It’s more than I care to see, and my face goes hot with emotion I can’t quite comprehend. Riot keeps playing tug o’ war with my heartstrings. One minute he’s telling me he wants me to understand him—that whatever this is isn’t over—while looking at me like I am the very air he breathes. And the next, he’s sucking face with his model girlfriend and acting as if I don’t even exist. I can’t play these games anymore. I can’t keep letting him inch his way back into my life just to pull a Houdini again.
It’s only a decibel quieter behind the doors of my bedroom, so after washing up and slipping on a worn, oversized sleep tee, I slip on my headphones and throw on some slow jams. Not my coveted playlist of 90’s R&B; every song reminds me of Riot. That was how we bonded. While all our peers were bumping pre-batshit Kanye and post-Destiny’s Child Beyoncé, we had discovered the real heart and soul of music, no autotune required. Before then, I despised how my parents never let me listen to the popular, over-sexualized hits on the radio. But once I met Riot and realized that I had something in common with the cute boy who had just moved in next door, I was somewhat grateful for my strict upbringing.
I hate that those memories will always be attached to the music I love. But as hard as it is to accept, it’s kept me connected to the only guy I’ve ever loved.
Sleep comes easy and I find myself dozing fast and hard before the first song ends. A dreamscape forms behind my eyelids, a fuzzy picture of two kids laying on the floor, side by side, sharing a pair of headphones. The boy is all limbs and shaggy sun-kissed hair who looks at the girl with star-speckled eyes. He scoots in closer so that no space exists between them and leans his head forward to kiss her lips. His touches are gentle, almost reverent, as if every caress is a tribute, a dedicated song over the radio. The girl’s heart swells to twice its size, the pressure in her chest making it hard to breathe. His kiss steals the air from her lungs, and she gasps, hoping to find the words to tell him the things she’s only scribbled in her notebook. But no sound escapes. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe…
I can’t breathe.
I struggle against the weight on my chest while also pawing at the hand clamped over my face, obstructing my airflow and keeping me from screaming out for help. It’s dark, but I can feel that the person on top of me is a good bit larger than me, maybe even triple my weight. The pungent smell of hard liquor and pot is so concentrated on his palm that I gag. I don’t want to, but I force myself to bite him. If I wasn’t so frantic to get him off me, the taste of his salty skin would surely make me vomit.
“Fuck!” he spits, drawing his hand back. My headphones are still on, but I manage to hear his muffled slurs. “What the fuck, baby? Just chill. It’s cool. I’ll make you feel good.”
“Get off me! Get the fuck off me! Help!” I scream, the words blurring together as one run-on cry. “Somebody help me!”
The asshole is so inebriated that, luckily, he hasn’t managed to take my panties off. I lift a leg and kick him in the gut, heaving him off my body. He goes tumbling back, but staggers back up to the bed, cursing and calling me every bitch and whore in the book. I reach over and grab the first thing I can find—a lamp—and launch it at his head. The fucker goes down, nursing his skull just as my bedroom door whips open, spilling in light from the hallway.
“What the fuck?”
I’ve seen Riot pissed—hell, he was angry with me earlier after I came back from Kaz’s apartment. But nothing could prepare me for the sheer violence etched in his features as he looks at me—frightened and half naked in a worn t-shirt—and my would-be rapist crumpled at the foot of the bed, cupping his bloody brow.
Riot crosses the room in just three strides and before I can even utter a word, he yanks the man by his collar and begins pummeling him. Blood sprays from the man’s nose and mouth, staining the luxurious linens and winter white carpet. It happens so fast I don’t even have time to catch my breath, let alone beg him to stop. That creep deserves pain, but even in this moment, I’m worried about Riot.
Thankfully, two large men dressed in all black enter the room and pull Riot off the prick. It takes them both even though they must have at least a hundred pounds of muscle on him. He still struggles against their hold and promises to take care of the “problem.” Poppy is the next to enter, and everything goes from bad to worse.
