Neverlost (Melodies and Memories)

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  Once we get home, Jake starts rummaging around in the pantry—I already know he’ll make his favorite, seasoned refried beans slathered with pepper jack and salsa—and I let Beefcake outside to do his business. While I watch the dog sniff around in the grass, I decide to call Teagan after all.

  “Hey. You wanna come over and hang?” I ask when she picks up. “Jake wants us to figure out what we’re putting on that EP and I thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d want in on that? Since it was your idea and all.”

  “Sounds awesome. I get off at seven,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice. “See you soon, Eli.”

  When she gets here, we grab bowls of the melty Mexican concoction and rip open a fresh bag of tortilla chips, then spread out on the wraparound couch. Jake’s expertly pressing buttons on his game controller in between bites and the room is filled with the sound of chitchat, crunching, and the occasional curse word when Jake loses a life.

  “Left! It’s on your left!” Teagan barks at Jake, glued to the TV screen.

  “Shut up, I see it,” Jake grunts back, then promptly dies. “God damn it. Fine, you think you’re hot shit? Go ahead, make my day.” He tosses the controller at her, scowling. Their eyes lock, like two bulls ready to charge, before Teagan snorts and starts playing.

  She gets past where Jake was at easily, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. “How do you like me now?”

  “She cheats. You cheat! You’ve played this before.”

  “Never heard of it,” she sing-songs back, only infuriating the angry bear more.

  I clap Jake on the back. “Give it up, bro,” I say and he sighs, flopping down on the couch beside me.

  After the game loses everyone’s interest, we turn it off and get down to business. Teagan and I sit across from each other, not touching but close enough to if we deemed it necessary. Mr. Beefy’s sprawled out on the hardwood beside the couch, snore-wheezing away, his paws twitching every now and then, like he’s dreaming of chasing a squirrel.

  Jake’s taken up residence on the recliner, pounding on a set of hand-drums and we spend the evening tossing ideas back and forth. I drag the acoustic guitar upstairs so I can play bits and pieces of songs we could put on the EP. Teagan listens with her eyes closed, wrapped up in the music, and my heart squeezes. She’s so damn cute.

  Once we have a couple titles picked for our track list, Teagan smiles. “Well if you want my opinion, I think you should call it the Spin EP.” She meets my gaze, lifting her brows until they disappear into her dark fringe of bangs, and I don’t think she has any idea how tempting she looks. “I liked that one. It had a certain sort of rock star appeal.”

  “Hm,” Jake murmurs. “Not bad. I have no objections. Eli?”

  I just grin. “Spin it is.”

  Sixteen

  Teagan

  Battling my anxiety head on, the next few weeks are a strange new chapter in my life, one that I’m taking day by day. That fateful night, on the phone with Eli, spilling out my heart to him in all of its brutal honesty, was a turning point. Then and there, I decided I need to cherish it—us—while it lasts, to take my first step into this new and improved person that I’d like to become. Fake it till you make it and all that jazz, but Eli kind of makes it easy.

  He’s downright amazing. He makes me happy. I think I’ve laughed more in the past month than I ever did growing up, and he always seems to know what to say—and when to back off, when things go a little too far, and I’m thankful for that. He expects nothing from me except for a smile, and it’s like my permanent frown has been cast aside whenever he’s around. I like that.

  We’ve hung out a lot, both alone together and with Jake, and it’s nice being included in a group for once, instead of being the outcast. I like Jake. I don’t know why, I just do. Despite his many mood swings and his grumpy temper, he’s a good guy. He’s a lot like me. Something happened to make him act the way he does, but still he keeps trucking through life and I respect that.

  And just like that, we’ve made our own little group—me, Eli, Jake, and, of course, Mr. Beefy—oftentimes hanging out in Eli’s basement making music, or upstairs taking turns cooking hodgepodge meals and playing video games (which I’m actually pretty good at, something that grinds on Jake’s nerves) and it’s a good feeling, this thing called friendship.

