September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series

by A. R. Rivera

  Avery double-checked she had the marker before we headed back inside.

  Once the next band started playing, most of the crowd rushed to the front. Only a small group of people hung back, near the bar. I counted eleven. Mostly dudes drinking. Until Jake and Max appeared, freshly showered. Then, the barrage began. Men and women, young and old were clamoring, pressing passed Avery and me to get to them.

  “Where did they come from?” Avery was laughing, getting jostled around.

  A man shoved me aside; I bounced off a womans chest as she moved around me. The womans’ eyes shrank, chastising me—which set Avery off. I begged her not to make a scene and get us kicked out.

  She sighed and stepped to her right until she came face to face with Max. The two exchanged a few words. The only voice I heard belonged to Max. As he watched, Avery turned and walked away.

  “But, we’ll see you back at the motel. Right?”

  Avery grinned at the comment and I knew then and there what she was up to. Max saw none of it when she turned back to give her answer. It was a limp stare. “Whatever.”

  We took our time strolling to the door. As I scanned the room for Jake who had been swallowed by the crowd, Avery stuck me in the ribs.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You shouldn’t always be the one waiting. You have to make him wait sometimes, too.”

  “Hey!” Band Chick appeared alongside us. “Jake wanted me tell you it’ll be about thirty minutes before he can head out.” She smiled. “In rock-speak, I think that equals two solid hours. Laters, Chicky.” She patted Avery’s back and disappeared into the crowd.

  I rubbed at the lumps of stress forming at the back of my neck. “Why do I hate her so much?”

  “Because she can do something you can’t and that makes you feel inadequate.” Avery put her arm around me when tears formed in my eyes. “I didn’t say she’s better than you or that you should feel threatened, because you shouldn’t.” She pointed between a few heads. “Look at them.”

  The throng was surrounding Jake, Max and Andrew. Band Chick—Angelica—was standing behind them with her eyes on Andrew. She was watching him sign a girls arm. She didn’t look unhappy about it, but as I continued to watch her, I noticed her gaze never left him. She only looked at anyone else when they spoke to her. Jake didn’t speak to her at all.

  Avery explained, “No one is trying to take your man, aside from the obligatory groupies.” She amended. “But you’re the only groupie he’s interested in.” She pointed again and I looked back.

  Jake was standing in the midst of a herd of people, men and women, clamoring for his attention. There were at least four people talking to him and more waiting for their turn. And in the middle of that chaos he was looking beyond them, at me. He mouthed a word, I think it was soon. And then he shifted to pose for a picture, shifting his eyes away from me to the camera in front of him.

  Maybe Avery was right. Maybe I should make Jake wait. He’d shut me out, wanted me to suffer for answers that he could have easily given and alleviated my stress. It seemed like I had nothing to worry about from Angelica. She was glued to Andrew. Jake was the one acting strange, worried for some unspoken reason, he was the one pulling away from me. Since I joined him on the tour, I’d been waiting in the wings, begging for any morsel of affection.

  He could be the one waiting for a change.

  Once my mind was set, I thought up a lot of reasons why we needed to leave the club. We had to get back to the motel room because there would undoubtedly be some kind of celebration for the newest band member. Avery said, “We have to welcome her with open arms. You know what they say about keeping enemies closer.” So, we should be ready with party essentials. Plus, I had to shower. I smelled like the mosh pit.

  On the way back, we stopped at a local dollar store and begged the checker to let us in even though they were closing in exactly one minute. We grabbed junk food, and more chips and sodas and some mint gum.

  The motel room was a huge mess.

  “How did we do all this in just a few hours?” Avery was staring at the cluttered bathroom counter.

  “We live and breathe.” Immediately, I was grabbing the towels from the floor to hang them up.

  “I’ll make the beds.” Avery twirled from the doorway. A second later, music was playing.

  Once the bathroom was picked up and our clothes were put away, I headed over to help Avery, who was barely finishing the first bed.

