Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  On our way across the street I can spot the University a ways down. It’s on a hill overlooking Crystal Beach, reflecting the light of the setting sun. It looks as lonely as I feel, forgotten for the summer, wanted only when it’s needed.

  Bodies cram into the small club. The smell of coffee envelops us as soon as we enter. Bobby leads me past the many bodies milling around, weaving us through the crowd. There are booths in a circle around the room. Stairs lead down to the middle and regular tables fill the space below the stage. The café is in the corner, where everyone piles around to get their drinks before open mic starts.

  Bobby passes the booths for the regular tables. “Is this good?” he asks. “If we’re too close to the stage they might pick us for the noob awards.”

  “Noob awards?”

  “They pick random people in the crowd to come up and perform. If you don’t they heckle the shit out of you. It’s embarrassing.”

  “What kind of an award do you get?”

  “A T-shirt.”

  “Wow. Do I get to retire afterwards?”

  He laughs loudly, drawing the attention of the group a couple tables over. They’ve commandeered the entire left wing of this section. One guy looks over, sees me, and then grins like a wolf who found its prey. I’ve never met him before but he seems to know me. I glance at Bobby, but he doesn’t notice them. He’s cute, tall with short brown hair. Cute Guy hits the knee of the guy sitting next to him and points to me. There’s a girl on his lap blocking his face from my view. He leans around her before he can look my way and when he does my heart falls into my stomach. He has a hood on so I can only see his face, but I know that face, those lips, that jaw, and that line of dark stubble.

  Bach’s mouth thins, changing from curiosity to anger. He sits back so the girl can block me from his line of sight once again. Someone must’ve said something because everyone at the table laughs, especially Bach’s friend. He licks his lips and blows me a kiss. Bach’s foot falls away, accidently hitting him in the chin. Cute Guy stops looking at me and glares at Bach instead.

  “ … it wasn’t pretty.”

  “What?” I turn back to Bobby, not hearing a word he said. “I mean oh. That’s not cool.”

  Bobby nods, as if my sentiments were expertly on point. “You’re telling me. She stopped playing the flute forever.”

  “Forever? What a shame.” I can feel him. I can smell him. I can taste his warm, wet tongue on the tip of mine. I slide closer to Bobby and shrug out of my jacket. It’s getting warm in here. What is Bach doing here? There isn’t a bar or a brothel anywhere near here. Other than the whore on his lap the women in this place weren’t here for his bullshit.

  Someone jumps on stage and taps the mic. Everyone shrinks away from the shrill kickback. The lights in the club dull and switch to lighten the stage. “You’re all late. Or maybe we’re early. Or maybe,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “we’re not even really here. For those of you that are, Jenna’s going to start us off tonight. Clap,” he whispers when everyone stares at him.

  The building erupts. Those that haven’t find a seat and settle down. A girl with blond dreadlocks and a flowing flower skirt skips barefoot on stage with an acoustic guitar at her side. She blinks at the lights, placing her mouth near the mic. “Hey.”

  “Hey!” people shout back.

  She swings her guitar forward and grins. “This is something I wrote. It’s called Harmony.”

  She begins to tap on her guitar, humming a melody, which she then starts to play, belting out a beautifully deep intro. Her fingers fly over her guitar strings. Her voice is deep. She almost sounds like someone I’ve heard Dad play from one of his old Woodstock records. For one small second I feel like a child. Dad’s in the garage working on his car. I’m in the corner playing with my dolls. The record player’s on. My dolls are all I need. My dad humming along with grease on his fingers is all I want. And knowing I got to do this every day was a gift. When Jenna finishes I might’ve clapped the hardest.

  The host pats her back when she exits the stage. On my left, the girl on Bach’s lap gets up. She leans forward and presses her face inside of his hood. When she pulls away, she licks her lips, reaching over to wipe his off. She touches Cute Guy’s shoulder and then they both disappear behind stage.

  “She was good, huh?” Bobby whispers in my ear.

