Songs of Our Breakup (Playlist Book 1)

by Tria, Jay E.

  “You’re alright.” She nudged his side with her elbow. “Just grow some balls, Kim.”

  It felt strange, the roll of his name down her tongue. She had barely spoken it for what felt like forever. She had not been this close to him either, his heat so friendly and familiar.

  Kim’s cheek landed on her shoulder, and it started a loud thumping of her heart. Surely he heard it. She let him wrap his arms around her, answering with a hand through his hair as his sobs grew louder.

  “You’re alright,” she said again, sighing out a stilted breath.

  The sobs weakened as his mouth left kisses on her jaw, a quick trail that led to the soft skin of her ear. Jill gasped, tears springing to her eyes. His lips reached the corner of her lips.

  He pushed her down on the backseat, his mouth finding hers like a long lost friend. She kissed him back hungrily, heat and cold churning inside her chest, a dark heavy feeling that she did not know.

  His tears were stamped on her cheeks as his mouth moved on hers with a low moan. His hand was on her back, pushing her against him, fitting her frail form against his broad chest. His fingers searched frantically for the hook of her bra, one hand inching down the waist of her jeans.

  “No.”

  Jill pushed him and rolled off the seat, landing hard on the floor of the car. She stared up at the low ceiling, her heart pounding an angry beat against her chest. How strange, her cheeks were wet. Jill lifted one hand to her face, realizing only then that the tears streaming there were no longer Kim’s.

  “That’s enough,” she said, locking his gaze. She picked herself up, got out of the car, and started running.

  ***

  The sudden chorus of rain and thunder completed her day.

  Jill lifted her face to the clouds, feeling every drop soak through her pores. She had never done a rain walk before. The water stung as it hit her skin like bullets, and the wind was bone-numbing cold. It would have made sense to hail a cab home, especially with the sudden turn of the weather. But Jill was beyond logic for the moment, and she felt like going for a very long walk.

  She heard the sound of another car coming to zoom past her, but it stopped before it splashed more slush down her jeans.

  The honk was familiar. The zip of the window as it went down was familiar. She was waiting for these sounds just hours before, but it felt like a year ago.

  “Nice weather for a walk, isn’t it?”

  Jill walked on, Shinta’s car following her in a crawl. “Go home, Shinta. We’ve missed the movie.”

  There was a roll of thunder, and a mini tsunami from a truck flying to the opposite direction.

  “Nice weather for a drive too. Perfect visibility,” Shinta went on as gray water splashed his windshield.

  Jill almost smirked, but her mouth was pulled into a frown by strong forces of gravity. “Do you have me on GPS?” she called over the rain.

  “That would be a lot be more convenient.” Shinta’s face was peeking out of his window, hair jet-black and plastered on his head in seconds. “I called your phone. Kim picked up.”

  The name stretched inside her mind like a bad dream. Jill stared at her soaked sneakers. “That’s a really good idea. GPS.”

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “I haven’t been invited.”

  “You are cordially invited into the warmth of my mother’s humble car.”

  “Leather squeaks. And stinks when not properly dried.”

  “This is another one of your talents, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “Making things difficult.”

  The soft purring of the engine died, so it was easy to hear the slamming of the door even as the rain drummed against the concrete. Shinta started walking with her, his clothes and shoes drenched from his first step.

  Jill frowned at what she could see of him through sheets of rain. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice walking under fake rain, but never under a real one,” Shinta said, moving closer towards her. His white shirt was turned instantly transparent by the downpour. “Ah, why are you going through with this? It hurts!”

  “I don’t know.” She quickly turned her back on the unexpected glimpse of his hard stomach, the ripple of muscles defining an unmistakable view of a full six-pack.

  How was it possible that he could still distract her when her mind was in pieces? She bit down her lip and plodded on in the rain.

  “You get back in your car, Shinta. You’re making me miss the entire point.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m trying to have an emotional moment alone here.”

  “Fine,” he finally said, stopping in his tracks.