“Oh my God! Baby! What happened? Are you hurt? Oh my God. Oh my God! Look at me. Talk to me, baby.” She cups his face, distracting him enough for the bodyguards to deal with the half-conscious piece of shit on the floor. However, it’s as if Riot doesn’t even hear her.
I know I shouldn’t be too hard on Poppy; Riot’s bare chest is splattered with the other man’s blood, his silk pajama bottoms are ruined, and his fists are spilt and raw. His glare is still murderous, and I imagine that all he sees is red when he looks past his girlfriend and takes in what looks like a crime scene on my bedroom floor. But when he turns his narrowed gaze at me, his expression softens. Even with my adrenaline still pumping and my heart racing, just that one look is feels like safety. It feels like comfort. It feels like home.
Riot breaks away from Poppy’s hold and comes to where I’m still huddled on the bed and sits on the edge, keeping a safe distance. Slowly, he reaches out to me, but lets his hand fall onto the rumpled comforter.
“How are you? Did he…?” The rage trembling in his voice swallows the end of his question.
I shake my head, bringing my knees up to my chest and stretching my shirt over it. “Nothing happened. I woke up, and he was…” I can’t even say it. I close my eyes for a beat before nodding. “I’m ok. He didn’t.”
Riot’s shoulders sag just a fraction, as if he’s just released a breath he was holding. He looks down at a mangled hand, flexes to make a fist, and winces before meeting my eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Roxy. Shit… I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
I want to say more, but more people have shown up, including Kaz, who jumps into action, pressing the security team for answers. Another guy who I assume is on Riot’s security team approaches us before the first two men drag my attacker away.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Lee?”
I look at the daunting, middle-aged man who looks like he could’ve been a Seahawks player in a past life, then back to Riot.
“This is Darnell, my head of security,” Riot tacks on after seeing my reluctance.
“We swept the common areas after the party ended. That guy may have been passed out in one of the bedrooms. Maybe even this one.”
That asshole could’ve been in my room this entire time? I feel sick.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just shaken up. He didn’t hurt me.” Yet.
“Do you want us to call the police to press charges?” Darnell asks.
I think about it. Calling the cops would be the right thing to do. But it would also bring a shitload of press and media attention to me, and especially to Riot. And while I’ve done nothing wrong, I’m almost certain that the events will get twisted until they don’t even resemble the truth. Hell, I’d probably be painted as some gold-digging groupie trying to accuse Riot of rape.
“No,” I answer, feeling like a coward. “I just don’t want to see him ever again.”
“And you won’t,” Kaz proclaims coming to sit on my other side. Unlike Riot, he reaches out to brush my hair away from my face, assessing my face for injury. “You’re sure you’re ok?”
“I’m fine,” I nod. “He was blackout drunk. I don’t even think he knew where he was.”
Kaz looks to Darnell, yet his hands stay on me, sliding down to rest on my arms gently. “We know who he is?”
Darnell shakes his head. “Never seen him before. RB?”
Riot shakes his head as well, his jaw tight enough to break teeth and his gaze fixed on his ravaged knuckles.
“We’ll handle him,” Darnell declares, handing me a business card. “Here’s my number. Call me anytime.
We’re here to protect you, too.”
Darnell exits with the rest of his team, leaving me wedged between Riot and Kaz. But we’re not alone. Poppy stands just feet away, watching our every move.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Kaz asks. I can’t help but notice he’s still touching me. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, especially since I know he’s trying to comfort me, but I shift my body, putting just an inch of distance between us so he doesn’t suspect my unease.
And bringing me that much closer to Riot.
“I’m fine. Promise. I’m just… tired. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
Kaz nods. “It’s the adrenaline. I’ll grab you some water. Or would you prefer hot tea?”
I muster up a small, grateful smile. “Water would be nice. Thanks.”
