by Alyne Robers
His lips land on my cheek, lingering for a long moment. It's both simple and chaste, but heats my skin anyway. This light contact from Miles is just as meaningful as if he pulled me in for a heated make out session.
"Be right back, babe."
I watch as he climbs up on stage and grabs his guitar. He looks at home up there under the green and blue spotlights. All this time, I thought he was out of place in Florida, but that's because I never saw him at home. Some of the guilt for making him move down here fades away. He could start over with us.
"First show?" Leslie asks as she hooks her arm with mine. We stand front row in the center, like we own the band.
"Since we moved here. I never missed a show back home with the old band."
"Miles is good. Just what they needed. We are all glad he showed up when he did."
Miles strums the first few notes and the voices in the room fade away. It's a new song for me but it feels familiar, and that pride and love I would always feel comes back to me. The band plays their first song, Leslie singing along quietly beside me.
I've never been to this bar. I've never met these people. I've never heard this song before. But it feels like I have stood here a thousand times, watching Miles sing and play his guitar. No matter what, that's my best friend's essence pouring out up there. And that's something I know.
For the next half hour, Leslie and I soak up the music. We have a few drinks and I fall a little in love with her. Miles's voice fills the room and for a while, I forget where I am. I forget that I'm in Florida and why we moved here. The constant worries about my dad and sister dull in my mind. I am just me in this moment. It's perfect.
The guys announce they are taking a break, and Miles jumps down in front of me.
"What did you think?" he asks. His smile is wide but his eyes look nervous.
"It was amazing. The songs were amazing."
He looks proud and beams down at me. There's a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hair is damp, but he looks good. I'm stuck staring up into his eyes as they reflect the red and orange lights that are flashing above us.
"London," he says almost so low I don't hear it.
"Miles."
He steps closer and I can feel the heat coming off his chest. There's only about an inch between us. I can smell the mixture of soap and smoke from the one cigarette he has before every gig. I feel a flutter of nerves when his face lowers to mine. I lick my lips and his gaze snaps to them.
"I'm going to kiss you again."
He doesn't give me an option to respond. His fingers weave into my hair and he pulls me in, taking my lips softly. It's so soft it almost tickles. Among the thousands of thoughts assaulting my mind, I battle between wanting more and wanting less.
He gives me more. Miles wraps his other hand around me and pulls me flush against him. His tongue eases my lips open and slips inside. I can taste the smoke and mint on him. It's so familiar and at the same time, I feel like I'm tasting something I shouldn't be. Like this side of Miles isn't meant for me to have.
I pull back, gasping for air. I feel lightheaded but I'm wrapped in Miles's arms. He won't let me fall.
"Fuck, London," he whispers against my mouth. "Always pulling away."
My eyes water as I ease out of his arms. Miles sighs and stares up at the ceiling, frustration evident all over him.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Quit saying that, London."
"I don't want to lose you as a friend."
"You'll never lose me," he says, pulling me back into his arms desperately.
"I can't . . . ever. What would Brooklyn think?"
His body goes tense and his grip tightens.
"Why does it matter what Brooklyn thinks?"
I swallow and look up into his eyes. He's looking at me like my next words are important. Like the next few moments could change everything.
"I saw you guys that night. By the tree house."
His arms drop and he closes his eyes. I never meant to mention it to either of them. If they wanted me to know, they would have told me. Brooklyn never keeps anything from me. Until that moment that they kissed in the backyard. While the storm rolled in and I shook with fear, they gave into to something that was always there.
I can't pretend it didn't happen. I wasn't hurt or mad. What hurt was the weeks rolling by and no one telling me. Kissing Miles now makes me feel guilty because of lies that are not even mine.
"It didn't mean anything."
I shake my head and put space between us. I need the distance to think and it's too hard with him invading my senses. It's then that I notice the band is on stage, obviously watching us but not wanting to interrupt. Leslie sits on the edge, long legs dangling, watching intently.