  “Yeah.” I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at the shadow where I know Bach’s face is, daring him to look at me.

  “So moving.”

  “Mhm.”

  Who is she? Where do these girls come from? Does he have a girl factory? Does he pop them out whenever he wants to pop a pimple?

  “Our next brave soul is Justine. She was supposed to play last week, but something came up. Menstrual cramps or she found a dinosaur fossil. Anyway, welcome her with open arms.” The host claps as he walks away.

  The girl that was on Bach’s lap comes out with his friend. So that’s why he’s here, for her. Cute Guy has a black banged up acoustic guitar over his chest. He grins like a sexy moron. Justine glances at him, rolls her eyes, and then pushes her dark brown hair out of her face. I guess she’s pretty, if I’m being generous. She’d be prettier with the guy next to her. Any other guy. She reminds me of the girls closer to Houston. Her short jean shorts and boots only make her sexier.

  She grabs the mic and looks nervously into the crowd. “Hey.”

  “Hey!”

  Her small group cheers louder than anyone else. But Bach doesn’t. He just sits there stiff as stone.

  “This here’s Jona. He’s been a prick to me lately so he’s making it up to me by playing the guitar.” He nods like he’s holding his dick and not his guitar. “I didn’t write this one, but I could have.”

  She takes a deep breath then nods at Jona who moves closer to the mic so it can pick up the guitar. The second he strums a chord they both transform. She’s not Bach’s whore and he’s not his dickhead friend. His long fingers play the guitar, the guitar doesn’t play him. It’s a country song, there isn’t much room for individualism, yet Jona makes it more him. More grit and less twang. When she opens her mouth she could be any country star on the radio. She could be better. I’ve always liked this song. However the power and passion pouring from her lips make it sound different to me. Jona stands right beside her, the lights from above lighting them both on fire. At one point her eyes land on Jona and stay there. He doesn’t notice. He’s lost in the guitar.

  When she finishes the room claps. Jona pushes his hair back and grabs her hand. Together they bow. When she rises there’s pink in her cheeks and accomplishment in her eyes.

  “Eh,” Bobby mumbles. “They were all right. I’m going to go get something to drink. You want anything?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I cross my legs and sit there. Waiting for him. When he sits down I look at him.

  “Who is he?” Bach asks gruffly. He looks at me from the protection of his hood, his eyes cloaked in shadow. His stubble is overgrowing his jaw and his lips are chapped. The cut under his eye is almost gone. He looks miserable, as if his lightning is too drunk to hurt anyone but Bach.

  “You smell like scotch.”

  “I had it for breakfast and lunch.”

  “You have her for lunch too?”

  He closes his eyes in pain, answering my question. “I want to talk to you.” When he opens them I notice how bloodshot they are. “Can I come over tonight?”

  I want to push his hood back and see his face. “No.”

  His eyes flash. “Are you going to be with him?”

  “Probably.”

  “All night?” he checks impatiently.

  “Probably.”

  His right hand shakes slightly. He shoves it in his sweater pocket. “Please, Harley. I … ” His voice fades to nothing. “Forget it. Have fun okay? I need a drink,” I hear him say as he gets up to leave.

  I’ve learned that when Bach says that he means it. He needs a drink.
I need a drink. We both need a damn drink.

  I watch him duck back over to his friends. Jona and Justine come out just in time. She bounces over to Bach and reclaims her spot on his lap. He doesn’t even look at her when she kisses him. Doesn’t say a word. The worst part is I don’t think she notices. She’s so used to his indifference it feels like emotions.

  “What did he want?” Bobby asks from behind me.

  “Were you behind me the entire time?”

  “No. I saw him get up and go back over there. You know him?” He walks around and sets our drinks down.

  “Sort of. He’s my ex’s friend. He was just saying hi. Which one’s mine?” He points at the coffee. I don’t want coffee. I want to know why Bach didn’t fight back. Why did he give in so easily? Bach doesn’t give in. He gets off on being out.

