Walking Heartbreak

by Sunniva Dee

  “Soooo good at making love. Rock-star lovemaking. Ahh I had no idea,” she whimpers, and I cover her mouth with my hand again.

  “Bet, I’m just fucking you,” I tell her as the doors to the bus rock open and Emil and Zoe’s voices reach us. There’s giggling. Something crashing to the floor and a muffled whoopsie courtesy of Emil.

  “Ready to make out in my bunk? Mi casa es su casa,” Emil says in a terrible Mexican accent. “I’m going to make you come like an avalanche.”

  “Yeah, but don’t scratch me up with your nails again.”

  “Bah, that never happened, Zoay.”

  “Really now? Because these are my girly parts, and I know. Just cut your nails, pretty-boy.”

  Overwhelmed Groupie Girl garbles something between my fingers. I shhh her and speed up. I really don’t want to be double-dating with Emil and Zoe a few planks above us and plan to get to a quick and efficient climax.

  Bet blinks, eyes wide with I-can’t-believe euphoria more than sexual ecstasy, and again I realize why I feel like shit after these encounters. It turns me on to see the girl lose it from the pleasure I inflict on her. I want to be the source of that pleasure, make her beam at me for how I make her feel, not for how I look, who I am, or what I just did on stage.

  With Ingela, I had that. It was natural from our first time together. We just clicked. We started out inexperienced but in sync. Together, we got to a point where we knew each and every twist, touch, turn of a hip—nudge of my dick inside of her. Everything I did to her was for her, and her responses made me so hard I’d splash all over her.

  I had it with Nadia. There was a connection. She wasn’t there to fuck the musician, the artist, the up-and-coming rock star.

  I saw when she saw. When she looked past the exterior, my job, my looks. When she discovered me beneath everything else.

  Nadia’s hesitation. Her sensual response and how she tried to subdue it drove me wild. With her unconscious guidance, I returned to my sexual instincts, to what I love the most: finding what ignites my lover before even she knows. Stoking her fire until she’s oblivious to anything else. In the perfect moment, I touch, lick, caress, pinch, press, until I—

  Penetrate.

  I’m losing my focus, thinking about another woman. It works though, because I’ve gone rock hard again. I’m back to the last night with Nadia in Los Angeles. Her skin is beneath my fingers, not Bet’s. Her scent in my nostrils, not the mixture of tobacco and booze and sharp perfume under me tonight.

  I ejaculate deep inside the groupie while she snaps a picture of my face and sobs, “You’re even gorgeous when you come—how do you do that?” and then she makes some sort of noise I’m unfamiliar with, causing me to think I might have accidentally made her come too.

  “Is that you, Bo?” Emil asks stupidly.

  “Who do you think? It’s my bunk, right?”

  “Sorry, man. Didn’t know you had a chick here.”

  “What the hell?” his girl shouts. “Nadia—”

  “Zoay,” Emil cuts her off. “If you think my friend is going to wait for your friend to get a divorce to get laid, you’re out of your mind. You’re being a hypocrite.”

  There’s silence. Then she mumbles, “Whatever, Emil. I…”

  “All good, Bo?” Emil interrupts, voice playful.

  “If you’re wondering if we’re done, then yes,” I reply dryly, and Bet giggles like she’s won a medal.

  “She made me come,” I specify, mad. At myself, at the stupid girl, and at Emil.

  “Who?” Emil retorts, laughing. He’s not asking who’s in my bed. He’s asking who inspired me, and he already knows the answer. In my thoughts, I still answer.

  Nadia.

  NADIA

  “Seriously? You’re doing it?” Zoe asks, playing up her surprise way too much. I stuff a second piece of my Belgian waffle into my mouth and suck the syrup off my thumb and forefinger.

  “Yeah. I figured it’s time. With Jude, the way things— Well, I just haven’t been in shape to continue with school. I’m going to take three courses this first semester, and then we’ll see.”

  “Ah Nadia. That’s great. And about freaking time. You’d be stuck at the diner for the rest of your life like me if not, which was neither of you guys’ plan,” she reminds me. “When do classes start? And is it Cypress College again?”

