by Bloom, Anna
Dave was pissed off with me moping about lovesick, and I was pissed off with sitting in my room every night playing ‘Hey There Delilah,’ until my fingers were close to bleeding.
Dave has announced that if he ever hears me play that song again he is going to beat me to death with my guitar and then burn my body using the remaining splinters of wood as fuel.
I think he was probably joking.
Ha. The joke’s on him now.
I am actually doing what he suggested. I signed up to study History (I have no idea why but it was very much a case of eenie meenie minie mo) and on Monday I will be starting the course with who knows who.
It’s not been the full year that I allowed myself but it is nearly the end of September and I am beginning to realise that I may not be able to complete my New Year’s Resolution to find her, Delilah, again.
Whilst failing at one half, I have maintained the other side of my resolution, because while I have been waiting for her, I have not been near anyone else. Not one flirt, not one drunken snog, and most definitely not one hung-over awkward naked conversation.
I feel quite virtuous.
Dave’s just relieved that I am not quitting the band. So is Liam, and so are Mondeo Man and Trav.
It’s still in the cards. They just don’t know it yet. I might end up being a natural historian and decide to become a professor and wear tweed for a living. I would undoubtedly earn more money than I do with the band. It was embarrassing moving my stuff into my new room the other day. I hardly had anything to move in with, just my damn guitar, some books, and a bag of clothes. Bloody pathetic.
I give my head a little shake and turn back to the here and now.
“So who is on before us?” I ask Dave.
“God knows, some terrible DJ, then another band, and then we are headlining.”
“Really? We are headlining?”
“Oh yes, you are going to be the best thing this Uni have ever seen, and you are most definitely going to earn that room you managed to snag on campus.”
I pull a face at Dave. It was his idea that I negotiate some gigs in return for a room. I felt like a complete arse asking, but they went for it anyway. I am now the proud owner of a room about five steps wide by ten steps long.
I am hoping for an all-male dorm, preferably full of geeks.
“Shall we go back to my, uh, room while we wait?” I am not opposed to hiding for a while. Hiding sounds like a great idea but I also know it is a stupid one when I am going to be on a stage in a couple of hours regardless.
“No need, we have some space out back.” Dave smirks.
Out back of where? There is nowhere. This place is tiny and I have a concern that I may get lost if I venture too far. The college is like a rabbit warren of rooms and I am just keeping my fingers crossed that I don’t have many lectures in here because there is a good chance I will never find my way out again. I know my way across campus in the direction of the dorm and that is about it.
Dave leads the way through a black sheet acting as a backdrop and I find all the others sitting around a table smoking fags and pouring what looks like a combination of champagne and tequila.
“Champagne?” I ask. I walk towards them and pull my own smokes out of my jeans.
“Heeeey, Shben,” Trav calls.
I believe he may have been on the champagne tequilas awhile.
“Are you going to be able to play?” I accept his sidestepped hug and the drink he thrusts at me all in one go.
“Shben shdon’t shbe shuch a shbore.”
Okay then.
Dave chuckles next to me and elbows me in the ribs.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. He clinks a glass also containing a dangerous mixture against mine.
“What for? Running away?”
“No. For sticking to your principles. You always have been the more determined out of us all.”
I pull a face.
“Really? I am the determined one.”
“Yep. Well, just don’t have too much fun being chased around campus by hundreds of teenage girls.” He motions the others around, clearly building up to his speech. “And if you see any really hot ones then make sure you call us. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity!”
Arse.
“Come on, let’s gets pissed,” I say. We may as well.
So we do. Well, we start the ball rolling with some of Trav’s dodgy cocktails until much, much later, and we are running low on tequila, champagne, and cigarettes when a flustered Ball organiser comes looking for his headline act.
Five songs down and it is hot, hot, hot on stage, and I am not talking about the partially dressed girls bouncing around in the front of the crowd, although there are busload of them, all half cut.
Or maybe it is me who is half cut.
The room is spinning and the bass from the drums is making my stomach roll.
I keep thinking I can see something, something I recognise, but every time I focus on the crowd, my vision gives a little spin and I have to look back up at the ceiling.
I need some water bad. Otherwise there is little chance of me finishing this gig. I will just become known as the singer guy who threw up all over the crowd, and that would not be cool at all.
I turn and give a wave to Dave, trying to mime that I need to get a drink. He reads my sign language easily. Ten years on a stage together will do that, and he nods at me. At the end of the song I swing my guitar back and reach for the bottle of water at my feet. Dave keeps the crowd pumped with a drum solo, which does weird things to my stomach. I turn my head to the side as I gulp my water down and look at Trav. I could throw something at him for doing this to me. I don’t need to. He is green and hanging on to his microphone stand.
Ha! Suck it up.
