Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy)

by Brooke Jaxsen

  “He’s one hot piece of ass, ha-ha,”

  “Way to sexualize the male gender you misandrist scum,” joked Darla, whose name was one I didn’t think was actually hers but a nickname she chose to be ironic. I had no idea what she was talking about, just that their brownies tasted like sand. I didn’t spit them out though. Unlike the food I was used to eating BS (Before Skylar), at least it was real.

  “Was that song about you?” asked Lianna.

  Before I could answer, Jaelle, the pierced up girl, answered for me. “Oh, no, honey, Jared didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” asked Lianna. She was closer to the group. She was blood, not just some girl that Skylar had been housing and wasn’t even dating him properly.

  “Skylar dated a girl from the nightclub he worked at before Club Grit. She was a bottle service girl and he was a bouncer, obviously. However, something...happened. She’s gone now,” she said, looking at her empty can of Pabst and crushing it lightly between her noticeably bare fingers. I’d spent so much time with Omega Mu that I still gave a shit about manicures even when somebody’s dead girlfriend was being discussed. A girlfriend Skylar had never mentioned.

  “Oh, that sucks,” said Lianna. It wasn’t really the most complex of reactions but really, what else was there to say?

  Jaelle sighed. “Yeah, Skylar’s...Skylar’s never really been the same since. I’ve known him since high school, we’re both townies, and he knew Sandra, his ex, from middle school. They were going out when we met freshman year. But, after high school...well, people change.”

  “Change how?”

  “Well, you know Skylar’s a straight edge, right? So am I, but obviously, not everyone here is,” she said cocking her head to point at Darla who held up her PBR. “We don’t push our beliefs on anyone but Skylar and I both came from the same kind of family, the kind that had substance abuse issues. Luckily, my parents were able to afford to send me through college as a way to get rid of me and I’m finishing up my doctorate program in women’s studies right now, but Skylar had to work on and off. He used to work in construction and was getting a welding certification on the side while going to class, but the hours were exhausting and he had to go to night school, plus, the pay wasn’t as good as what he was offered at Club Grit, so he took it.”

  “But what happened to Sandra?”

  “Sandra, right. So, what happened with Sandra was now that her boyfriend was a bouncer, she started to drink more heavily. She also started to do more drugs. Pills, powders, herbs, you name it, that’s what she was into. It started to become a real problem, where she wasn’t doing it for fun but because she had to, because she had an addiction. “

  “Obviously, Skylar tried to stop her,” interjected Darla. Apparently everyone knew this story but me. “One night, he brought her home early from the Club after asking his boss to ban her from Grit. Skylar was hoping that’d stop the self-destructive cycle she was caught in but when she got back to the apartment, they had a huge fight. She was throwing plates, packing her bags, it was nuts. Anyway, she left in a fit and Skylar ran after her. He wasn’t fast enough. She’d been impatient and walked into the street to get to a cab, but obviously, you don’t just walk into the streets of LA.”

  “She got hit by a bus and died,” interrupted Lianna, obviously wanting to skip this part of Skylar’s darkest story.

  “Skylar still blames himself for the events of that night. He thinks that if he had been nicer, she wouldn’t have left and been hit by the car. So, in a lot of ways, he’s looking for redemption. He’s looking for someone to save.”

  “Are...are you sure you should be telling me all this?”

  “The way Skylar talks about you? Yeah, I should. We’ve been best friends since high school and closer since Sandra’s death, I know all about you two,” she said with a laugh.

  “And you’re...you’re not mad? About the things I’ve done?”

  “Implying I haven’t done those kinds of things before when I was your age? I’m not that much older than you but a few years makes a world of difference sometimes.”

  “So...why didn’t you and Skylar ever date?” I had to ask. They seemed so perfect for each other. Both townies, both straight edges, and best friends to boot? I had none of that with Skylar. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit jealous.