  “Yep, not many community colleges around these parts. And plus it’s fine; I liked the place well enough the last time I started. One more year, probably spread over two, at least, and I’ll transfer somewhere else.”

  “For the vet version of pre-med,” she says, nodding and feeling clever. “Which reminds me: I haven’t bugged you about getting a dog or a cat in a while. You love them, remember? I’ll help you pick something out. Something cute that you can dye pink.”

  I laugh. “I won’t be using dye on anything, Zoe, unless it’s you needing my help.” My phone buzzes out a text from Bo. It’s ten a.m. on a Sunday, two weeks after Clown Irruption started their tour. They’re on the East Coast, which means it’s one p.m. there. Call me pathetic for instantly doing the math.

  Nadia, are you awake?

  Yes, breakfast with Zoe.

  Oh good! I hope you enjoy. You girls need to hit Deepsilver.

  “Bo’s texting you again, huh?” Zoe asks.

  “Mmm. Maybe.” I press my lips together to not smile.

  “You like it.” She’s so careful in how she puts it, I look up and find light irises twinkling with happiness for me. That makes it even harder not to smile, so I roll my eyes at her and go back to my phone.

  I’m supposed to write, No, I can’t. Instead I type out, When is it? and he instantly responds, Can I call you?

  I’m hesitant, fingers stilling on the phone. When I bite my lip, Zoe asks, “What’s he saying?”

  I really shouldn’t tell her. Even if her schedule didn’t allow her to come along, she’d still do everything to put me on a plane, train, bus—whatever—that will take me there.

  Emil and Bo seem to have the sort of man-friendship where they share stuff though, and Emil would surely tell Zoe. Which means I’m better off telling her up front.

  “Bo wants me to visit when they play in Deepsilver.”

  “That’s the place where his ex goes to college, right?”

  I nod, and something doesn’t sit right in my stomach all of a sudden. I’m not used to eating very much, so two big chunks of the Belgian waffle must be why. I’d really like to be at Bo’s side in Deepsilver though.

  Goodness. This isn’t me being possessive, is it?

  I type out K, and he calls right away.

  “Hey, Nadia,” he sighs out, his voice hoarse. I dig an elbow in against my belly and half-hug myself to subdue how my insides clench for him. “I wanted to tell you that the tour has been prolonged by a week. I wasn’t sure if Zoe knew either. They tagged on New York and Washington. Luminessence is going home, but we aren’t just yet.”

  A lead weight drops deep in my abdomen. On a daily basis, I work to repress how much I look forward to him coming back. We’d wait for a windy day and I’d take him to the beach and show him how to fly that kite.

  I swing at the waist, away from Zoe, because I don’t want her to read my expression. I’m sure it’s naked right now. “How long…? When will you be back then?” My voice is small, and wow, I sound like a needy wife.

  I am a wife. Just… not Bo’s.

  “In twelve days.”

  Twelve days is a long time. I feel like crying. This is his job, his life, his business in all senses of the word. Not my business. And yet I want to say, What am I going to do in the meantime?

  It’s ridiculous. What I’ll do is what I’ve always done. Mind my own business. Spend my time with Jude, light my candles, have breakfast with Zoe. Work. I’ll prepare for school starting in
fall. Yes, I’ll buy the books.

  All of my thoughts don’t change the fact that I can’t talk right now because there are tears stuck in my throat.

  “Nadia, are you there?” he asks softly.

  “Are you okay?” Zoe asks, leaning over the table and touching my shoulder.

  “Yep,” I clip out, and neither believes me. Zoe pours me more coffee, guessing that I need it. I swallow a mouthful, letting it burn me.

  “It’s why I wanted you to come out,” Bo whispers. “I’d like you to come, be with me for a few days. Can you get away? We have extra bunk beds on the bus. You don’t have to commit to doing something you don’t feel right about. I just want you here. I...”

  He lets out a sweet little chuckle I’d drink from his lips if I were there—I know I would—before he finishes, “Yeah. Screw it: I miss you.”