  Jill plodded on, relieved he gave up. If she could lift her soaked legs any faster, the quicker to run away from the temptation of his dry warm car.

  “Ah. It really is nice weather for a walk.”

  Jill swiveled, one foot sinking straight into a puddle. Shinta was a few meters behind, his face upturned and screwed in irritation at the falling rain.

  “You’re still here?” she cried.

  Shinta looked down at her, his face a mask of surprise. “I thought you’ve gone farther. I’m going on my own rain walk. You’re not the only one with emotional issues, you know.”

  Jill could only stare. This was a very weird boy, standing here in this downpour in his soaked white shirt, his car idle, looking at her as if daring her to make him go away.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Let me just take your trail. I’ll be very quiet,” he promised.

  “Your car will get towed. Or stolen.”

  She pivoted again, catching the sight of Shinta’s lips lifting into a full smile as he copied her steps.

  “You know what goes great with rain?” he called.

  “Dry clothes and a really warm towel?”

  “Ice cream.”

  ***

  The ice cream shop attendant crossed her eyebrows at them when they entered the store, trailing in mud, rain, and stones all over her gleaming floor. She had opened her mouth, presumably to shoo them away, but Shinta had smiled at her, bowed low, and murmured his apologies. So instead the shop girl served them sundaes, Shinta’s serving unapologetically heftier than Jill’s.

  They sat opposite each other at a corner booth, the plastic seats squeaking under their soaked clothes, a puddle of dirty water dripping from their hair to the floor.

  “You owe me a movie,” Shinta said as he chewed a spoonful of mint chocolate chip.

  Jill toyed with her spoon. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

  “We can’t tomorrow.” He waved his spoon at her face, trying to catch her eye. “We’re helping my mother with last minute party things.”

  “Right.” Jill nodded slowly. Normal things such as birthday parties were still happening in this dark world where your ex cold-calls you for emotional comfort only to feel you up soon after. His mom has cancer, the thought went on a loop in her head. He kissed me and I ran away.

  She put one hand on her cheek, fiercely brushing away the salt that had mixed with the rainwater.

  Shinta’s eyes were locked on her face as he consumed his ice cream, one full mouthful after another, watching her like a movie he wasn’t quite pleased with.

  “I read up on stars today because you seem to like them so much,” he said, breaking the prolonged silence.

  Jill raised her eyes, swallowed the lump in her throat. “Really? And?”

  “Well, according to astronomy, when you wish upon a star you’re actually a few million years late.” Shinta fixed her a serious look. “That star is dead.”

  Jill sniffed. “Just like my hopes and dreams. Fitting.”

  “Won’t that line make a good song?”

  Jill went back to spooning the puddle in her bowl, her eyes hot. “The story of my life.”

  Shinta reached out his long fingers and switched their bowls, dunked his spoon for a pool of salted caramel ice cream and pushed it into Jill’s m
outh.

  She swallowed, welcoming the sugar rush and the brain freeze. Jill sighed and met his gaze. “Have you ever felt that love is the most stupid thing in the world?”

  He smiled. “All the time.”

  “Why don’t they teach that in school? Emotional Safety 101. How to love without losing your sanity. Instead of people running around claiming they feel it, while not knowing what to do with it, how to handle it, how not to break it, how to keep it whole. It’s a terribly dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”

  “I don’t think enough people know about the proper way to love to facilitate these classes that you speak of,” Shinta said solemnly.

  Jill snorted. “I know I’m not qualified.” She leaned on the table towards him. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Twice,” he said quickly.

  “A childhood friend gets dibs on the first one, right?”

  “I sat next to her through kindergarten. It all started when she lent me her sharpener.”

  “Sounds romantic. Then you grew up into all of this, and—I really wish you’ve put on a dry shirt,” she sighed out through gritted teeth, her train of thought leaving her.