  Ever since Eli and I became a thing, I’ve spent most of my free time at his house, even if all we do is camp out on the couch watching stupid horror movies, laughing at how fake the blood looks. But when I go home to my own empty apartment, it seems…so hollow, so void of emotion, the backdrop to a darker time in my life. My razors have sat, untouched, in their box in the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinet and I hope to God that’s where they’ll stay.

  It makes me anxious, being here alone, after spending so much time at Eli’s place. I know that I need that companionship to thrive; I always have. Despite being alone for so long, it was always my choice, a decision that I’d made long ago, never to let anyone in, but being a solitary creature isn’t who I am.

  I’ve always thought that the human race was made up of shitty people with shitty attitudes in even shittier situations, but Eli and Jake don’t fit into that category. I’ve come to need them, crave that contact, even going so far as to think that maybe they were brought into my life for a reason.

  That maybe this is destiny—not that I’ve ever believed in that, but maybe. I’ll leave it at that. But maybe it’s because when I’m around them, I’m not thinking or dwelling on things like the past. Who knows?

  One evening, after a death match on some zombie game Jake brought over, I’m getting ready to head back to my apartment when Eli announces that he wants to walk me home. “It’s not that far and it’s beautiful outside,” he says, as if he needs an excuse. I smile, because the idea of walking hand-in-hand with this boy, just enjoying the sunset together, sounds like the perfect ending to an already flawless day. So with Beefcake trotting along on his leash beside us, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a goofy doggy grin, we take off.

  Along the way, to pass the time, we shoot questions back and forth—one of the most thrilling yet terrifying games we play, because while most of his questions are innocent and random, there’s always one or two that hit a little too close to home, making my mind blank out as I struggle with what to tell him.

  Tonight, he asks one of those questions. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have any siblings? Brothers or sisters? Older, younger?”

  It’s a question that should be simple, but for me it’s far from harmless. It kick-starts panic in my heart, searing through me anew, fresh and hot. I frown, feeling those old emotions bubble to the surface even as I try to tamp them back down. Do I answer him or do I keep my mouth shut and hope that by clenching my jaws tightly together, it will keep my monsters at bay? “I…”

  He shakes his head, brows pinching together. “No, don’t worry about it,” he says, backing off and I’m thankful and yet so very angry—at myself, not at him. Damn it, I’m so stupid. I pull away from him and tuck my hands under my armpits, crossing my arms in front of me, but Eli grabs my shoulder and gently pulls me back to him, and we stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Look, I’m sorry. Just tell me to shut up.”

  “No. It’s not your fault. It’s me. It’s always me,” I tell him. “I just…”

  “It’s okay. Alright?” He looks at me with such compassion that I have to look away. “Family sucks sometimes. My dad and I have never been close and my mom’s so hopped up on prescription drugs, she’s never really seen the real me. We don’t connect, but somehow I’m still their golden child. The perfect one.”

  He sighs and motions for me to start walking. He falls into step beside me. “My brother Ethan, he’s the smart one. Flew the coop after getting into a knock-down drag-out fight with Dad—and winning. He packed his bags, got on his motorcycle, and drove cross-country to southern California and he hasn’t been back since, not even for Christmas. He married a woman twi
ce his age and last I heard, they’ve opened up a comic and card shop. That was always his dream.

  “To be honest, I kind of envy him, getting to do what he wants. But…there’s a part of me that still wants my parents’ approval. Do you think I want to be a lawyer? No. Especially not a prosecutor. Defending the innocent is more my style, but I haven’t figured out how to approach that conversation yet. So, in a way, I get it. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

  His honest words touch a deeper part of me and I smile at him, though that smile mirrors the sudden ache of sadness in my heart. I swallow. “I have a sister, a few years younger than me. She was my best friend and I…left her behind. I just left, no goodbyes or explanations. I had to.” I left her with him, left her to that same fate, and I hate myself for it. She probably hates me, too. I don’t blame her if she does.

  “Do you regret it?”

  I stop just outside my apartment and turn to face him, shielding what’s left of the setting sun from my eyes, and decide not to answer that question. I nod towards the door. “Here we are. Home sweet home, I guess.”

