More Than Words: Kissed By A Muse #3

by S. K Munt

  Apparently, Paisley really had been a flirt- the kind of girlfriend who seemed to want nothing to do with being a girlfriend outside of having a guaranteed escort and card on Valentine’s Day. She’d attended courses at a local college and had been so hard up for time that Bruce rarely had the chance to see her. And when those precious windows of time had opened up, Paisley had usually opted to go out drinking with her friends- the kind of binges that had ended with her stumbling home drunk at three in the morning with a handbag stuffed with other guys’ numbers, and had complained that Bruce’s job was the problem- what was she supposed to do with herself when he worked five nights a week?

  She’d never cheated (that he knew of) but she had over two thousand Facebook friends, and fifteen hundred of them had been random guys she’d hit it off with at school or while out and about who in-boxed her a lot- inboxes Bruce was forbidden from asking about.

  He’d known that their relationship had been off since after they’d graduated high school, but Bruce had hung in there because Paisley had never taken the prospect of breaking up well. But four years of having the same arguments over and over again had made Bruce realise that they were in a cycle that was benefitting neither and he’d ended it.

  Paisley had been dating crazily since, only she refused to sever ties completely with Bruce, and often called him after each date to complain that they weren’t ‘him’. And now Bruce was left feeling very confused- still in love with her, or at least the history they had- but desperate to drop the final blade and cut her out of his life completely. He said he would have done that by then, only he was beginning to wonder if maybe, without the relationship, Paisley was still his best friend and always would be. Their history was long and rich, their families were entangled, as were their friends, and now that they were no longer obligated to allot time for one another, finding time to share had become an easier task.

  Leigh hadn’t known what to say and so she’d said that, but told him that she couldn’t blame him one little bit for not having checked all of his baggage yet. He really was a sweet, cute guy and Leigh knew that once he’d come into his own, he’d be a heartbreaker. She’d told him that too, and that seemed to please him greatly- though he did admit that he didn’t want to be a heartbreaker- he just wanted to find that right girl and stay with her for always.

  By the time Bruce was through with his story, they were pulling up in front of Ryan’s house and she had developed some weird intestinal condition which was aggravated by Ryan’s scent, which was everywhere within his home.

  ‘Do you want me to come in while you change… or should I leave the car running like in a bank hold-up?’ Bruce had joked.

  ‘No, come in. I need a quick shower- but I mean it when I say: ‘quick’.’ Leigh glanced down the street behind her and winced, imagining the scene she’d have to deal with if Ryan came home and found Bruce there. But then she remembered the offer he’d had from Isabelle, and her panic was replaced with jealousy. ‘If you just want to take a seat in the living room…’

  Bruce had nodded, lifting his tablet from his dash and following Leigh inside. She dug out the spare key from a knot in the Oak tree and then made quick work of telling Bruce to make himself comfortable while she rushed down to her room.

  Leigh was a ball of nerves, and lapsing time did nothing to abate it, nor did the distance she’d opened up between herself and Ryan. As she showered, being careful not to get her braid wet, Leigh had soaped herself and remembered Ryan doing it the night before, and when she shaved her legs, her chest ached to know that she was probably wasting time; Ryan was never going to touch her again. Still, Leigh had always worn make up and clothes like armor and she needed that armor now more than ever.

  God are they both all over him? Taking turns? Are they smoking and drinking and naked with a bunch of guitars… crap Leigh don’t think about it!

  When Leigh got back into the guest room, she realised that only five minutes had passed and so, she allowed herself a bit of time to pick her outfit. Originally, she’d planned on wearing the incredibly sexy white mini-dress she’d bought earlier that morning at the funky boutique for a night out alone, but it was still in Ryan’s trunk and she could hardly have bowled in it anyway, which meant that she needed a plan B. Bubbling her lips, Leigh ran her eyes over her clothes and ended up stealing an item from three separate outfits for her ‘look’ for that evening: short black dress shorts that she’d be able to bowl in, over the black tights she’d bought to wear with her red sweater-dress which was much to do much of anything in, let alone bowl. She added her favorite, but seldom worn going out top that she’d had for years: a chiffon halter in a pale grey that would have been transparent, if not for the second layer of pale white chiffon lining beneath it, and the intricate pattern of beads over the narrow shoulders and around the bust and hem. Her mother called it her ‘chandelier’ shirt and begged Leigh to wear it often because the pale grey made her eyes pop, but as beautiful as it was, Leigh rarely wore it because it was heavy and almost always too dressy for the places she went.