  “If I had a fresh shirt, I’d give it to you.” Shinta fixed her a serious frown. “You’re shivering.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just—” Jill waved a hand at the length of him, soaking in front of her, water dripping from his sable hair, down the length of his neck, down his collarbone. It was impossible not to notice this boy, even as she brooded in this dark mood, even after her ex-boyfriend had broken her heart again. “I don’t believe you, Shinta. You have abs now?”

  Patches of pink lit his cheeks. “You were saying that love is stupid,” he grunted, arms over his broad chest.

  Jill released another breath, averting her gaze so she could concentrate on sulking. “I was saying, you must have left behind your own trail of broken hearts.”

  “I try to not be an asshole.” Shinta kept his arms crossed, mouth in a serious line. “I believe in karma. I guess none of them worked out because I was already in love.”

  “You mean your second love? How come you never told me about this? Who is she?”

  Shinta leaned back on his wet seat, empty bowl forsaken on the table. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear that story.”

  Jill frowned. “Why not?”

  Shinta fished from his pocket and pulled out her phone. It was dry, unlike the pair of them. He had probably left it in the car before he joined her rain walk. He fiddled with the buttons, easily breaking her passcode, and found her music. He played back a rough recording of her last rewrite of All the Way, the song that refused to be fixed.

  Her curiosity about his secret love forgotten, Jill quickly realized that Shinta had gotten her phone back from Kim. She wondered very much what Kim had told him, if Kim had spoken to him at all. Heat flooded her cheeks, even more so when Shinta leaned towards her, drops of rain dripping from his hair to the table.

  “Do you think when you get over Kim, you’ll stop writing songs about him?”

  He was staring at the screen of her phone, his straight nose mere inches away. He rested his forehead against hers, as if suddenly tired. His long finger was rewinding and playing back the song at the exact verse where Jill felt it went wrong.

  Jill lifted her hand and touched his briefly, then slid her phone away from his reach. “That’s the plan.”

  February 10, Saturday, two years ago

  Jill stood on the carpeted lobby of the theater, surrounded by people in varying colors of dresses, cardigans and smart polo shirts. Broadway musical productions apparently made people clean up good. A song as old as time was playing in the background, bouncing off the domed ceiling, putting the patrons in a musical mood as well as driving business to the stall of overpriced programs and keychains.

  Jill, however, was bent on ignoring these sounds so she could hear the voice at the other end of the call. She tucked herself in a small corner at the edge of the lobby, pressing her phone closer to her ear.

  “I’m doing my first sex scene today,” Shinta announced in a cheery voice.

  “Ew.” Jill made a face, wishing she had missed the words after all. “Are you even old enough for that?”

  Shinta’s laugher sounded incredulous. “I’m 21! I’m globally of legal age.”

  “That’s going to be so weird.” Jill cringed. “You’re not going to, you know, actually do it with your co-star, are you?”

  “That’s a different industry altogether, woman.”

  “Oh.” She heaved a small sigh of relief. “Good.”

  Shinta’s laugh was raucous through the receiver. When he stopped, his tone was serious. “You don’t sound too terrible, Jill.”

  She smiled, hoping he heard it too. It’s been five weeks since her world tore apart. It will take more time than that to pick up the tiny billion shattered pieces. But it doesn’t pay to always sit on her bed, her forehead pressed against the wall, waiting for a call that never came. Sometimes, you have to get up and watch a musical.

  “You can’t really hear depression over the phone.”

  “Oh you’re not built for depression. You have too much sarcasm in your veins. That protects you. Plus, Miki’s there.” Shinta paused. “I wish I was there, too.”

  “Me too,” she said honestly.

  “Get off the phone.” Miki had found her, his arms burdened with two giant lemonade tumblers and what looked like seven clubhouse sandwiches stacked together. “We have to go in. Bye, Shinta,” he called to her phone.

  “Okay, bye!” Shinta called back cheerily. “I’m off to put on my first cock sock.”

  “Gross,” Jill said. “Call you later.”