"It did mean something. To me. To you guys. I should go," I say.
I don't want to be in the middle of somewhere I don't belong. I turn to leave but he grabs my arm.
"Don't go. I didn't think."
He looks so broken and hurt that a part of me crumbles at the sight. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.
"I love you, Miles. I'm not mad, but I need to leave," I say in his ear.
I feel his shoulders sag but he nods and lets me back away. I try to smile, to convince him that we are fine. Miles is all I have besides my sister. He means the world to me and I don't want anything to ever break us.
"Call me tomorrow," I say before I turn and make my way out the doors.
On the sidewalk, I gasp for air. Pulling out my phone, I get an Uber ride and lean against the building to wait. I'm confused and my heart aches when I think about hurting Miles. Tonight was supposed to be a step back to the way things used to be, but instead we took a step back.
Tonight, I have a date with a bottle of wine I know is waiting for me on the counter. Tomorrow this will all be in the past.
Coming here was supposed to get me away from how things used to be. Maybe it's time I commit to the change and live with it.
TEN
Brooklyn
One thing that sucks about moving out of Dad's house is the lack of alcohol. At home, there was always a variety and plenty on hand. Dad didn't discriminate when it came to drinking. He liked his beers, hard liquors, expensive whiskeys, and cheap wines.
London and I don't have much money to spend on such items, but I did grab a few bottles of wine this week. I busted my ass at the club all week on stage and I think I deserve to be able to enjoy the tips I made. I didn't think to get a cork screw though.
A lesser woman would have gone to the store or even given up. I'm not a quitter. I have a phone and Google, so nothing can stop me. YouTube is very helpful with some ideas. Unfortunately, we don't have a hammer or screwdriver either. I click on another video.
"We've got to have scissors, right?" I ask the empty room.
I start opening every kitchen drawer. Now it isn't even about the wine anymore. It's personal now. I will defeat the cork.
"Score."
I grab the scissors and open them up. Shoving one blade in the cork, I start to twist. I pause briefly to consider the probability of cutting myself. I could bleed out before I could get help. Feeling nervous, I grab my phone and set it next to the bottle for easy access.
The video made it look easier. I twist and pull but I end up only messing up the cork. I grab a steak knife and stick that in too. Using them both, I finally wiggle the damn thing out.
"Fuck yeah!" I shout, throwing my hands up in victory. I only wish London were here to see this moment. Though she probably would have had a simple solution twenty minutes ago.
I take the bottle, deciding I didn't even need a glass. I would need to use a coffee cup anyway and that's not acceptable. In the living room, I plug my phone into the speaker and pick a playlist. Turning it up, I stand on the coffee table and take a healthy gulp of wine.
I never get to dance if I'm not getting paid. You would think I wouldn't even enjoy it, but you would be wrong.
I love dancing. There's some
thing about letting go of everything and moving however I want. When no one is watching, I'm free and moving on instinct instead of memorized and carefully planned moves. I feel alive and young. Every worry melts away and let myself do whatever the hell I want for once.
I'm sweating after few songs, and I pull my long hair up into a messy bun to keep it off my neck. My bottle is almost empty and I frown at it.
"Why do you have to leave me?" I ask it. "I loved you."
I drink the rest and put the empty bottle in the trash. There's another bottle but I promised it for London. It's her favorite.
Grooving and shaking my ass, I end up back in the living room. My music is loud and I am surprised no one has complained yet. What is more surprising is that I hear music over my own blaring dance song. The sounds are clashing and I turn down my phone to listen.
Some asshole is blaring rock over my dance party music. I growl out loud. How dare they? If they are having a party louder than mine, I should be invited! I stomp to the closet room and slip on pair of flip flops. Grabbing my keys, I head down the hall to find the source of the music.
I stop in front of a door a few apartments down and bang on the door. Hard rock is vibrating the walls, and I don't know how no one is complaining about it. I hear some thumping and the sound of a glass breaking before the door swings open abruptly.