  Still, it looked good with the casual lower half of the ensemble, and when she added her new black docs, everything came together nicely- almost boho and very Kylie Lyle.

  I’d wear this top all the time now that I know that I don’t need to wear evening slacks and heels to make it work!

  Once Leigh was dressed, she pushed her braided bangs off her forehead with a headband and re-applied her make-up, going to a bit more trouble than usual and almost poking herself in the eye with her kohl eyeliner as she tried to make her tired eyes focus. After three attempts and exactly three minutes, Leigh groaned and reached for her contact case, popping them in and giving her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the awful plastic while she unraveled her braid. When she could see again, she finished her eye make up and then ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it before setting it with a quick spritz of hair spray.

  When it was all done, Leigh reached for her glasses and stepped back from the small vanity, her eyebrows lifting in surprise when she realised that she’d never looked better. Her hair was full and crinkly, her eyes looked enormous and the brightest shade of green, but the cloud of hair actually buffered her sharper angles and edges and gave her eyes more proportion. She fluffed her hair and straightened her top before grinning at herself and thinking: ‘I kind of do look like Silky…’ and then her heart twisted sharply, knowing that Ryan would have been able to come up with way hotter comparisons for that Isabelle chick. Wanting to vomit again, Leigh put her glasses down and picked up her handbag instead and walked out of the room. She was shaking way too much to stick her fingers in her eyes again and besides, she was actually pleased with the way she looked for once.

  Bruce stood up when she hurried back down the hallway, rolling her favorite perfume ‘Midnight Fantasy’ onto her wrists.

  ‘Okay that was twenty-two minutes,’ she said, tucking the travel perfume away in her purse and fluffing her hair self-consciously again. ‘But I get points for- what?’

  Bruce’s mouth was hanging open. ‘What do you mean, what?’ He crossed his arms and glared at her. ‘How am I supposed to keep my hands where you can see them when you look like that?’

  Leigh blushed, and rode the compliment like a rookie surfer on their first small wave- a wave they were determined to see all the way to the shore. ‘Thank you Bruce,’ she said, smiling shyly. ‘I hope I’m not too dressed up? I just have limited choices in what will work in a bowling alley.’

  ‘You look perfect.’ Bruce pulled at the collar of his red-button down shirt. ‘But again, I ask…?’

  ‘You’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself,’ she assured him, nodding towards the door. ‘The story I’m about to tell you about Ryan and I will ensure that, believe me.’

  Bruce looked her up and down. ‘It’s gonna have to be pretty fucked up to put me off, missy.’

  Leigh laughed and opened the door, shrugging into her thin black linen jacket. ‘It’s se
venty-nine shades of messed-up, baby.’

  Bruce paused on the porch, smiling thinly. ‘Why seventy-nine and not fifty?’

  ‘Because that’s how many times I’ve read the book about Ryan.’ She said, and then laughed at his shocked expression. ‘Go, go- it’s a story I’d rather tell you before he gets home, eh?’

  Bruce hurried to his car.

  Ryan

  She wasn’t in the house when he got home, but her scent was everywhere, and strong enough to tell him that he’d missed her by maybe ten minutes, tops. Ryan trotted down to Imogen’s room and blinked when he saw that she’d left it in disarray- cosmetics were strewn everywhere, as were the clothes she’d been wearing, along with a wet towel, and to his dismay- her glasses.

  Argh! She got dressed up for him? What the fuck, Leigh?