  “How long have you been broken up?”

  I don’t want to talk about Dylan. I take a sip of my coffee and shrug. “A few weeks.”

  “That all? You sure you’re up for tonight?”

  “I’m here aren’t I?” I pat his hand to reassure him even though I couldn’t reassure myself if I tried a hundred times. “So, Bobby, how long have you been single?”

  He drinks his drink and looks at me. “A year. Long story.”

  As the host introduces the next performer, a male poet with sweeping bangs and gobs of eyeliner, Bobby sighs dramatically.

  “She wasn’t into my idea of fun. We got along great sometimes. Then all of a sudden, boom. She was gone. I hear she’s getting married to a magician. A magician.” He laughs in disbelief.

  Bobby’s a Square. I sit back, peeking at Bach. I can’t help it. He stares straight ahead. On his lap, Justine tries to get his attention. He nods once and she gets up and walks around our table toward the café. As she does the unmistakable scent of sugar and flowers trails after her. It crashes over me, slamming against my chest. It’s her. It’s all I can do to sit there and not pour my hot coffee in his face. I picture them together. It isn’t even difficult to imagine. They both have that air about them. Together their tainted oxygen fuels their wrongness. Short glimpses of Bach kissing her the way he kissed me, touching her the way he touched me, torture me. Is anything he does special? Why do I even want to be special to him? Why the hell do I allow his lighting to get close enough with the threat to scar?

  “ … must be like, huh?” Bobby laughs.

  I smile half-heartedly. “Mhm.”

  Bach and Justine stick around for a little longer after she returns with an iced-tea. When they get up and leave I don’t watch. I don’t even look. I let them go. I have to let him go.

  Bobby and I stay and talk, settling into a nice light conversation amidst the performances. Some of the performers are phenomenal, pulling us in, and others flail around awkwardly, making it painful to watch. I thought our date had gone well. It was genial and polite, an easy transition to make after dealing with men like Bach and Dylan. But later that night when I drive us back to my apartment he asks if I’m still up for tonight. I don’t understand what he means until he disappears into my bathroom and comes out wearing women’s panties. His stringy hair is in a ponytail and his hard dick bulges in his red panties.

  I gawk at him, in a state of complete shock. Is that my hair tie?

  He rubs his chest, tugging on his nipple. “Len said you were into role reversal and you were a dominatrix. I’m always down to be your bitch. Where’s your play room, ma’am? I have a strap-on in my car. You mind getting it?”

  “Get out!”

  I chase him out with my broom, tossing his clothes that I find on the bathroom floor out with him.

  Then I leave Len the loudest, angriest voicemail message with promises of extreme violence that I’ve ever left anyone.

  Chapter Six

  Bach

  There’s a rip in my roof.

  I reach up and touch it as Justine takes more of me in her mouth. The sound of her wet tongue on my hard skin usually gets me going. It doesn’t tonight. I’m too focused on what’s going on outside of the car to enjoy my dick in her mouth. But I don’t stop her. I never do.

  I look down, moving her hair out of my way so I can watch. Maybe that’ll work. She reaches down and sticks her hand under her shorts, touching herself as my dick hits the back of her throat. How the hell did I get a hole in my ceiling? It was probably the fucking cats. I can still smell their piss. I hate piss. Justine moans around me, spit dripping down her chin. She’s having way more fun. Good for her. She deserves to have fun.

  “Cum in my mouth,” she orders.

  I was going to, I think, irritated. Right before I do, I grab her hair and pull her off my dick. “Open your mouth.”

  She opens her mouth wide, waiting for me to shoot my load on her tongue. I find no pleasure watching her swallow it. It’s usually my favorite part. She even licks the rest that sticks on me, swallowing that too. Then she keeps licking me even though I’m not hard anymore.

  I sit back and stare at the ocean. The moon glows on the water, shimmering silver tonight. The horizon looks endless where the water meets the dark sky. Justine puts me back in my jeans and zips me up. “Thanks,” I mumble, watching the way the light on the water shimmers.

