The Hysterics

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  Me: I know I want you to leave me alone and let me go to sleep

  Whitney: Fine. Night jerkface

  I didn’t feel the need to answer. She’d call me back in a few days and either we would have a very similar conversation or I’d give in to my smaller head and let her come over against my better judgment.

  I set my alarm for an hour earlier than usual and let myself doze off.

  Chapter seven

  foreign territory

  FALLON

  What the fuck?

  My heart started racing as I rolled over in a bed I did not recognize. I jogged my memory back to sitting on Dane’s couch and realized that he must have put me to bed the night before. I jumped up, straightened out my clothes, and started to tiptoe out of his bedroom door.

  Right as my fingers gripped the front door’s knob, Dane’s phone started blaring a horrible nuclear alarm sound. He shot up, a coy sneer rolling across his lips while stretching.

  “Trying to run out on me?”

  I bit my lower lip and shrugged, knowing I had been caught, my fingers still gripping the cold metal handle. “I just didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “A guy brings you home, makes you tea, watches a god awful movie just because you like it, and then sleeps on an bumpy couch just so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable waking up next to him even, though it would be completely innocent, and you try to leave without even saying goodbye? Ugh! Rude!” He dramatically rolled his eyes at me, shoving up from the couch. “At least have breakfast with me.”

  “I have to go into the office.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s six in the freaking morning, I think I will have plenty of time to make you pancakes, take you back to your place to change, and have your butt behind your desk before Payton has his morning coffee.”

  I rubbed my hand over my shoulder, staring at my feet. “What are you doing?”

  His brow creased as he started to walk into the kitchen. “Being a nice friend. Is that a bad thing?”

  I followed him into the kitchen, taking a moment to watch his muscular back flex as he walked shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Even Dane’s back was sexy, with perfect definition and a tattoo of two fireflies on his shoulder with the word ‘remember’ inked under them.

  “I guess I just never had a guy want to be a nice friend in the way you’re trying. Maybe you are Romeo.”

  The corners of his lips perked upward and small lines formed at the corners of Dane’s gorgeous gray eyes while stirring pancake batter and folding in blueberries and banana slices. I grabbed the coffee from the open pantry and started to fiddle with his coffeemaker until it hummed to life.

  “Why don’t you leave this work to me and you hop in the shower?”

  “Do I stink?” I playfully shoved him with my elbow as I pulled open a cupboard, hoping to find mugs.

  He laughed. “Yes. Like cow piss.” His words dripped with sarcasm as he gently shoved me toward his bedroom door. “Come on. I’m really trying this nice guy shit, for crying out loud. My gym shorts and tees are in the bottom drawer of my dresser. You can borrow some so you don’t have to put your dirty clothes back on.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once the steam was billowing from the top of the shower, I slipped in and let my skin turn pink from the scalding water. The burn felt good, reminding me that I was still alive, that somehow, deep down, I was still me. Everything was all so confusing, so intimidating, that I felt like I actually was dead in a way and had come back to life somehow. I hated lying, especially to someone who was being so damn nice to me.

  I scrubbed off the loathsome feelings and the scarred exterior, deciding that I was Fallon Dunbar no matter what. I just had to go by Fae to protect who I really was and wanted to be. A few minutes later I slowly turned the handles in the shower until the water stopped, grabbed the towel off the rack, and dried off.

  There was no way I could come clean to Dane, but maybe I could be more me. Fingers crossed.

  His room was simple. Dark wooden furniture, a deep, red quilted blanket on his bed, soft, gray sheets that matched his smoky eyes, and a few black and white pictures of mountains and lakes—very masculine, very chic. I slipped into the first pair of shorts and shirt I found in his drawer then stared into the mirror hanging over his dresser.

  Deep breaths.

  Keep calm.

  Try to let him in a little.

  Sitting at the table, sipping on coffee, eating delicious pancakes with Dane—it felt far too natural. We chatted about nonsense at work and how good of a guitar player Maverick was. I found myself holding my breath a lot when I felt like a question about my freak episode from the night before was going to jump out at me, but Dane left it alone, never even mentioning it.