  Ryan picked up Leigh’s glasses and then sighed, sinking down onto her bed with them and staring around the room dejectedly. His caveman self wanted to take off after her and throw himself between her and Bruce’s bodies like a human shield, but her review danced across his mind, gently reminding him that she’d fallen for a character who was too confident to play such adolescent games- a character who gave the girl space when it was clear that that was what she needed most.

  Leigh was a reader, and like musicians, readers and writers needed the space to vanish when the real world got too intense. The day before, when his lust for her had had him climbing the walls, he’d locked himself in his studio and had played it out and Leigh had let him do so without interrupting. Now, she needed to play- to be light and have fun and for a few hours after having being trapped in his windowless world for days- and he had to grant her that.

  It also can’t hurt to have her hanging out with a guy who’s not as built, handsome, talented or fucking cocky as me for a while… hmm… maybe this date with Bruce will have her showing up at my gig and begging to play pretend again?

  Smiling, and remembering that he had three very important things to do before he saw Leigh again and therefore could use the time-out as well, Ryan leaned over to open the small drawer in Leigh’s bedside table to put her glasses away. The drawer stuck at first, its peeling paint and rusty rails catching, but he pulled a little harder and it gave almost too quickly. Ryan caught the drawer before it could fall to the floor, and his eyes widened when he saw a hardcover edition of The Hardest Fall nestled within it, taking up all the room and leaving none for Leigh’s glasses.

  ‘Wow… you really made yourself at home, baby-doll…’ Ryan drawled, pushing the drawer back into its gap but picking up the book, toying with the idea of leaving a note inside the cover for her. ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to stay for forty years or so?’ He had the tip of Leigh’s glasses clenched loosely between his teeth so that when he spoke, his voice came out sounding old-world academic. He smiled and pushed the glasses onto his face, then immediately groaned and pulled them off when the blurriness made his head pound, threatening a migraine.

  No wonder she thought I was a hallucination! She can’t see shit!

  Ryan opened the book and blinked, trying to get his eyes to stop dilating wildly- but then he saw the small sheath of papers nestled within the front cover, and an odd feeling travelled up his spine. It was wrong to be going through her stuff, but suddenly, he wasn’t so sure that it was Leigh’s stuff anymore, because the bookmark on top of everything was one of Imogen’s bookmarks- a very old, very yellowed cloth one depicting one of the early editions of Black Beauty, which had been Imogen’s favorite novel.

  And then he saw the handwriting on the note, and there was no longer any question as to who had penned it. With a tightening gut, Ryan picked the note up and began to read Imogen’s farewell letter.

  Ryan,

  I know I have left you lonely, and for that I can never apologize enough. But my time on this earth, as this version of myself has run its course and I must start a new chapter and leave you to finish your story. I hope you are not alone for long but my hopes and your hopes can only get you so far, Ryan. You must take action, or the remaining pages will be blank.

  I don’t know if you have your memories back yet, or if that is even possible- but until you do I understand that you are stranded in the life I bestowed upon you. So, I unethically used my connections with the hospital to dig up some papers for you- papers belonging to another young man who never had the chance at a future. Take them and do with them what you will- you can keep his name safe in the knowledge that it will not be recognised, or you can in time, change them to Ryan Weaver or to whatever you’d like. The choice is yours and the name inconsequential to who you are. If you choose to wait for your own memories to come back, I understand, but I pray that you decide to live instead.

  But read the book and understand that you are Ryan Weaver, even if it is not the one you were born with, and I gave it to you out of love and in recognition of a truly kindred spirit.

  Watching over you always,

  Imogen Sans.

  It was here all along… she knew I’d find out! She wasn’t keeping secrets from me, just delaying the inevitable! Oh Imogen I miss you!

  Ryan swallowed hard and lifted the next piece of paper, his heart pounding loudly enough to perforate his ear drums when he saw that it was a birth certificate- a Canadian one for an ‘Ardos Karalis.’ The date of birth on it was August 4th, 1991, and the names of the parents were names he’d never seen before- but though one had New York City as the city of birth, the other had Brisbane, Australia- which meant that if Ryan could use this dead kid’s name, he’d qualify for citizenship in three different countries.