After Kaz leaves the room, the tension radiating off Poppy is so obvious, it’s nearly palpable. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, considering I’ve done nothing to her. Hell, she didn’t even give me a second thought when she came running in, more concerned with Riot than anyone else. I see where her head is at, and it’s damn pathetic.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Riot says, cutting through the tension and making way for downright hostility. Great.
I shake my head. Right now, I don’t have it in me to dedicate one ounce of giveafuck towards Poppy’s feelings.
“I’ll be ok. I can crash on the couch or something for the night.”
“Hell no.” Riot says those two words with so much finality that it startles me. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Rox.”
“Well, she can’t very well stay with us in our bedroom.”
Brow furrowed, Riot turns to Poppy, giving her a look as if he’s just remembered that she’s there. To be honest, I don’t think he saw her even when she was crying in front of him, worried that something had happened to her precious Ri-Ri.
“No. I guess not,” he mumbles, turning away from her.
Kaz enters right on cue, giving Poppy the perfect solution.
“Why doesn’t she stay with Kaz at his apartment? It’s safe and she won’t have to deal with this mess. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to stay here anymore. Poor thing must be traumatized.”
I see her. I see her so clearly that she’s damn near see-through. And it’s all I can do to bite my tongue and refrain from calling out her phoniness. Question is, why isn’t Riot picking up on the fake concern? Or maybe he’s somehow reconciled the fact that me staying with Kaz lets him off the hook.
“That’s a great idea,” Kaz agrees. He hands me a glass of water and I take a sip just to avoid saying anything.
“I don’t know…” Riot counters.
“I think some distance from this whole ordeal would do Roxy some good. You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Kaz?” Poppy’s tone is so sweet it’s almost believable. One way or another, she wants me out of this apartment.
Sick of being discussed like I’m not even here, I finally pipe up. “If Kaz doesn’t mind, maybe that’ll work. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all. You’re welcome anytime. Especially at a time like this.” Although the circumstances are morbid, Kaz seems energized by our sleepover.
“Great, it’s settled,” Poppy concludes. But by Riot’s expression, he hasn’t resigned himself to this plan.
“No, it’s not settled,” he fumes, a scowl marring his features as he looks between Poppy and Kaz. “Rox just dealt with some seriously fucked up shit. The last thing she needs to do is go spend the night with a complete stranger. Hell no, I’m not doing that to her.”
He turns to me and his expression goes from dark fury to desperate earnest, as if he’s trying to convey a depth of remorse that I can’t even comprehend. All that can be heard between us is the drumming of my heart as he continues to stare at me with so much intensity that it aches to not touch him. Even as kids, we always had the ability to communicate without words. Music was our love language; it expressed the things we were too afraid to say.
“No disrespect,” Kaz pipes up, clearing his voice. “But I’m anything but a stranger. Especially to Rox.”
His words, and the intent behind them, are like a sledgehammer, demolishing whatever serenity rested in Riot’s blue eyes. He turns to his friend, his glare narrow with accusation. Oh shit.
“What did you say?”
“I mean…” Kaz scrubs the back of his neck nervously. “We’re friends. I know her. We… know each other.”
OH SHIT.
I try to brace for the worst—screaming, cursing, fighting—but my nerves are already shot, so I just sit there, eyes unblinking. But to my surprise, Riot’s scowl slides into a half smile. Not one borne from acceptance and understanding. It’s the type of sardonic smile that’s usually accompanied by a smart-ass remark.
“Is that right?” Riot muses, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Surprisingly, Kaz doesn’t cower at the obvious condescension in Riot’s words. “Yeah, it is.”
Riot nods slowly, and the movement feels like the preamble to him losing his shit.
“See, baby? She and Kaz are friends,” Poppy reasons, laying her hand on Riot’s shoulder. “Maybe this whole unfortunate ordeal was just a big misunderstanding. Come on…let’s leave them be so I can get you cleaned up. You must be exhausted.”
She pulls at Riot’s arm, but he’s unmovable. His stony gaze touches mine. “You good? I gotta be certain or I won’t… I just need to hear you say it.”