Kane stands in the door way, a bottle of Fireball in his hand. His hair is messed up and his eyes are bloodshot.
"You look like hell," I greet him.
"You look like the devil," he says with a flirty smirk.
I roll my eyes and move past him, uninvited. Looking around the empty apartment, I stop in the living room. Grabbing a silver remote, I turn down the music so I don't have to shout and the cops won't come.
"Some party you've got going on here," I say, turning to watch Kane sway as he closes the door.
"I was waiting for the strippers. You're late."
"Well there's only one of me."
"I'm seeing two of you, so it counts."
"Fair enough."
I grab the bottle from his hand and take a drink. It burns down my throat in a perfect mix of fire and cinnamon. I hiss and shake away the burn, handing it back to him.
"Is this a pity party?"
Kane falls into his sofa, leaning back. His eyes rake over me, assessing. I'm in a tank top with yoga pants and flip flops. I have no makeup on and my hair is in a messy pile on top of my head. I look nothing like the stripper he normally sees, but Kane still looks at me the way he does in the club.
He looks disheveled and it's creeping me out. He is always put together, ready for anything and in control.
"Dance for me, Brooklyn."
I shake my head but go to stand between his knees.
"Tonight I'm only dancing for fun."
"Who says I won't make it fun?"
I lean over him and he looks down the front of my shirt as I take the bottle from him again. The burn is less this time and I miss it. I like the pain of fire running down my throat. I can feel it.
"I was already having fun," I tell him, handing it back.
"Then why are you here?"
"Thought I was missing a party."
Kane leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. I'm distracted with the way his muscles are flexing in his arms. A string of stars are tattooed up the inside of his arm.
"Lonely?" he asks, his voice low.
"Nope," I say, shaking my head.
"Bull shit." He rises to his feet, putting us chest to chest. "You look lonely."
I want to step back but the coffee table keeps me pinned in place. I look up into his eyes that are now clear.
"I'm not lonely," I grit out. "I am fine the way I am. I'm not looking for anything. I came looking for fun."
Kane licks his lips and I find myself fascinated with them. They look soft but they are strong and have the ability to turn me into a mindless body just craving contact like it should oxygen. I hate how drawn I am to him, but I love it at the same time.
"Well lucky for you, all I can offer is fun," he whispers, his breath fanning across my face.
"That's fucking perfect."
We slam together. The impact is hard and crushing, just like us. Rough and unyielding. My hands tangle in his hair and I pull him closer to me. Our tongues fight for dominance. Kane grabs my ass and roughly squeezes to the point of pain. I love it, and I bite his lip in return. I wrap one leg around him, needing to be closer. Never close enough.
Kane pulls away, eyes dark, lips red and swollen. A low growl comes from his chest and I'm lifted. He slams me down on the coffee table, coming down on top of me. My legs wrap around him while I frantically try to pull his shirt over his head at the same time. His large hands cup my boobs, kneading and squeezing.
"Off," I pant.
I need to feel his skin on mine. I'm craving it like it's a drug or the air I breathe. It's essential in this moment and nothing else will keep me alive.
He lifts enough to pull off his shirt off. I run my nails down his chest, watching the red marks follow. Between my legs, Kane pushes against me and I feel how hard and big he is. Every nerve in my body comes to life, sucking up the attention from him.
My shirt is pushed up to my neck, almost choking me as he holds it tightly. I arch my back, needing more.
Always needing more.
Enough is never enough.
With one hand holding the shirt like a rope around my neck, the other works at his belt. I cry out when his lips come down and take my hard nipple. Shockwaves rush through my body. I squirm as he nibbles on it lightly. It feels so good it's almost too much, but not enough at the same time.
Kane gives the other the same treatment and I'd be ready to beg if I wasn't short on air. I'm completely helpless below him, being tortured perfectly. I squeeze my thighs together around his hips. I can feel his hard dick rubbing between my legs, my thin pants still separating us.