  He lifted the next sheet up and sighed to see that it was a credit card still attached to the bank letter, also under the name ‘Ardos Karalis’ and the next a small passport, with a shiny new driver’s license inside. Ryan stared down at his picture in both- the one from the hospital patient file- and his mouth went dry. The woman had gone to great lengths to get him his papers- they were masterpieces! And he was just dark enough to pull off the Greek name.

  The final paper was a social security slip.

  They were all fraudulent, except for the birth certificate which had been yellowed by age, and Ryan put them down on the bed and caught his head in his hands, spinning out, caught somewhere between breathless excitement and plain breathlessness. He understood what Imogen had done, but he didn’t know if he could use them. Had he weathered out all of these months as Ryan Weaver, only to switch again? If he did, he’d probably have to leave town, or do as Imogen had suggested and have his name legally changed. He got a headache just thinking about it, and almost immediately began to doubt that he was dishonest enough to pull off identity fraud.

  Shaking and suddenly desperate to see Leigh and discuss his anxieties and discoveries with her, Ryan collected the papers, slid them back inside the book, and left Leigh’s room with it under his arm. He passed her withered Christmas tree on the way and headed for the kitchen, got a glass of tepid water and came back and poured a little into the pot. He didn’t even know if that was what it needed, but he’d give it what he could, the way Imogen had nursed him.

  And then he went upstairs to warm up, for music was the only thing he knew about himself for certain- that- and the fact that he had a serenade to write.

  Leigh

  Bruce stared at Leigh over the top of his buffalo wings and shook his head in wonder. ‘That’s the most insane…’ he swiped his wing through the blue cheese sauce and wagged it at her. ‘It sounds like the both of you need to be committed!’ He smiled and reached for the plastic menu. ‘And I don’t think there’s a cocktail in here strong enough to sort you out…’

  Leigh laughed, licking the marinade and sauce off her own fingers. It had taken two games of ten pin, four bowling alley beers and two courses with two cocktails at TGI Fridays to relay her and Ryan’s story to Bruce, but now that it was out of her she felt both lighter, fuller and drunk enough for it to be funny. Her heart didn’t agree- she missed Ryan so badly that hear
ing ‘Melody’ play over the speakers of the restaurant made her heart ache to hold Ryan, but she fed the cravings for him with more booze and the hollow in the pit of her stomach with Buffalo wings.

  ‘See why I said I don’t date?’ she asked coyly, taking a slurp from the remainder of her Long Island iced tea, and then feeling her face scrunch up as she swallowed down what tasted like a mouthful of pure alcohol.

  ‘Because you’re written in the stars for someone else?’ Bruce asked, not looking up from his menu. ‘Yeah, I got that message loud and clear.’

  Leigh giggled tipsily. ‘This is not a romantic story. It’s one deluded person taking advantage of an amnesia patient because he happened to be incredibly hot in a way she liked.’ She sighed and looked up at the roof of the funky restaurant, which was bright and sparkly and smelled amazing. ‘But he is hot though. And the boy can kiss…’

  Bruce’s eyes lifted to hers, the little fleck in the left one sharper to her blurry gaze. ‘Okay missy I was about to order you another drink but I have a feeling that we’re gonna get kicked out of here the moment the staff see you working that straw…’

  Leigh groggily looked down at her hands, and giggled again when she saw that she was sliding her thumb and index finger suggestively up and down the straw as she daydreamed about Ryan. ‘Sorry!’ She released the straw and held her palms up in surrender. ‘I’ll be good.’

  ‘You’ve been good for far too long- that’s your problem.’ Bruce took a bite out of his buffalo wing, and Leigh realised that he was also slurring a little and had stopped bothering with a napkin, which made her smile. Not only had she succeeded in lightening Bruce up, but he’d stopped looking at her in ‘that’ way too, but appeared to be having as much fun as she was all the same. Had she actually made a friend out of the would-be Romeo?