  Once everything was nice and tidy, we sat down to watch the end of Sleep Away Camp on the free HBO and munch. Surely, the nights’ celebration would call for beer so I needed something in my stomach. Also, if Jake planned to go a round with me over whatever set him off, I’d need a beer or two in me. Even if I offered up an immediate apology, he would want to talk through it.

  After the first bag of chips, I was tempted to start on the second, but opted to share a small tray of cookies with Avery instead. After the movie was over, we decided to see what else was on and ended up watching a cooking show. The chef was starting swordfish.

  Avery hopped up and drew back the curtains after her third check of the parking lot yielded nothing. We settled back in, remembering that everything takes time. Anemic Psychos were just taking the stage when we left. There were a lot of people at the club and Jake wouldn’t want to leave until he’d talked to and signed stuff for everybody. Then, there was always the chance of getting drawn into something with some of the other guys from the other bands on the tour.

  By the time the swordfish was served, I was stuffed with junk food. I popped a piece of gum and watched Avery channel surf, wishing I wouldn’t have followed out her so easily. I should have stayed behind with Jake. It didn’t matter where I was, or how assertive I intended to be. I was still the one waiting.

  Time seemed to drag. The window was cracked open and there wasn’t a sound from outside.

  “I’m going to sleep.” Avery announced and my heart sank. “Don’t wake me up when they get here.” She plopped down on the other bed and rolled to face the closet, adding, “I’m pissed.”

  When I looked out the window, the moon was high. There was also a white passenger van parking a few doors down. People piled out, but I didn’t see Jake. Or Angelica.

  I turned back to tell Avery.

  “I don’t give a shit.” She covered her head with a pillow.

  After a quick look in the mirror and a quick brush of my hair, I opened my door. There were several people out in the lot. Max saw me right away and started towards me. I met him halfway.

  “Hey girl,” he said, “Jake’s not with us.” He slumped down to speak in my ear. “He came back a while ago then left again.”

  My stomach dropped. “When is he coming back?”

  “Uh, he’s doing something—said he’d talk to you about it when he’s done.”

  I nodded my head, feeling disappointment flood my eyes. “Where’s your newest member?”

  “Over there.” I followed Max’s pointed finger to a small dark car that was pulling up beside the van and watched Angelica get out and walk toward Andrew who was standing with a mix of guys and girls, all smoking and talking. So she was present and accounted for.

  I couldn’t remember Jake mentioning anything about leaving me alone. That morning he’d said we’d bunk up again. Then, he was upset with me and wouldn’t talk until he calmed down. I left him at the club and now he was openly avoiding me. I wanted to close my eyes and let the pain wash over me. Instead, I opened them wide to keep the emotion from falling down my cheeks.

  Max still saw how upset I was and gave me a big, warm hug. “You’re good,” he grinned. “He’s just not ready to talk yet.”

  I wanted to know why Jake ditched me, but couldn’t bring myself to ask. If it was something bad, I didn’t think I could take it. Besides, I’d never asked Max for anything like that before. Then, I was distracted by a girl standing behind him, one who’d gotten out of the van at the same t
ime he had. She was waiting over by the door, and then she was half way to us with a hand on one hip. She cleared her throat, reminding Max that he had better things to do.

  Max turned and told her, “Hold on.” Back to me he said, “I promise it’ll be okay.” He planted a kiss on my cheek, and one of my forehead, and then a third on my other cheek. I was almost smiling when he pulled away. “You’re his girl. He might be pissed, but he’s still gonna take care of you.”

  I nodded, disappointed, but also comforted as Max walked away.

  The night was muggy as I stood in the lot long after everyone was gone. Sweat was building on my neck and back, watching other people pass by. They were living their lives and I felt like mine had stopped. Jake was mad and gone and it was work to take a step in any direction without him.

  Eventually, I decided I should get back to my room. But on the way, I couldn’t help but notice how extremely loud the lights in the parking lot had become. How unusually bright they suddenly seemed compared to just a moment before. Suddenly lights burst and flickered across my vision, blinding me with their bright and leaving me in the dark. The muscles in my neck and back seized in hulking knots that drew my shoulders up. My stomach constricted in a violent crush that took my legs out from under me. Avery’s called out. I pictured her in the doorway of our room, imagined her lips moving, forming my name. Her voice was drowned by the extraordinary buzzing noise that burrowed into my ears.

