corner. I peeled off my shirt, too, and ditched it, as well.

  When I glanced up, Abby was staring at the bareness I’d exposed.

  I wasn’t rippling with muscle, but I had a rockin’ body just the same. My chest was smooth and strong, my abs were decently formed, and my jeans hung rather sexily at my hips.

  But what the hey: I looked the way Abby wanted me to look when you considered that I was born of her imagination.

  “Get your butt into bed,” I said, sounding harsher than I intended. I turned out the main light, leaving on the preferred nightlight for her.

  She climbed under the covers. She was still staring at me. I wanted to tell her to knock it off, but I liked it, too.

  “Now you get your butt into bed,” she said, sounding every bit as harsh as I had.

  Touché. The girl had moxie.

  I slid in beside her. But I didn’t move close enough to hold her.

  She turned to face me. “Are you sure you’re not going to kiss me?”

  I said a silent prayer, asking the god of sex to grant mercy on my Abby-starved soul. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  She blew out a sigh, a sound of disappointment. “What’s it like having a pierced tongue?”

  Damn. She was way too good at making me suffer. “It was weird in the beginning, but I’m used to it now. You should be used to it, too. I’ve had it for years, and I told you about it when I first got it.”

  “I know, but we never really discussed the specifics.” She angled her head. “Do you have any other piercings? In places that I’m not allowed to see?”

  Jesus Lord. “No, smarty, I don’t.”

  “Can I touch the one on your tongue?”

  “Abby.”

  “Just with my finger. Please, Seven, just let me touch it.”

  She’d resorted to begging. I could’ve strangled her for that. I loved it when women begged. I stuck out my tongue to let her cop a feel.

  She reached out and rolled her finger over the stainless steel knob on the barbell. “I’ll bet it makes kissing hot.”

  I pulled my wayward tongue back in my mouth. It made other things hot, too, but I wasn’t going to discuss my oral sex methods with her. “We need to change the subject.”

  “And talk about what?”

  “I don’t know.” Anything that would take my mind off of ravaging her, of burying my face between her legs and giving her my barbell treatment. “Just come up with something and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I can’t think, not after touching your piercing.”

  Did she have to keep mentioning it? Cripes, but I couldn’t think, either, not with how badly I wanted her. As usual, Abby had left me in a whirlwind of heat and fucked-up emotion.

  Chapter Seven

  I racked my brain, forcing my thoughts in a non-sexual direction. “We can talk about the movie. Not you sitting on my lap, but the film itself.”

  She adjusted her head on the pillow. “What’s there to say about the movie? It wasn’t the first time we’ve seen it.”

  “I know, but there must be something about it we can discuss.” I was using her other pillow, the spongy softness cushioning the side of my face.

  “Maybe we can talk about the different parts of 105,” she said. “That’s sort of like the movie.”

  She was right, in the sense that Room 105 was divided into three realms: the past, the present, and the future. Going back to the future, as it were, was a way of life there.

  “That works for me.” I was willing to yap about anything that would take my mind off of getting naked with her.

  “What’s your favorite 105 realm?” she asked.

  I had a ready answer. “I like the present one. It’s similar to being in this world. You wouldn’t really know the difference, except for the surreal quality, I guess. Things are brighter in 105, more intense.” I’d told her this type of stuff before, but it was a safe conversation, so I went with it.

  “Do you go to the past realm very much?”

  “Not if I can help it. It’s a bit too rough. Untamed, like what you’d expect if you were going back in time.”

  “Unless you landed in the fifties like in the movie. Carol has clothes from that era in her shop. Poodle skirts and stuff.” She toyed with the ribbon at her neckline. “This dress came from her place. I think it’s from the eighties or maybe the nineties, but it looks like it could be from now.”

  “Yeah, it does.” Personally, I thought their family business was cool. Her aunt owned a consignment store that carried vintage fashions and furnishings. Not that Abby was interested in what they stocked. Her sister was, though. Vanessa worked at the store and provided Abby with most of her wardrobe, items Abby didn’t take care of. She would probably wake up in the morning and consider herself ready for the day, having slept in her dress.

  “How about the future realm?” she asked, leaving the wardrobe conversation behind. “Do you spend much time there?”

  “Not really. That realm can be confusing. It changes all the time. But that’s how the future is. Uncertain.”

  “I wish I knew where the secret door to 105 was.”