The water helps. The moment it starts to settle, my vision becomes clearer and for the first time I can focus on what is in front of me. I gulp down some more, hoping to wash away the hideous mix of alcohol swishing about inside me.
Then I see it. A flash of white.
Something about the white burns like a brand inside my mind and I try to focus.
A girl in white walking away from the dance floor.
I am not sure what it is about the girl in white but I have to stand there and stare for a moment. I anchor myself to the edge of the stage and watch the swish of white move in a fluid motion.
Dave starts getting agitated. He wants me to jump back in, so I do, a renewed vigour coursing through my veins from the hit of H20.
While I play and sing, the words of one of our oldest covers ‘Dakota,’ fall easily from my lips. I can’t take my eyes of the swish of white moving further and further away.
Then she turns and I see her.
Her. Her. Her.
Lilah. Lilah. Lilah.
I recognise her straight away, like I always knew I would.
She leans back against the wall clutching a bottle of water and even from this distance I can see that she is clearly looking through one eye, her lips curved in a smile as she thinks some amusing thought that I will probably never know.
I carry on watching, waiting to see what will happen, then I remember the banker wanker who has been tormenting my nightmares for the last nine months so I risk taking my eyes off her for a moment.
There is no sign of him, and I breathe a sigh of relief and allow a smile to colour my lyrics.
Before I can lose her again, I cast my eyes back to her spot against the wall.
For fuck’s sake, she is gone again.
Nope, there she is, walking towards the exit. As if in slow motion, I catch a glimpse of some tall blond guy watching her leave and start to walk after her.
Fuck no. Not again.
I don’t think, I don�
�t hesitate, I don’t really even register what I am doing but before I know it my guitar is down and I am leaping off the stage like my sanity depends on it, which I guess depending on which way you look at it, it does.
I chase through the shocked crowd, ignoring their glances, as I race to get to the woman in white first.
I do.
She is at the bar. I can hear her, clipped tones asking, “How much?” to a bottle of water. I start to laugh because even though I don’t know anything about her, I know that is exactly what I expect her to do.
I plant myself behind her so that when she turns from the bar I am the first thing that she sees.
She looks up and I catch my breath as I meet the speckled grey eyes I have been trying to keep in my mind for so long.
She does not recognise me. That much is clear. She obviously does not remember our previous meeting at all. No acknowledgment flickers over her expression although I desperately search for it, but unlike last time when her eyes slid right over me, this time she stops and stares, her lips puckered on the edge of a smile.
She just stands there for the longest moment, for as long as I can bear, and I just stand there and soak it up.
“Ben,” I say, holding out my hand.
“Lilah,” she tells me, reaching out her hand to me. But instead of shaking my hand, she just kind of places hers in mine.
I can work with that. I don’t let one moment pass before I wind my fingers through hers.
There is no way she is escaping again.
Lilah continues to watch me. I wish I knew what she was thinking. She is just staring at me, her lips ever so slightly parted.
Normally staring is a good sign with girls, but then I don’t expect this one to act the same as all the others so I don’t want to read too much into it.
“You’re the singer guy, right?” she says with a small nod, like she is pleased that she can place me. Yeah, I am the singer guy, but she is nine months late in placing our meeting.
“Singer guy, I am,” I confirm. I can’t help it. A smile creeps onto my face and into my voice. I probably look like a complete twat but I don’t care. I am standing here talking with her whilst holding her hand.
“You’re the girl in the knock-out white dress,” I play.
Oh, and it’s a knock out all right; slinky to the floor and hinting at all the stuff underneath that I want to get to know.
She says nothing but her mouth pops open in surprise.
Shit I’m going to kiss her.
No. Stop it.
“Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?” I ask instead of placing my lips against hers.
She hesitates. Of course she should. That is the right thing to do.
“I should find my friends,” she says. Despite her words, she does not seem in any rush to do so.
This is my moment. Act now or regret it forever.
“Come on, Lilah,” I coax. Her name sounds electric on my lips. I wonder if she can hear it?
I pull her towards the door, my fingers not letting go of hers as I head towards the cool September air. Outside, I walk a short distance and then in a bid to stop myself from jumping her and getting arrested I pull my smokes out of my pocket. I nearly miss it but as I look up to offer her one, I catch her watching my hand slide back out of my pocket, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip.
Holy crap.
I am not surprised when she takes one of my cigarettes, I always knew she would be a smoker. It goes hand in hand with the filthy language and the dirty laugh.
“I wasn’t winking at you, by the way,” she says.
“What?” What? She was winking at me, and I missed it?
“So are you here as a guest or a student?” I ask. Oh, and are you still with that possessive wanker who stole you from me at Christmas?
I lean towards her to light her cigarette and she mirrors my action and moves towards me.
“Student,” she tells me.