  Jill stuffed her phone in her bag. She relieved Miki of their drinks, eyeing the pile of food that remained in his burden. “Are we going to see Beauty and the Beast or are we stocking up for a zombie apocalypse?”

  “You know it’s the same thing for me,” he said, leading them to the queue to the double doors. The patrons in the lobby were quickly making their way to their respective lines.

  “Thank you,” Jill said, smiling at him.

  Miki smiled back. “I can’t promise I won’t doze off. Or that I won’t exceed the restroom visit quota. And you have to promise there will be no commentary after! Or singing of musical numbers!”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve read the terms and conditions.” Jill rolled her eyes.

  They moved up the line. Jill craned her head to look at the attendants in front, impatient at the speed with which they checked tickets and dress codes. Their line snaked to the left and Jill had a clear view of the open door, and Kim standing just beside it.

  The line moved, but Jill and Miki did not.

  “Excuse me,” said an irritated voice behind them.

  Miki towed Jill forward. Kim had found her face and locked her gaze. He seemed real enough, as do the scruff on his face and the holes on his jeans.

  “Here.” Miki slipped their tickets into a pocket of her bag. “It’s not really an extra ticket, is it?”

  She turned to him, eyes wide in panic. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I get to keep the sandwiches, yes?” Miki smiled, gripping her arm. “The zombie apocalypse is upon us.”

  He pulled her out of the line, a safe distance away from the queue, and waited for Kim to come forward. Jill didn’t hear Miki leave.

  Kim stood in front of her. She looked back at his unreadable gaze, the drinks sweating in her hands. Her heart had frozen somewhere inside her chest. She couldn’t hear it anymore.

  “Miki said he paid you for the ticket, so he had every right to watch this show,” Jill burst out.

  “He did,” Kim said. “I will have to reimburse him.”

  Jill’s surprise heightened at the sound of his voice, deep but scratchy as if from lack of use. He’s really here, she thought stupidly. “You don’t even want to watch this. This was my idea,” she heard herself say.

  “Well, the
cartoon movie version was on repeat on cable the past few days. It had me singing Be My Guest over and over and over. I had to put an end to it. So I’m here.”

  Jill tore her eyes from his gaze, unprepared as something cold gripped her throat, stalling her breathing. Just a few minutes ago he had been gone from her life, zapped away into nothing, with just traces of borrowed CDs and old letters left in his wake.

  Now he stood in front of her, with his wit and humor and his torn jeans. How very dare he? was her next thought.

  The line around them was disappearing quickly through the double doors. She could see lights and colors dancing through the gap. She ached to be inside, away from this boy who broke her heart, safe in her cushioned orchestra seat.

  “Can we talk?” Kim prodded.

  “No.” She turned her gaze back to him. “The musical is starting in five minutes. These were expensive tickets. I put away all my Christmas money for these, you know.”

  “I remember.” A small smile lurked at the edge of his mouth. “Can we talk after?”

  Jill opened her mouth to answer. She thought her answer would have been a stubborn ‘no’, but she was not able to release it. Kim had closed the space between them and kissed her.

  “I missed you,” he said between fast, urgent kisses. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How very dare you?” Jill whispered her thought out loud. She held the iced tumblers against his chest, a cold, wet barrier between them, as her body responded to Kim’s arms circling her waist.

  Kim pulled away, holding her face in his hands. His rough thumbs wiped away the trails of salt water on her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  Jill pushed his hands away and shoved one extra-large drink tumbler towards him. He took it with one hand.

  “I told you, we can’t talk right now,” she said, turning her back to him and rushing to the double doors. They were the only ones left as the lobby lights began to dim.

  “Later then.” Kim followed her to the doors just as they were about to close, grabbing her hand just in time.

  May 10, Sunday, night

  The towering black metal grid gate was ajar by only a few inches, but the front door was wide open, treating passersby with a clear view of the festivities inside. College professors and students mingled freely under the “Happy 50th Birthday” banner stretched across the living room wall, a green tarpaulin bearing giant letters and a standard picture of a cake with candles.