  “Me, too. Then you could come there with me.”

  “But it wouldn’t do any good, would it? Not until the warrior appears and you’re out of d
anger.”

  I merely nodded. I wished that as a child she hadn’t created the border monster scenario and put us at risk of being attacked. It would have made more sense to have created people who would never leave her, who weren’t in danger.

  But when it came to Abby’s disease, logic didn’t apply. Her hallucinations weren’t like daydreams, where she consciously decided how they should play out. They were more like regular dreams, with unexpected outcomes and nightmares tossed into the mix. Even I couldn’t predict where her mind might go. And once her delusions were in place, there was no taking them back. The peril of losing each other was devastatingly real.

  “Are you getting sleepy?” I asked.

  She nodded. “A little.”

  “Do you want me to hold you until you fall asleep?”

  She widened her eyes. “Will you?”

  “Yes.” I knew I shouldn’t, but the thought of losing her made me want to tug her into the shelter of my arms.

  She inched closer, and I reached for her. When she put her head against my chest, I thought I might die. Her messy blonde hair tickled one of my flat brown nipples.

  I’d done some edgy things in my time, but this felt like the wildest moment of my life.

  Full-blown torture.

  If she attached screws to my thumbs or stretched me out on rack or burned me at the stake, I wouldn’t have known the difference. Her nearness grazed my heart.

  A bewitching. A painful enchantment.

  “We should sleep like this every night,” she said.

  No, we shouldn’t. Not unless I was going to peel that virgin-white dress off her delicate little body and make balls-deep love to her.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. What I needed was to get stumbling-ass drunk and erase her from my mind. Or maybe I needed to start fucking other women again.

  Be a rebel. Be a rocker. Get raunchy.

  But here I was instead, being a pussy.

  Unable to help myself, I put my arms tighter around her. Possession was nine-tenths of the law.

  And at least for tonight, Abby belonged to me.

  Chapter Eight

  The following day, I arose in a surly mood. I got out of bed and sat in the chair beside the window, watching Abby sleep. How could I keep doing this? I should just go back to Room 105 for good. Because, really, who gave a shit if I got stranded there? Or if I got attacked by monsters?

  Abby gave a shit, I reminded myself, and that was primarily the problem.

  A few minutes later, she woke up, all rumpled and pretty, and smiled at me. “Hi, Seven.”

  “Hi.” My voice was deliberately devoid of emotion, the tone painfully dry. I wanted to scoop her onto my lap and kiss her forever.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Fucking everything, I thought. “Nothing. I just think that you should go about your day without me.”

  “But I want you to be there. I need you.”

  “That’s crap, Abby. You’re supposed to be learning to manage your disease, not be relying on me for false support. You need to take the initiative on your own.”

  “It isn’t false.” She clutched her pillow to her chest. “And I don’t have a disease. You know as well as I do that I’m not crazy.”

  I should have told her the truth. That she was ill, and I didn’t exist. But I shoved those words to the back of my throat and swallowed them.

  The very best I could do was, “Just hurry the fuck up or you’ll miss breakfast.”

  She looked like she might cry. I prayed that she didn’t. I couldn’t handle her tears.

  She climbed out of bed, and much to her credit she held it together, keeping the waterworks at bay. But that didn’t ease the devastation that penetrated her eyes. I could tell that I’d just broken her heart.

  I wanted to fire a bullet through mine. A full metal jacket. But it was better this way. She had to stop depending on me.

  “Breakfast, Abby.”

  “I know. I know. I’m getting ready.” Her voice vibrated. She was walking in circles, searching for shoes. She went after the first two she saw, an orange flip-flop and a red tennis shoe.

  Holy fuck. I should help her. I should make it all right. But what was the point? I would only be enabling her.

  Then again, how could I send her out there like that?

  “Damn it,” I said. “Look at yourself.”

  She took my statement literally and studied her reflection in the mirror. A wrinkled dress and mismatched shoes. She didn’t seem to know how to fix her appearance, so she turned to me for help.

  I went to her dresser and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt for her. This was the last time, I told myself. From here on in, she was on her own.

  She managed to put them on, but her shoes were still a dilemma. I dug around in her closet and found a pair of combat-style boots similar to mine. I even tied the damned laces for her.

  Before she left the room, she stood in the doorway and stared at me with her big, wounded eyes, waiting to see if I’d changed my mind about going with her.