  My eyes started to travel around his apartment, taking in more of it than I had the night before. There was an acoustic guitar hanging on the wall above a simple drum set, but what really caught my eye was the massive bookcase that took up most of the far wall of his living room.

  “You’ve got some book collection over there.” I gawked at its splendor.

  “Yeah. I really love to read. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, but don’t tell anyone! I’d lose my cool rock star edge if that was leaked.”

  I made my way over to the shelves and started to run my fingers over countless books, from poetry and classics like Romeo and Juliet and The Old Man and the Sea, to books I was shocked he had on his shelf.

  I spotted one of my all-time favorites and smiled when I saw two of them all the way up on the top corner. “A double problem, I take it?”

  Dane walked up behind me, smiling as he quoted, “The best things in life aren't easy. They are tough, they are painful, and they are raw.’”

  And then I finished, “That makes the arrival at the final destination that much sweeter.’”

  Dane blushed a little. “I told you I was a hopeless romantic.”

  “Maybe a pitiful one,” I teased, playfully rolling my eyes at him as I nudged him with my elbow. “I cannot believe that a hardcore rock drummer has Loving Mr. Daniels on his shelf.”

  “In my defense, it was my sister’s favorite book. She made me read it.”

  I looked closer that the broken, worn out spine. “Yeah, maybe the first time. Did she twist your arm to reread it?”

  He glanced over at the books, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ok, you caught me.”

  A locked stare that would have normally made me utterly uncomfortable pulled me in closer to Dane. I took a few seconds to study his features: the diamond tattoo just under his left eye, the gauges in his ears from years of body modification, the way that ink swirled out from the top of his shirt collar. Then I looked into his eyes. They were smoky, deep, and edgy with an unfamiliar softness to them that was lined with brokenness.

  That’s when I noticed a few picture frames on the shelf next to me. Maverick’s huge smile was the first thing that caught my eye. He was standing by a frozen lake next to Dane, who was holding a little girl in his arms. The next picture took me aback: the silhouette of a young woman who looked to be very pregnant.

  After putting two and two together, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “Do you have a kid?”

  Dane sighed as he looked at the pictures with me for a second, taking the one of the woman into a shaking hand. “No,” he finally whispered. The pain in his face clouded the room while he gripped the dark frame. “This was my sister. She died before the baby was born.” A tear rolled down his face.

  I put my hand on his shoulder but words did not form. I wanted to know who the young girl in his arms in the other picture was. I wanted to ask about his sister, to know her name, but nothing came out.

  He shrugged, putting the picture back in its spot before clearing his throat. “I guess we better get you back to your apartment to get ready for work.”

  I looked over to the clock on the shelf next to me and gasped. “Crap! It’s already eight-thirty! Payton is going to kill me!”


  DANE

  I grabbed Fallon’s hand and pulled her out my front door in a hurry, only slowing down to snatch up her purse and clothes from the day before. I hated thinking about Leilani and how beautiful my nephew would have been. I hated the guilt that wrapped my heart. I hated the detestation I felt for my mother. But there was a time and place for all of my feelings, and right then, I escaped in the moment with Fallon, which was liberating and soothing to my boiling emotions.

  We jogged down the three flights of stairs to the parking level of my building. I knew I should have been focusing on getting her to work on time, but all I could think about was how much I wanted to know her, how badly I wanted to make her late to work so we could talk about books over coffee in my bed.

  What the hell? When did I start to like getting to know girls?

  Even though at heart I wanted to be a romantic and find that cliché one special someone, my hard exterior and the walls I had built up over the years made me revert to a more typical male reaction toward women. I generally didn’t care about them at all. Most of the women I knew or had tried to get to know me and the rest of The Hysterics didn’t help my perception anyway. They were sluts, groupies, or whatever whorish word defined the women who just wanted to lick a little bit of fame from the tip of a rock star’s dick. In my opinion, sluts get treated like sluts. If they wanted to be treated with respect, they should have a little self-respect first.