I raise my eyebrow in shock. What? Is she going to be here? On campus? With me? I can’t quite bring myself to believe it.
“Yes, I know I am old,” she snaps. Feisty.
“Hardly.” I can’t help but stare at the eyes. I am watching them, waiting for them to make a move away from me, because this time I am ready to chase. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me.
“Twenty-five is pretty old compared to all the spring chickens in there.” She motions her head to the venue behind us where I can still hear the hum of voices, although strangely no music.
“I’m twenty-five,” I tell her for the simple fact that we have something in common and therefore are most surely meant to be together.
“Oh.” She seems a bit perplexed by this.
I wish I knew why.
“So what you studying?” I feel like I should be a host on some TV show or something, but I want to know everything. Right now.
“History.”
It’s a sheer miracle I don’t choke on the lungful of smoke I have just inhaled. That would not be cool at all.
Holy Mother of God. She is going to be on the same course as me.
She has no idea that my brain is going to explode with the magnitude of that last snippet of information. It’s like offering cookie crumbs to a kid at Fat Camp. I can’t stop myself. I move right into her space, as close as I can physically get without causing her injury or alarm.
She is still trying to make small talk with me, not even realising that she does not need to, because I want to talk to her forever and then maybe a little longer after that.
“So you been with the band long?” she asks, completely oblivious.
I want to laugh but I don’t.
“Ten years,” I tell her, taking another drag of my cigarette.
“Wow, that’s a long time.” She sounds impressed.
I feel a little tingle of pride that I have never felt before.
Attempt nonchalance.
“Yeah, I guess.” I take a last drag on my smoke and then flick it away.
She does the same and the moment both our hands are empty, I am acutely, to the point of painfully, aware of how close we are. Toe-to-toe.
My body is aching in a unique way that I will from here on in have to call the ‘Lilah Effect.’
“You don’t remember me, do you?” I ask. I have to physically restrain myself from edging even closer.
She cocks her head to one side. “No. Should I?”
Uh, yes, because I’ve been in love with you for months after the one conversation we had, one snatched and too brief conversation where you gave me something new and unexpected to live for. You.
Maybe not.
“I played at a Christmas party last year. You were there.”
I watch as she clearly tries to recall the evening, our conversation, or even me. I hold my breath as I wait for her response.
“Sorry.” She shrugs.
Damn it.
Wait a minute. All is not lost. Time to play my trump card because the truth is I remember her. Every single bit of her.
“I think I prefer the white dress to the red,” I say. This is only half the truth.
The whole truth would be that I prefer the white dress to the red, but I would much rather there was no dress at all. Or if there had to be one, that it was decorating my bedroom floor.
That thought along with the sight of her mouth opening in shock is the end of my self-restraint. In one single fluid movement, I slide one arm around her waist and pull her in close to me. Her body is tight against my own as I lean in and kiss her in the way I have been imagining for the last nine months. My other hand automatically reaches for the chocolate hair, and I entwine my fingers in the strands to keep her fixed to me, not that she seems to be
moving anywhere.
It’s everything, and then a little bit more.
She edges herself a little closer until our bodies are merged and fit together in one sinuous line. One of my knees slides in-between her thighs. I can feel her faint breath against my mouth, and I want to take it one step further and then another until there is no separating us.
This is so not a tame first kiss. She sighs a little as I flick my tongue against hers and my fingers tighten in her hair. I graze my thumb along her throat. I want to lower my lips to the exposed soft flesh of her neck but my concern is if I break the kiss she may leg it across campus, away from me. Again. So I don’t. I just stand there and kiss her some more, feeling my body start to sizzle against hers. One of my hands, with a will of its own, slides down the slope of her back, smoothing over the concave dip of silk dress at the base of her spine before continuing down to her thigh.
Crap. I want to take this dress off.
After a few moments I realise that I am practically holding her up. She seems to have gone completely limp in my arms, and as I pull away I notice that her eyes have a glassy look and for the first time it dawns on me she may be rather drunk. I have not noticed before because, let’s be honest, you bump into the girl of your dreams after months of looking and it is kind of hard to focus on small facts, like sobriety.
I laugh against her cheek, and it feels amazing. Her body is still pressed against mine, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath she takes.
I realise there is little chance she is going to run away from me across campus but I don’t want to let go just in case she falls down, although that could just be an excuse.
“I think I should take you home,” I whisper into her ear.
Fiesty Lilah comes out to play.
“What? No way! If you think I am going to let you take me home so I will have sex with you, you’re sorely mistaken I am not some gir—”
I like feisty Lilah a little too much. Before I can stop myself, I have grabbed her back in my arms and am kissing her again. She does not put up a huge amount of resistance, and her body is soon melded back against mine, her lips firm as she teases me by trailing her tongue along my lower lip. Is this girl for real? And she just accused me of trying to take advantage of her?