  “Skylar’s...not exactly my type,” said Jaelle. Lianna and Darla laughed. I was missing something.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were – ” Lesbian? At least that’s what I was going to say until Lianna and Darla practically hooted with laughter.

  “And I’m not that either. I’m neither. I’m asexual, aromantic. I don’t want to have sex with anyone nor have any romantic connection with anyone. Trust me. I tried, for Skylar, but it would have never worked out because I just couldn’t get myself to see him as anything more than my best friend. I’m no threat to you, Emma,” she said coolly. Jaelle was on another level than me entirely, intellectually. I was an engineering major so obviously, I’d done well if I’d gotten into UCBH, even without a scholarship, but I’d never thought about things like sexuality, romanticism, and the things that made up a person, the way that Jaelle had. She knew about what insecurities someone like me, who was new to the world of independence and adulthood, would face, and she knew the things to say to quell the fears I didn’t even know how to vocalize.

  “I...I didn’t think you were.” I said, blushing.

  “You’re the biggest threat, to Skylar, in terms of making him feel again, making him open up and become the guy we all used to laugh with but now, are only just watching reopen, reblossom. You could take that and destroy it, but...I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen, Emma. In a way, I think he sees you as his redemption. He failed to save Sandra, but you? He can still try and save you, from yourself. If you do what Sandra does, Skylar might never recover. He’d never be the same again, losing two girlfriends.” Jaelle gave me a look that was strong, but not a glare. It let me know she was serious, but even without the look I knew that the situation was solemn, that it wasn’t a threat but a warning that if I fucked this up? Skylar would never be the same. I could bring myself down easily, but could I do it knowing what it would do to the man I cared about now? Could I live with myself dying, if it would simultaneously murder someone I cared about?

  “Oh, I don’t think I count as his girlfriend...” I said, blushing. I’d never had a serious conversation about a guy before. In high school, I’d been too shy, and although I’d had a few guys I dated for a while, it was nothing too serious and the sort of things that my friends back home, the friends I hadn’t talked to in months even though they’d made the effort, was stuff you’d expect high school girls to talk about: things like whether he was a good kisser, what make out spots we were using, and what he wanted to do after high school. Replace the word “kiss” with “fuck”, “make out spots” with “places on campus”, and “high school” with “college”, and you had the Omega Mu Gamma equivalent. It wasn’t that much mature, because even though sex was supposed to be this big thing that only adults did, we still talked about it like we were in high school and it was like kissing instead of something that was much more important, much more special.

  “Then what would you call it?” asked Darla with a laugh. I don’t think she was trying to be mean, but in a way, was curious about how I’d label my relationship with Skylar.

  But, I had no idea what to call it.

  The boys came back and we all went to a food truck, not the fancy kitschy kind from Rodeo Drive but an honest to goodness taco truck, and ordered fish burritos and washed them down with Jarritos. I’d never had tamarind flavored anything and it was weird but went well with the food. Although some people drank and some smoked, none to excess and nobody did any hard drugs. Skylar didn’t drink or smoke, obviously, and he didn’t care that the others did, so why was he so protective over my health?

  But soon, Skylar whispered into my ear, “D
o you want to get out of here?”

  Of course I did. It was starting to feel a little bit crowded. So, we said goodbye to everyone and hailed a cab. He told the cabbie where he wanted to go by whispering in his ear, and the cabbie rolled his eyes.

  Skylar and I sat in the back with his guitar in its case in the trunk, taking care not to be that gross couple in the back of cabs you see and think, “that’ll never be me”. Because that wouldn’t be us: we were different.

  “Do you know where we’re going yet?” he teased as we exited the city.

  “No, where?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  I didn’t look out the window and ruin my own surprise.

  But it wasn’t anything I’d ever expect, as Skylar led me out of the cab, hands over my eyes.

  It was the Hollywood sign.

  As in, the Hollywood sign.

  HOLLYWOOD was written, in all capital letters, across the hills in wooden signs painted white.