  I don’t think. I just repeat what he said even though Zoe’s watching me intently. “You miss me?”

  “Yeah, I miss you. There. Doesn’t mean I’ll be putting any pressure on you if you meet up with me in Deepsilver.”

  I don’t have a good answer, so I don’t reply. Just wrap my arm around my belly to keep from imploding with feelings and hope and sensations this man keeps rousing in me.

  “Nadia, we talk almost every day. You know more about me by now than a lot of long-time buddies. We’ve discussed shit I don’t even like to think about. How does it surprise you that I miss you?”

  “You don’t have to swear,” I say, and a small smirk returns to my mouth.

  “Really? That’s what you’re getting out of this convo?” he asks. “That I swear too much?”

  “I miss you too.”

  He’s the one who goes silent now. I’ve left him mum, and it feels really freaking good. I don’t look at Zoe, who’s busy choking a squeal and stomping her feet like fast, little drumsticks under the table.

  “Jesus,” he finally mutters. “Okay, well, that decides it. You’re coming out. The sooner the better.”

  “When is Deepsilver?” My heart. It’s beating so fast it’s like I’m suspended off a wire in a crash helmet, about to speed down a mountainside.

  “This Friday.”

  In two days?

  “It’s Friday,” I whisper to Zoe, who mouths, I know!

  “I can’t, Bo. I’m working this weekend.”

  “I’ll take your shifts!” Zoe leans over the table, eyes glittering. “You got Friday off, right? I’ve got the weekend off, but I’ll work it for you. Then you have Monday off and Tuesday until eight p.m. Am I right?”

  She says it so loudly, Bo lets out a pleased snicker. “So, after travel time, you could, in theory, be with me for three days?”

  I have so many thoughts right now. I can’t be away from Jude for that long. But I can’t not go. Lord, I want to go. Crap, I don’t know what to do. What if I went to their show in Deepsilver and then instantly returned? Just one night. It would be okay…

  “I—need to speak to my boss. Think about it. I’ll let you know.”

  When I hang up, Zoe launches into a one-person applause, then gets up to hug me. “Omigod, Nadia! You’re going to see Bo!”

  NADIA

  “No! Why would you even consider taking Jude?” Zoe shouts.

  It’s Thursday night, we’re at Foxy Lattes, and my heart is racing like I’m about to have a heart attack. I want to back out of my travel plans so much it hurts. The flight is booked. All is set. I’ll be there—I’ll be there in twenty-four hours! I’m going to Deepsilver, then I’m traveling with Clown Irruption to New York and home from there on Tuesday.

  What in the world was I thinking?

  Zoe. She took me to the travel agency yesterday. After breakfast with two strong mimosas each. We completed the transaction on-site; she didn’t let up until she’d watched me pay up and get it all set. Even so, I’m the one who did it. It was me, all me.

  “I can’t,” I choke out. “I’ve never left Jude for this long. It’ll be good to take him. I’ll just— And plus,” I hiccup the start to my next sentence, “I like Bo so much—”

  “So much you think it’s time he meets Jude?” she screams at me. “You’re nuts, Nadia! You’ve got to get a grip, okay? You need to tell Bo everything, or he’ll think you’re a freak show on wheels!”

  “Please don’t yell. I am getting a grip. I’m going crazy.” I hear my own contradiction, but it’s true; I am getting better. Just—

  “Zoe, I can’t go.” I sob into my hands, losing it in front of all of these people. I hate when that happens.

  “I’m sorry, Nadia. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just want the best for you,” she murmurs against my hair. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I just get so impatient sometimes. I know. I can’t put myself in your shoes and understand what you’re going through with Jude. With the horrible stuff you went through before you moved here and after.

  “But believe me when I say that I try every day, and what I know is that Bo is good for you. You come out of your shell with him. You blush when he texts you. You’re thinking of school again. He gives you something no one else seems to manage—Jude definitely can’t—and don’t you think it’s time to dig into a bit of happiness without guilt?”

  I turn my head to the side and find her face through strands of my hair. “I don’t know how.”