I don’t know how to tell him that while, yes, I’m fine, I don’t want him to leave. How do you explain to the person who hurt you the most that in some sick, twisted way, you still need them? That they’re still your home, still your family? That despite all the bullshit he’s put you through, you’d still choose him, even if you were never his choice?
“I’m fine,” I reply, plastering on a flimsy smile at risk of collapsing under the weight of my conflicted feelings at any moment. “You should go. I’ll be ok with Kaz.”
Riot makes a sound that’s half laugh, half snort as if he can see straight through to my heart. He lets Poppy lead him off the bed and to the exit, leaving me to watch his blood speckled back.
Kaz offers me some privacy to collect some things and put on some clothes, and while being alone in this room terrifies me, I’m grateful for the space to think and to just breathe for a moment. And I realize the Riot was right. It isn’t over. And that’s why I have to leave.
KAZ GIVES ME THE GIFT of silence. It’s not that he’s angry, not that I can tell anyway, but he’s intuitive enough to know I’ve just been through something traumatic that would have been even worse had Riot not found me. At any moment, I could be a blubbering, crying mess on the floor, but I don’t want to put that on him. Things are weird enough between us. And while we’ve seen each other naked and have done things I’ve only observed from Haze’s naughty Tumblr, I can’t be myself with him. Not like I would with my friends and family. Not like I would be with Riot.
“Sleep ok?” Kaz asks as I emerge from his bedroom, showered and dressed in jeans, a white bodysuit, and a flannel tied around my waist. He let me take his bed while he slept on the couch since he didn’t have any of the additional rooms set up. I told him it wasn’t necessary; I’ve slept on many a couch in my day. But he insisted.
“I did,” I lie. I may have dozed off for an hour or two, but every time a dream began to take form behind my eyelids, I felt that pressure bearing down on my chest and I jerked awake, gasping for air. Thank God for concealer.
“Hungry?” He waves a hand towards a plate of pastries in the center of the kitchen island where he’s seated eating breakfast. “There’s fresh coffee too.”
“Now you’re just talking dirty to me.” I smile gratefully and cross into the kitchen to grab a mug. The first sip is like a jolt of energy to my eyelids. The second and the fog begins to clear from inside my skull.
However,
I haven’t had nearly enough to field questions that I don’t have answers to.
“So you and Riot… you two were more than just old friends.” It’s not a question. Not even an accusation. Kaz is stating a fact.
I sputter into my coffee cup. “Um, well…”
Shit. It’s not that I don’t trust Kaz, but I know this business. And while his intentions may be genuine, information tends to spread like a rigged game of telephone. And I don’t want to contradict anything that Riot has told him.
Real talk: I don’t want to say we were more than we really were… at least in his eyes.
“Riot and I…” I look up at the ceiling, searching for the most diplomatic way to explain the Rox and Riot saga without sounding like a lovesick puppy or a cast member from Waiting to Exhale. Although, I’m not above burning a cheating asshole’s worldly possessions and walking away in a slow-mo blaze of glory. I aspire to achieve that level of savagery.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me if it’s private. I just don’t want to feel like I’m stepping on anyone’s toes.”
“You’re not,” I insist.
“You sure about that? Because the way he was acting and how he was looking at you… Shit, I’ve never seen him like that with Poppy, or anyone else, for that matter. I talked to security. They said he would have killed that dude if they hadn’t walked in and stopped him. For a second, I thought he might come at me.”
I shake my head. “He was just riled up. It must’ve looked bad when he came in. What with the way I was screaming for help… he was probably still half asleep and disoriented and didn’t know what he was running into.”
“There’s no way he would’ve heard you if he was asleep.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, he soundproofed his bedroom. He likes to work in there sometimes and it can get pretty hectic with so many people coming in and out. So if he was in there, he wouldn’t have heard you scream, especially if he was asleep.”
Rhythm and Blu Page 9