  I made a motion with my hands, sending her away.

  She trudged down the hall alone. Even in her tough clothes, she looked like an urchin.

  I cursed myself to hell.

  Shout at the Devil.

  Shout. Shout. Shout.

  I left the treatment center and went for a walk, heading down a busy street in my black garb and screw-the-universe attitude.

  I wandered into a liquor store and spotted a bottle of whiskey that made my mouth water. But I couldn’t buy it. The clerk behind the counter couldn’t even see me, let alone accept my money. Another reminder that I didn’t exist in this world.

  Maybe I could steal it. I’d been an accomplished thief when I was younger. I’d ripped off plenty of shit in Room 105. I had no idea if that would work here, though.

  Still, it was worth a try.

  Bold as you please, I fisted my prize. Easy as that, I had the bottle in my hands. Thing was, I didn’t know if I was grabbing the genuine article or if it was just a figment of my mind. But it didn’t matter. Fake whiskey was the same as imaginary whiskey. Nothing I did was real, anyway. No doubt about it, I was a nonentity, a non-person, like all of the other assholes from 105.

  Speaking of which…

  As soon as I strolled out of the store, Bud and Face appeared.

  “Go the fuck away,” I told them.

  “You’re acting like a self-serving prick,” Face said.

  “No shit,” came my response.

  “Slow down, son,” Bud said. Aside from the compassion in his eyes, he looked like his usual self, puffing away on one of his cheap-ass cigars.

  “I’m not your son.” I jerked away from the meaty hand he placed on my shoulder.

  I glanced around the parking lot and noticed a dumpster. I made a beeline for it.

  Face and Bud followed me.

  I sat on the ground behind the dumpster and leaned against a concrete block wall. Why I was keeping myself hidden didn’t make sense, considering that I was invisible. Maybe I just preferred being in the shadows.

  I twisted open the bottle, seconds away from drowning my sorrows.

  “That isn’t the answer,” Bud said.

  I glared at him. “Piss off.”

  He huffed out a fat man’s breath and plopped his butt down next to mine, the smoke from his cigar curling between us. “You treated Abby like crap this morning.”

  “She needs to be free of me.”

  “No, she doesn’t. You’re the sanity in her life.”

  “Yeah, right.” I scowled at him, then at Face, who was hovering above us. “We’re all part of the insanity.”

  “Speak for yourself, you dipstick.” Face spun around to showcase his birdlike skills, his fingers flapping in the garbage-fueled air. “I’m as normal as it gets.”

  Bud lifted his bushy eyebrows. I couldn’t help but react in the same way. Face looked downright maniacal. Mr. Potato Head and Humpty Dumpty had nothing
on him.

  I raised the bottle to my lips, but I didn’t take a drink. I was thinking about Abby’s expression and the hurt I’d put in her eyes.

  Flustered, I threw the whiskey at the side of the dumpster and the glass shattered, spilling the amber liquid. How could I have purposely hurt the girl I loved? I was supposed to be her dearest friend, the guy who appeared to her when she needed warmth and affection. She’d created me to be someone she could count on, the goodhearted bad-boy.

  “I behaved like a bastard,” I said.

  “The bastard of bastards,” Face mocked.

  “You need to make it up to Abby,” Bud said.

  “Will you guys help me figure out how to do that?”

  “Of course we will.” Bud was all for it.

  Face was, too, even if he harassed me about it the entire time we headed back to The Manor, telling me what a stupid son of a bitch I was. A useless jerk. A turd that belonged in the toilet.

  I let him berate me. I didn’t care what kind of names he called me. All I cared about was repairing the damage I’d done.

  And proving myself to Abby.

  Chapter Nine

  I spent most of the day with Bud and Face, working on a surprise for Abby. Then I waited to see her. She didn’t come back to her room until evening, and by then Bud and Face were gone. But they didn’t intend to stay, anyway. This was about me and Abby.

  She didn’t seem to be confused like she’d been earlier. Somewhere between then and now, she’d gotten a little stronger.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m making an apology.”

  She clutched her middle. “I don’t forgive you.”

  I deserved a swift kick to the heart, so I stood there and took it. “I don’t expect you to come running into my arms. I know I need to earn your forgiveness.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, the dampness emerging like pinpoints of light. “Go away, Seven.”

  “I can’t.” I wasn’t going to give up that easily. This was our first fight, the only falling out we’d ever had.