  “Can I come inside, or would that be too much?” he asks.

  It’s so stupidly simple, but it’s yet another thing that unnerves me. My place is a cracker box compared to his mansion and I’ve spent so much time at Eli’s place that I haven’t done much in the way of cleaning and I kind of don’t want him to see the way I live, but…

  “Okay.” New and improved Teagan wouldn’t have a problem with it, so I forge onward. “It’s nothing much, really. Don’t look so happy,” I say, because he’s grinning from ear to ear like this is the best gift I could ever give him.

  I shrug and unlock the door. “You were warned.” I take a deep breath—this is easy, remember?—and in we go.

  Seventeen

  Elias

  God, I love it when she smiles; it’s like I’m granted a little slice of heaven—blue skies and angel down wings—but when she turns cold, you’d better watch out for frostbite. It makes me even more determined to get down to the core of what makes her so damn self-hating, because no matter how much fun we might have, one wrong move and it all falls apart and she implodes in on herself, a tiny storm cell wrapped in a beautiful human shell.

  Something went wrong somewhere to make her the person she is today. On the outside she might bluff and act cheerful, but on the inside she’s like a feral cat, trying her best to protect herself, not caring about the casualties. And yet every time I get a glimpse of the real her? That deepest layer protected by the swipe of a fearful cat’s claws? It’s all worth it.

  I follow her through the doorway, letting the latch snick shut behind me, and the tiny living room is suddenly lit by lights too bright for the space they illuminate. I stick my hands in my pockets and turn a small circle, taking it all in. The walls are all white, which make the room even brighter and somehow almost clinical, like the walls in a hospital with their promise of disease and eventual death.

  Besides a rough-looking plaid couch and a nicked wooden coffee table sporting an ancient television, the place is sparsely furnished—no paintings or pictures hang on the walls, no memories suspended behind glass and hung in frames. The walls are just bare and lonely. The whole place smells musty, unused, un-lived in.

  The kitchen is just as hollow, just as empty, and I feel the breath slowly seep out of me when she turns to me, worry etched in the line of her brow. Expecting me to hate it, but I don’t hate it, honest to god. It just makes me wonder how she can bear to live in this place—it’s no wonder she doesn’t like to come home, if she’s coming home to this. But it’s sound and it’s safe, a place to live, a place to call her own—which is big for her, I can tell. Yet…

  I look over at her and tip my head to the side, taking her in from the different angle. “Would you want help sometime, fixing this place up? Making it a little more like home.” She looks at me, confused, so I continue. “I don’t know, it’s just…so empty, so not you. I’m no interior designer, but I have an eye for colors, if you wanted to give this place a fresh coat of paint and maybe get some pictures? It doesn’t have to be expensive. You can find loads of treasures at Goodwill.”

  Teagan just stands there, slouched over, her shoulders pinched and rising like a dog’s hackles. She shrugs. “I’m not planning on staying here forever, so what’s the point?” Her voice is low, rough, and her words make my heart ache.

  “What’s the point? To make it your home. Even if it’s just for six months. Hell, even if it’s just for three! This is your home but it feels so hopeless and empty and sad. It’s sucking the life out of you, Teagan, and you’re worth so much more than that. Let me help you. Think of it as an art project—we’re decorating your heart. We’ll make this place shine brighter than diamonds.”

  For the longest moment all she does is look at me. Then the tiniest smile graces her mouth, twisting it up at the corners. “Okay. Why the hell not?”

  I beam. “Awesome, it’s a date. Can I use your bathroom?” I ask, partly because I need to go but mostly because I want to see what’s down that narrow hall. She nods and flicks on the middle switch, which lights up the hall and showcases two more doors. Those doors lead, no doubt, to the bathroom and what has to be her bedroom. “Thanks.”

  “Are we done with the grand tour?” she asks when I come back out, her gaze clouded by insecurity and hesitation. Almost in unison, we look down the hall, to the last door standing tall and untouched. “Unless…” She trails off, nibbling on her lower lip, and I even though I know I should back off, I can’t help it. Curiosity killed the cat.