"Kane. Please," I beg. I hate that I sound so needy but not even my pride can keep me tamed anymore. I am controlled by lust and want now. There is only one goal. One acceptable outcome.
Kane grabs the waistband of my pants while he sucks and bites up my chest to my throat. Every touch is like an electric shock. It affects my whole body, filling me with combustible power. He yanks them down my thighs until they are stopped by his body on mine.
Kane reaches down and rubs himself on me, gliding easily with how wet and ready I am. We moan at the same time with the contact. He's so hard that I don't understand how he is waiting a second longer.
"Now," I growl.
He pulls up and grabs a condom from his pocket. Grabbing the bottle again, he takes a big drink before tipping it over my mouth. I open my lips and he slowly pours it in while opening the condom with his teeth. I swallow and lick the little bit of whiskey that dribbled on my lips.
Kane leans forward, licking my lips before taking them in a hard kiss. I taste the cinnamon from both of our mouths. It only makes my body that much hotter. The heat is growing from the inside. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth just as he thrusts into me.
I cry out from the force and size. He doesn't wait for me to adjust or pause to take in the moment. We don't need to.
Kane pounds into me. I am repeatedly slammed into the hard coffee table as he runs his hands all over my body. I claw at his chest and dig my heels into his back. The mixture of pain and pleasure is pulling me into a beautiful haze. The room fades away. Everything fades away but the touches, the sounds, and the tastes.
He is driving into me like it's the last thing he will ever do. It's rough and hard and everything I expected from Kane. It's everything I need. The fire is everywhere. In my mouth, on my skin. Growing from inside and ready to turn me to ash. I scream louder and beg him not to stop.
A loud cracking breaks though our panting and I hit the floor as the table breaks under us. Kane comes down on top of me, catching himself before he crushes me. Holding himself on his
elbows, he bites my shoulder and fucks me harder.
I come loud and hard. I clamp down on his cock, feeling him swell and pulse inside me at the same time. I'm screaming as it feels like I'm being incinerated. I pull at his hair, trying to ride out the powerful wave. My body shakes and a layer of sweat covers us both.
I finally come down and Kane collapses on top of me, shifting slightly so I can breathe. Our panting fills the room, and I realize the music must have stopped some time ago. We lie on the pile of wood that was once a table. The bottle of Fireball is beside my head, spilled and soaking into the carpet.
We were like a storm, ripping through and tearing everything up in the process. Now, as the clouds recede and the thunder fades into the darkness, the world goes quiet again.
Our breathing evens and our pounding hearts slow.
It was a messed up collision of broken parts, pain, and pleasure. I expected nothing less.
ELEVEN
London
I can feel the heat from the flames on my skin. The screams echo in the house and in my head. I fight the smoke and haze, begging to wake or escape. My lungs burn with the need to breathe. Fire and smoke close in on me.
My head is pounding when I finally force my eyes open. I'm panting and covered in sweat as the relief washes over me, like a bucket of water. My stomach is in knots and I swallow the nausea. Rolling until I fall on the floor, the impact knocks the wind out of me. I welcome the cool feeling of the wood floor.
I came home last night to a quiet apartment. I was glad Brooklyn was in bed or out. I just wanted to wallow in self-pity alone. Grabbing a bottle of wine, I sat on the fire escape, drinking the entire thing alone. I wanted to feel numb and sleep a night without dreaming of fire again.
Forcing myself to sit up, I peel my eyes open. Crawling on the hard floor, I drag myself into the shower and turn on the water. When I finally feel well enough to stand, I wash quickly. There is not nearly enough energy to care about my makeup or hair today.
I want nothing more than to stay in bed all day. I'm sure my sister will, but I can't do that. I have a whole list of places I need to scout today for upcoming photo shoots. The distraction is exactly what I need right now. My hands itch and shake to get my camera. It's my one escape, where I am invisible and chose what my mind sees. I can pick the images that take over my mind.