  In all the months that I’d been here, I’d never made my way up here, even though I’d promised myself as a kid, that one day, when I got to Southern California, I’d make it here. This was the closest thing to a religious pilgrimage I’d ever had and somehow Skylar had known I needed to come here, without me ever telling him about that promise Past Emma had made to Present Emma and Future Emma, because maybe, he was my Forever Skylar.

  This was the sign that symbolized what Cali was supposed to be for me: a land where I’d become someone. Where I’d discover myself.

  Skylar took a guitar pick from his pants pocket and used it to open the gate. “Should we be doing that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Sometimes, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he said with a gleam in his eye. I’d never seen him be so downright devilish, breaking the rules. He had a bad boy look, definitely, but the behavior? Skylar was usually a model citizen, but I guess no harm, no foul, was the rule of the night. I’d broken one of my rules: never go to a show without a cup in your hands, full of alcohol, at all times. Tonight, he was breaking one of his.

  Skylar took my hand as we walked down the hill. He was balancing his guitar on his back as well. Fuck, Skylar was so fit. He spent a lot of time at the gym, to stay in shape for work because mostly, he was standing around at Club Grit as the patrons policed themselves well so he didn’t get exercise from doing something like kicking ass and taking names all night, or dancing like unprofessional bouncers did at other clubs. He was as natural on the hills as he was on the stage with his guitar, except this time, he had me in tow. “I came here on a school trip when I was a kid, and when I grew up, I came as often as I could, with the people I found most special,” Skylar explained, as we walked to sit down in front of the crook of the second L in the sign. The two L’s were like a pair of crescent moons that had fallen from the sky, over the starry blanket of Los Angeles’s skyline, and we were sitting in them as if they were some hipster prop at a “Paper Moon” themed party, except this was more genuine.

  This wasn’t ironic, it wasn’t sarcastic, it wasn’t retro.

  It was something with meaning, something with purpose, something that was ours.

  He continued as we looked out to peer out over the city. “This is my favorite spot in all of Los Angeles. I haven’t been here in a long time.”

  “Since...Sandra?” Saying her name was hard, but not because I was jealous. For once in my life, at least my life since I’d come to Cali, I was feeling something for someone other than myself, trying not to hurt their feelings. I knew that words had power, that names held meanings for people that could either make them happier than anything else, like Skylar’s name for me, or that could bring them pain, either dull and lingering or sharp and fleeting but never forgotten.

  But Skylar? Skylar didn’t cringe. He looked at me and he smiled. I think he knew I was trying to make an effort, that I was being sensitive to what I knew wasn’t the easiest of topics to broach. He hadn’t been the one to tell me about her, although I should have guessed that her name on his arm was a sign that there’d been someone else important to him, someone before me. He knew I wasn’t saying her name to hurt, to accuse, but to learn more about him, the man I found myself needing more and more each day, even as he taught me to gain my independence, both from things like materialism as well as in simple ways like teaching me how to cook on a budget instead of ordering sushi all the time. “Actually, yeah. So, I’m guessing Jaelle told you about her?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know...is that what the tattoo’s for?”

  “Yup. I never thought that’d be the reason I’d be getting her name tattooed on me. We’d been together for so long and it was supposed to be a surprise for her on my birthday. I hadn’t got it done sooner because I had never felt that way about anyone before, and I wanted it to be special, as special as her, as special as what we had,”

  I looked out at the city, gleaming and sparkling as if a thousand stars had fallen from the sky and all formed a nest together, a star nest that housed thousands of us like minded spirits, all fallen angels looking to find our own nest, to make our way back into heaven. I hadn’t had anything to drink but I was still intoxicated, by the way Skylar was opening up to me and making me feel emotions I’d tried to put away, emotions I’d knew would hurt me if I wasn’t careful, but with Skylar? I knew I could be careful, but also take a risk, that I could tell him,“You know, I’ve never...had anything like that. Until I met you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. You’re not like any guy I’ve ever met.”