  Lights flashed, bringing me back to the parking lot. My knees were on the coarse asphalt. The night was so, so bright, like staring at the sun, or the end of the matchstick that lit the fuse of a migraine.

  It was another migraine sweeping in, making me want to wail. Every cell in my body went into overdrive, preparing for the onslaught. Yes, I was hurting and I could barely see, but this was nothing. It was only beginning.

  My temples started to throb, the pressure building and drawing inward, deep into my brain. My blood cells were skyscrapers inside my undersized head, trying to force their enormity through my insufficient corpuscles. They ripped everything in their path, tearing me fiber by fiber. I braced my hands over my head. How was I supposed to stay together? How was I supposed to survive? To breathe, when it hurt so badly?

  All I could do was let Avery take me into the motel room. My legs didn’t want to work. I couldn’t see or hear anything beyond the ripping in my head, the rush of blood and the absolute hell it brought to the veins in my forehead, eyes, my neck and shoulders. My throat had closed. My mouth watered from the horrid pain. There was only one place I could go. Only one thing I could do to combat the migraine. I needed my pills and I had to lie down.

  My vision cleared long enough to see Avery’s lips moving. I think she was saying something. Then, BOOM! The room exploded with noise. Blaring lights from the lamp on the dresser. The piercing confusion of lights from the parking lot. The TV set: I swear, people could hear it from a hundred miles away.

  Avery dropped me on the bed. Her deafening whisper blared that she was afraid to move me. She knew it would get worse if I didn’t keep still. Although, I couldn’t imagine I could possibly feel anything more than I did in that moment. But that is one thing about pain: you can never imagine anything worse until you feel it. Then, it’s a whole new level of torture you never knew existed.

  There was nothing that I could do except lay still in a dark, quiet room.

  Avery shut off the blaring TV and the click was so loud, I think my eardrums burst. She rubbed my forehead trying to soothe me but even the slightest touch of her painted fingers just prickled in my skin and made me scream.

  I cried, “Bathroom.” I had to be on a hard surface. Carpets made noise. Beds were worse. The thicker the fiber, the more noise it made. I had to be in the bathroom. When I puked I had to be near the toilet.

  Avery helped me from the bed and into the bathroom, somehow managing to touch me as little as possible. The biting pain of my headache made me crumple onto the tile and beg to be left alone. Quiet was my only solace. Darkness, my only friend.

  “Light.” The painful sound of my voice was like a chainsaw to the brain and needles to the eyeballs. It made me want to pull my teeth out for counter-pressure.

  Avery turned off the horrible buzzing light and left the room, closing the door tight behind her. I knew she felt bad. She’d told me once that she wished she could trade places with me. As much as I hated to suffer those headaches, I would never ever wish it on another human being, but just then, I wanted to reach out to her, to beg her to take it away.

  After some focused concentration, I managed to calm myself enough to deal quietly with the dread that seeped into my bones, corrupting every fiber of my body. I had no control over this pain; how bad it got or how long it lasted. I simply wished for the mercy of an axe. The explosive throbs felt as if grenades were going off inside my skull. The pieces of them ricocheting around my head, banging one spot and then another, but I somehow stayed intact. The reverb bounced in waves through my bones, into my jaw, down my shoulders, through my spine, and into my back. My teeth hurt, the soft skin of my mouth ached like my cells were crashing into each other. It would have been much more tolerable to just die.

  The sounds outside my chamber tapered off, but the horrible buzz of the lights in the parking lot were still on loudspeaker. I tried to take solace in knowing that the sun would come up and the slicing buzz would eventually shut off.

  The door to my tomb slowly swung open. Avery tip-toed in her socks over the tile—the noise was fingernails on a chalkboard—and set my pills on the floor near my mouth. Next to that, she set a glass of water, then tip-toed back out, carefully shutting the door behind her.