  NADIA

  “I wish you’d told me. All those years and I never knew you had diabetes, silly boy,” I admonish my husband in a light voice. I’m chattering anxiously while I finish my last-minute packing of a small, pink suitcase Zoe lent me since I don’t own one.

  It’s sunrise on Friday, gorgeous hues of peach shimmering in through the curtains of our alcove. I’m in the process of obeying Zoe because I know she’s right. I want to become a normal person, a girl who does stuff that feels good, and I want to do it without remorse. If only it weren’t so difficult.

  “What? Like you didn’t have enough to worry about with your parents, that old rich man vying for your parents’ attention—about you,” Jude said when I first asked him about the diabetes two years ago.

  “Don’t make this about me,” I’d whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear.

  In the taxi to the airport, I have plenty of time to freak out over leaving him behind. I think about our first road trip, our escape via Los Angeles to Las Vegas.

  I recall wondering what people in Payne Point said about Jude and me bolting off. No one in the Heavenly Harbor congregation could have predicted it.

  “What a sly boy,” they probably said. “He excels at duplicity. It’s the mother and father.”

  A few hours into the Mojave Desert, Jude’s eyelids began to droop. He shook his head, long strands of honey falling over his eyes, and I cupped his shoulder with my hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, stop bugging me,” he muttered, irritable. I remember how it surprised me since it wasn’t a side I had seen of him before.

  The car swerved. Jude corrected it easily, his reaction quick at my squeak. Alarmed, I watched him jolt in his seat, once, twice, each time as if starting awake.

  “You’re tired,” I soothed. “Let’s pull off the road and take a nap. We don’t need a motel room. We can sleep in the car for an hour and move on more refreshed.”

  If only I’d had a driver’s license already. We could have taken turns driving. I’d do it as soon as we returned to L.A., I thought to myself.

  “No, Nadia. We need to get to Las Vegas. What if your grandparents track us down before we’re married? What do you think will happen? You think they’ll respect that you’re an adult? Or you think they’ll drag you right back to atone for sins and get married to someone other than me?”

  Even though he was right, his crude declaration knifed me. He was usually so patient with me while he counteracted Mother and our church’s opinions. Jude’s preferred technique
was to make me smile. To twist bible verses and proverbs they used against me into something funny and beautiful.

  But his hands trembled now. He blinked quickly, quickly, the car swerving again, and I grabbed his arm and screamed out his name.

  We jutted off at the side of the road in the middle of the desert. He bit his lip, sweating in the icy air conditioning.

  “What is wrong with you? This isn’t just being tired,” I said, fear surging comet-fast in me and producing adrenaline.

  “I… sorry. I have diabetes. I guess I need something to eat.”

  “What do you want?” I scanned the surroundings. Really, we’d been on the go, and we hadn’t brought any food.

  “In my backpack. Got stuff in there. Blue bag.”

  Old Mary from our congregation flashed through my mind. I remembered her falling to the ground, people thinking she was in religious exaltation until a nurse got up and ran to her, ripped her purse open, and gave her a shot. She returned to herself again afterward.

  Diabetes. My boyfriend has diabetes.

  I pulled out an insulin pen with a small Yu-Gi-Oh sticker wrapped around the lid.

  His eyes flickered to me, and dazed, he shook his head. “Not that one. Give me the bag with the syringes. Glucagon injections. It’s to help get my blood sugar up.” But with quaking hands, he couldn’t do it himself. “Follow… instructions,” he slurred, giving up.

  I read and re-read. Panic couldn’t take over because the health of my love was in my hands. Somehow, I managed to draw liquid out of the tiny bottle and into the syringe. “What do I do?”

  “Nothing. Give it to me.”

  I watched him lift his shirt and expose his sinewy waist. Then he re-decided, shaking his head. “No. This isn’t insulin,” he reminded himself. “Arm, Nadia…”

  His head dropped against the headrest, and the tremors starting in his thighs made me die with worry. He groaned as I emptied the syringe somewhere in his upper arm—I had no idea; all I could compare it to were the vaccinations I got in Payne Point. Jude was so exhausted I didn’t understand how he could remain conscious.