  “This one.” I nodded toward my car while digging the keys out of my pocket.

  I opened Fallon’s door and then ran over to my side. As I slid into the seat, I took in how appealing she looked in the passenger seat of my car, wearing my basketball shorts and Blackhawks shirt. Her hands ran over the leather of the seat as I let the engine rumble to life and backed out of the parking spot.

  “What kind of car is this?” her sweet, soft voice cooed next to me.

  A smile spread wide as I thought about my prized possession. “This is The Judge.” My voice was smooth and silky, the same way my completely restored, matte black Pontiac Judge with candy apple red leather interior made me feel. She was gorgeous and I loved her.

  I glanced over right as Fallon rolled her eyes.

  “All right.” She chuckled a little.

  “What?” I grazed my fingers over her soft wrist, right where fresh skin met with ink, in between shifting as we came to a stoplight.

  “I never understood boys and their cars, the allure of it all. They’re nice. Your car is gorgeous. But the way you talk about ‘The Judge’, it’s like you just had the best sex of your life; I don’t get it.”

  I kept stealing glances at each of her curves, the ink that decorated her pale skin, the bright pink of her lips, the softness of her eyes as they turned down at the corners.

  “So, where do you live exactly? I know it’s close to work, but that’s all I got to work with here.”

  “Oh shit!” she exclaimed while we crossed over Jefferson Avenue. “You just passed my building, actually!”

  I did some fast maneuvering and slid The Judge smoothly into a spot right in front of her building. “I’ll wait here and drive you into work.” I smiled as she started to get out of the car.

  “Dane, you don’t—”

  I held my hand out to cut her off. “See you in a second. Go change. I’m not taking no for answer.”

  FALLON

  From the time Dane and I stepped into the office until just after lunch, I barely noticed time passing. I was a whirlwind of productivity until all of a sudden a sinking feeling hit the bottom of my stomach like a Mack truck. It took an hour and twenty minutes, two sessions of praying to the porcelain gods, and half a bottle of Tums to get me feeling halfway normal.

  On my way back to my desk, I saw Payton as he rounded the corner. “Fae, I was just looking for you.” My face must have matched my light green top because when he looked up from his pile of papers, he leaned in closer and whispered, “Are you feeling all right?”

  I fixed my glasses that had been sliding down my nose, then took the papers out of his hand, knowing that he needed me to edit them. “Just a little queasy from the Thai I had for lunch. I’ll have these back to you soon.” Right then another wave came and there was no saving myself. I ducked and lunged for the nearest trash can and wanted to die right on the spot.

  You just fucking blew chunks in front of the entire office and your boss. Way to go!

  Payton picked the papers up from the floor next to my knees and patted my back. “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? It’s Friday. Think of it as a little break, you’ve been working yourself into a frenzy.”

  I clutched my turning stomach, begging for this to be the last of the episodes. “Thanks.”

  He handed me a box of tissues from off of the closest desk and I wanted to die again—it was Dane’s desk. He mouthed “Are you ok?” over to me and I faked a smile as I nodded while clambering to my feet. Every eye in the office was on me, everyone peeking up over their cubical partitions to see their new boss hurl into a white plastic trash can like a shitfaced groupie backstage at an Aerosmith concert.

  I hadn’t made it two steps into my apartment before my phone chimed at me with a text. I slid it open and couldn’t help but smile when I read the message.

  Dane: I know the answer, but how’re you feeling?

  Me: Fine. Seriously. I vow to never order lunch at that Thai place on 5th ever again.

  Dane: Alright. Well we never got to have our “real” date.

  Me: Now whose fault is that, Romeo?

  Dane: Yours! You fainted when we were hanging out last night, remember we were supposed to go out after we hung out with the guys.

  Me: Alright. I’ll take that one.

  Dane: Rain check?

  Me: Sure. Sounds like a plan.