  I hear noise coming from her seat. Clothes shifting. She takes my hand off my lap and brings it between her legs. The water disrupts the moonlight every time the waves crest. I move my fingers inside of her in tune to the waves, each time it pulls back and each time it rolls over. Her moans are loud and her pussy wet. When she comes I think even the moon can hear it. I refrain from cringing and I take my hand back, wiping my fingers off on my jeans.

  She props her feet up on my dashboard, naked from the waist down. “Does Dylan know you’re boning his girlfriend?”

  I look at her sharply, but she’s not looking at me. She’s looking out her window at the beach. “What did you say?”

  “I knew there was something up with you. You’re even more of a shithead than normal. You smell like you took a bath in scotch. You come over to my place and fuck the shit out of me and then leave. Jona told me who she was when we were waiting backstage. I thought it was funny how you tried so hard not to see her. How she tried so hard not to see you.”

  “I haven’t done anything to her.”

  Now she looks at me. “Seriously?” She smiles sadly. “You must really like her. You had me pinned against the wall an hour after meeting me.” Her smile widens. “You remember?”

  “No.”

  She laughs. “Of course you don’t. I do. That’s all that matters.”

  “Why do you want to remember it?”

  She shrugs, reaching over to touch my face. “Because you’re brave.”

  “What are you talking about?” My head hurts and my skin crawls. I’m crawling out of mind.

  “You are. Think about how much it takes to put yourself out there? You’re begging for release during sex the same way I do. We’re both running, Bach. Do you have any idea how hard it is to ask someone else to run with you?”

  Apparently not that hard. I kiss her hand then move out from under it. She and I don’t talk this way. It’s just sex. Blow jobs under the moon. “You want me to take you home?”

  “No. Not yet. I’ll walk home if you don’t want to drive me. I don’t feel like going back there right now.”

  I lean my seat back. “We can hang for a minute.”

  “Why her, Bach?”

  I close my eyes. “I don’t know.” I’ve been trying not to sleep unless my blood is more scotch than blood. My nightmares are eating away at me. My hands won’t stop shaking and my stomach turns from the exhaustion.

  “Is it because she’s not like us?”

  “You were great tonight,” I say instead, looking at her with one eye. “I can totally see you on stage.”

  “Bach … ”

  “No really. You should go to Nashville. I’ll drop you off. Don’t come back until you can get me backstage.”

  “Stop try
ing to change the subject.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jus. Harley’s … ” Done with me. We’re done and I can’t even blame her for it. But of course I do. “It doesn’t matter. I ruined it before it even started. We’re talking about old news. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Doesn’t look old to me.”

  I wish she was still sucking my dick, that way all I’d hear coming out of her mouth were moans instead of words. “You think a girl like that would want anything to do with a guy like me?” I’ve been thinking this shit for the last week. “What would we do together anyway? And she’s just pissed off about Dylan. She’s got nothing better to do.” She was dating someone else already. How many Squares does it take to screw in a light bulb? None, they were too busy drinking coffee with her sexy heels on.

  “Oh man,” she says, laughing. “You got it bad.”

  “What?” I open my other eye to glare. I need both eyes. Otherwise she won’t know to shut up.

  “Nothing,” she says, holding in her smile. “We’re done, okay? You and me, we don’t have to do this anymore if you don’t want. I won’t even try.”

  I know what she’s saying. I’m not ready to say it back, but then again, I don’t have to. “Come here.” I open my arms. She nestles against my side in the seat, laying her head on my chest. “You were my favorite,” I whisper, kissing her lips around her smile.

  “You lying bastard.”

  I don’t deny it. “I’m going to say this and you’re not going to laugh.”

  “Got it.”

  I take a deep uncharacteristic breath. “We can still be, you know, friends, if you want? You don’t have to. Say you don’t want to.”

  She tucks her head under my chin. “I want to.”

  I reach down and grab her bare ass. “Me too.”