  What was I going to do? Jake was coming. Part of me hoped he’d take pity on me and forget the whole anger-thing. But another part of me worried: how was I supposed to go out to California with him? What if the pain didn’t go away before we had to leave tomorrow? What would happen if I got one of my migraines out there? What if I was alone when it happened? Who would help me, then?

  Beyond the thin walls, I heard Avery moving. A soft tap on the clock radio and the low hum of Guns ’N’ Roses, “Don’t Cry” was playing. She knew that music always soothed my senses like a balm. I embraced this small mercy. Click-click from the door as it locked, a slide of the window and grating rings of the curtain rod as she closed the curtains. The music helped soften the sharp sounds, spreading its’ white-noise over me.

  Having a migraine is like suddenly gaining super-sensitive hearing. A most horrifically uncool superpower. A gift straight out of hell; a cursed present straight from the devil himself. I once explained it to Avery, and she was like, “But that sounds awesome.” It was not. It hurt to hear people chattering five or six blocks away, hearing a fly crawl across the wall, or a light bulb burning. The fly may as well be playing castanets into a loudspeaker. His wings may as well be flapping into an amplifier set at decibels meant to destroy eardrums. It hurts like nothing in the world. And it had been my curse as long as I could remember.

  The sound inside the room—my breath on the tile, the whistling blood in my ears, and temples, my horrible heartbeat—if only I could stop all of it. Find a way to press that button to halt the automatic breath, or mute my heart.

  It took some time, but I managed to taper my breathing to a shallow pull. When it still bothered me, I reached slowly up for a towel hanging on the rack. The motion brought my migraine to a new level, but once I got the terrycloth under me to muffle the reverb of my breath on the tile, I could concentrate on the hum of the music coming through the door.

  I let the tears seep out. It hurt to cry so I couldn’t actually throw a fit like the pain demanded, but letting the saltwater drip down relieved some pressure. I just had to tell myself that I was not hearing anything. No one can hear tears.

  After some time, maybe a month or only a few minutes, I managed to bury myself in the haze of music enough to relax.

  I imagined I was inside my closet bac
k at the Fosters trailer. I was listening to my music and curling into a ball. My arms tightened around my raised knees. I hugged them to me, forcing myself to get smaller and smaller. I tucked in and shrank. I got so tiny, that the pain couldn’t find me, and slipped into fitful sleep.

  40

  —Angel

  Mister Brandon is leaning in and mumbling.

  While he blathers, I am wishing, for the millionth time, that an artery had burst—a peaceful and massive brain hemorrhage—and I never would have woken up that night.

  But then, I note the smooth of his murmuring and know that my layer’s actually trying to get my attention. He’s probably been for a while because he tempers his tone when he’s frustrated. The more upset he looks, the more relaxed he sounds and right now he sounds like he’s fighting sleep.

  I should probably care about what he’s saying, but I just don’t. My eyes are blinded to the room I’m in: as if my mind is still there on that dark bathroom floor and my body is miles away, stretched beyond the abyss of time and space. I am here and there. Divided and singular. Two different entities: a bird and the wind—soaring together, yet remaining separate. The memory is a whirlwind breaking across my feathers, making me falter, making me remember that I never had wings. I was never free.

  My fall concluded with an earth-shattering smack. I’m already dead, skimming over my autopsy photos, scanning the wounded memories from that box inside my head.

  Cobwebbed. Dusty. Though the blood is still fresh.

  Blinking, I force myself to focus on the table in front of me. I have been completely lost inside the past and realize that I’m not sure which parts I have shared and which I’ve kept to myself.

  On the opposite side of the table are two empty chairs. The small lights on the cameras that have been steadily glowing through every session are now black. A hand belonging to my lawyer snaps the small button on the base of the microphone that sits in front of me, shutting it off.

  His overcoat is shiny charcoal gray and noisy. The material has a large weave to it, reminding me of the hospital gown, the fabric scrapes together as he turns to me. “Miss Patel.”