  Dane: Tomorrow night. I know where you live now so good luck saying no.

  Me: Are you a serial killer?

  Dane: Do you think you would have made it through last night if I was?

  Me: Good point. You didn’t deny it though…

  Dane: I am not a serial killer. Promise.

  Me: Ok. Good. See you tomorrow night, Romeo.

  Dane: It’s a date.

  After a hot shower, a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle with the cute little star noodles that I had always loved whenever I was sick as a kid, and lying on my couch for a while watching a few episodes of True Life on MTV, I finally started to feel better. I checked my phone for the time and seeing that it was only seven thirty, I decided to call my best friend. Homesickness was not something that really happened to me. I was used to being on the road with Regicide Assisted, but missing my bandmates was something I wasn’t equipped for, especially Starr, the bassist.

  Starr had been my best friend since we were toddlers. Our moms went to college together and raised us to be practically sisters.

  I listened to the line ring a few times and then it went to her voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Starr. You know what to do at the beep. Have a killer day.”

  “Tag! You’re it. Miss your face and I hope you’re out spanking the butt of that hot roadie from last summer. Everything is good here. Met a guy. Call me. Love you, Starr.”

  I slipped under the covers and let myself doze off just enough to not care when my phone chimed on the desk with a text message. A few hours later I was woken up to the squawking of a duck—Starr’s designated ringtone on my phone. I threw off the covers and leapt across the room.

  “Starr!”

  “Hey, slut!” she slurred. “Miss you, bestie! How’re you?”

  “Good, just sleeping. You know, like normal people do at five thirty in the morning on a Saturday.”

  “Pish. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” She cackled into the receiver.

  “Yeah. Well I felt dead today. Get this, I puked in front of my freaking boss!”

  “Gross! Are you prego? Prego peoples do that, ya know.” She started giggling at someone. “Jake, stop it, I’m on
the fucking phone!” she yelled, trying to make my band’s former head roadie stop trying to play tonsil hockey with her for a moment.

  “I am not pregnant, Starr. You have to have sex to get pregnant.”

  She ignored my comment and jumped to her next topic without missing a beat. “I saw the slimeball today!”

  “Ew. Where did you run into Rhodes?” Kenneth Rhodes, my ex-boyfriend. I had thought I loved him, and then I realized that I loved getting high with him. I kicked the habit and kicked the guy. Right then all of it came falling onto me like a ton of bricks. “Starr, I need to run. Not feeling great again. Talk soon?”

  “Ok, Fal-uh. Ok, love you, bye!” With that the line went dead and I went to lie in bed for a sleepless night of worrying the crap out of myself.

  Chapter eight

  positive

  FALLON

  Those three minutes felt like years while I sat on my toilet, panties around my ankles, praying—I’d never considered myself too religious, but I figured I needed all the help I could get. The egg timer I’d set on the counter buzzed, urging me to look over at the little white stick that was going to tell me my future. Right when I saw that stupid happy face mocking me, I got physically sick.

  Great, I have many more months of this shit to look forward to.

  Starr’s comment from the night before had replayed in my head over and over all morning until I broke down and ran to the drugstore on the corner. Now, here I was wading in the muck of her drunk ass being right.

  I could not believe that I’d just found out my entire life was going to be turned upside down again. Only a few months ago, I had moved away from the mess of my past, stupidly thinking I could get away from all of it and finally have a fresh start. Now I was going to have a constant reminder and it was growing inside my own belly.

  I stomped my bare feet in a childlike tantrum in my bathroom—screaming, crying, and damning my rash decision of letting my ex come visit me for one last hurrah. What a joke that was now. I knew he was a deadbeat junkie that cared more about his daily fix, guitars, and tattoos than whether I was alive or dead. He would not even be able to remember this if I tried to call him; the cocaine swimming in his blood would push this terrible thought right into the ‘never calling the bitch again’ file in his brain. I’ve been there a few times before, only being contacted for booty calls at four in the morning.