  I clear my throat. “Could I? I mean, I’d like to see the place where you spend most of your time.”

  She looks up at me and our eyes meet, touch, hold, and then she nods ever so small-like and takes me by the hand and we walk, single file, down the hall. Her hand rests on the knob, turning it before looking at me. “It’s a mess,” she says and pushes the door open. The hinges creak softly, welcoming us inside.

  This is the only room in the house that doesn’t smell like mothballs and must. It smells like her, soft and very faint, but I can tell. The room, like the rest of the apartment, is small, with two windows that are veiled by blinds, the deep red of the setting sun filtering through them to cast lines across the floor. Pressed up against one wall is an old twin sized bed with rumpled sheets. Beside that, a white-washed dresser holding a lamp and a composition notebook.

  Between the bed and the dresser is a beautiful baby blue acoustic guitar, propped up against the wall. “May I?” I ask, motioning towards the instrument and she nods, so I gently pick it up and run my fingers over the finish. It’s older than any of mine, the paint worn in places, the strings in need of a change, but it’s hers. It looks exactly like something she would play and I’m grinning. “I thought you said you didn’t play.”

  “I said I didn’t play much. I’m not any good, I just like making things up.” She shrugs, trying for nonchalant but I can tell this means so much more to her than that. This is a key to unlocking part of the puzzle that is Teagan Blakely. “Music’s my escape. I can play a song and forget about my problems for awhile. It’s just something I love.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere,” I say softly, handing her the guitar. She takes it in such a loving way, like it’s a beloved treasure, and I feel myself falling even farther down the rabbit hole. “Would you play something for me?” I ask, sitting down on the bed. The mattress squeaks and bows under my weight. I scoot over so she can sit beside me if she wants. She stands there, looking like a little lost lamb. “C’mon, Teagan Marie. For me?”

  She smiles and sits down next to me. I lean back and make myself comfortable, staring up at the ceiling so I can keep from staring at her. I don’t want to make her nervous. Her fingers start playing against the frets, plucking chords from out of nowhere that turn into dumb diddles. Yeah, she’s rough but it’s not bad by any means.

  “Know any covers?”

 
; “Oh. Yeah.” She transitions into an acoustic version of a Paramore song and I can tell exactly where she’s added her own little touches. I lace my fingers behind my head and listen, focusing on the music, and after a long moment, she begins to sing. Her voice is soft and a little shaky—I’m probably the first person she’s ever sang for—but by the time she gets to the chorus? Damn.

  She’s amazing, her voice thin but somehow it works for her, soothing yet haunting and as she sings, I shift my gaze to watch her. As the song goes on, I watch the tension seep out of her rigid shoulders, watch the way her body relaxes as she falls back into her comfort zone, falling back into herself and I have to clench my jaws to keep from singing harmony with her, because god… Our voices would blend perfectly.

  She ends the song and looks to me, lips pursed and brows furrowed, but her sky blue eyes are alight with passion. “So…” That word carries the weight of her insecurity on its back. She puts her guitar down, propping it back up against the wall, and I make a mental note to give her one of my guitar stands.

  “So, you’re kind of amazing,” I tell her honestly. She turns bright pink and begins to fumble over words in an attempt to get away from the compliment, so I catch her hands in mine and look into her eyes. “I mean it, Teagan. Don’t you dare be humble about this,” I say, using those very same words she used on me, and at first I think she’s going to get mad. Then she lets out this huge sigh and crawls up onto the bed next to me. I roll to my back and she hovers over the top of me, her weight braced by her hands on either side of my head.

  I reach up and pull my fingers through her coffee-hued hair, cup her face in mine, and bring her in for a kiss. She yields to me like warm butter, her lips soft and her kisses tempting me, testing me, but I’m testing her too. I drag her down to me, our chests pressed together and I wonder if she can feel the way she makes my heart race. Our mouths form passion without words as I run my tongue along the seam of her lips and she swallows me whole and I want to lose myself in the essence that is Teagan.