  “Then maybe you’re meeting the wrong guys.” He said this as he leaned back and looked up at the stars. What did he see in them? What mysteries did they hold? Skylar was always so in tune with his life, with the world, that it was weird to think of us as two travelers through the void, traveling into the darkness of our futures hand in hand. Even though I had no idea what was to come, I knew who I wanted to share it with.

  “Or maybe, I’ve met the right one.”

  Chapter Fourteen, #NoFilter:

  SKYLAR PULLED ME IN CLOSE, and in that moment, there was no Los Angeles.

  There was no Hollywood.

  There was no Beverly Hills.

  There was no Earth, no space, no universe.

  Just us.

  Two lovers.

  Our lips locked for the first time as real lovers, instead of some sham or show, instead of something being done as bargaining chip for my life, for my salvation, for his redemption. I had never tasted this Skylar, the one who explored me as if he needed to memorize my form, his hands softly tracing over me, sometimes, the back of his hands, other times, the palms, fleshy but firm, curving in to pull me closer.

  I had never had access to him this way, able to put my hands under his shirt and feel everything I’d been curious about, from the firm collar bones I wanted to suck on to the firm broad pectoral muscles and the abs that belonged on an Adonis, not mortals like us, the belt of muscles around his hips accentuating his six pack perfectly. I’d never expected I’d ever have access to this Skylar after what I’d done, after how I’d fucked up, but that wasn’t who I was anymore.

  The old Emma, the one that lied, the one that hurt herself and others but not on purpose, as if the intent made it better?

  She was gone.

  I was Skylar’s Emma now, I was the fresh faced, bushy eyed gal that had come out from Iowa wanting to learn all about the real Los Angeles, the one outside the college course catalog pictures, the one outside Hollywood and Beverly Hills and celebrities and movie stars, the on that had to be out there, somewhere, somewhere where Skylar could take me, could lead me, the way he’d accidentally led me to his concert that night by leaving the flyer out.

  I felt his thick hair under my fingers, parts of it straightened for the show but free of the product he had to use for work to make him look tougher. Even though it had gone through so much, it was still, at the end of the day, soft, the way Skyla
r was, the way that I knew he had to act a certain way and put on a bad boy show to get what he needed and wanted, the way I’d put on the rich sorority girl act, even though we both needed the same thing.

  Each other.

  “Skylar, I—,” I started. But I stopped myself.

  “What is it, Emma?” he asked, taking my chin in the crook of two fingers and lifting it up to his, his eyes sparkling in the night, reflecting the lights of the cities and the stars.

  “I just...It’s so hard, you know?”

  “Being clean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guessed. I’m sorry I got so mad before. I just want you to get better, you know?”

  “I do too.”

  “You know, you were clean tonight.”

  “And for the last week, well, since...”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really. And it’s pretty weird and that makes me feel..”

  “Weak? Vulnerable?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “I'm pretty scared. All the time. And sometimes it makes playing and writing the music easier. Because when I write? I get to pour that into my work. I get to take pain and angst and the unreasonable emotions that come with being young and vulnerable, as tough as I try to pretend I am, and I get to sell it, in the form of the albums, the shows. We all hurt, we all feel pain. But most people don't sell their pain. They don't bottle it up and sell it. They just bottle it up inside of them. And it stays there, inside of them, and it eats them up and that’s it. That’s all that they end up becoming, a bottle of pain.”

  “Skylar...”

  “You don’t have to say it. Sandra. I know. But I’m dealing with it, trust me. I’m not about to become like my parents. I’m going to make different mistakes, not their mistakes.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  So I didn’t say.

  I just did.

  I kissed Skylar, deeper than I’d kissed him before, the tears on his cheeks and mine mixing into a salty messy. I didn’t care if my eye liner and mascara was running, I didn’t care if it wasn’t cute, because life wasn’t always cute, it wasn’t always macarons and mimosas. Sometimes, life was messy and ugly and sometimes, life was more than appearances.