Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles)

by Derrick, Zoey

  “So are you more angry over the fact that he wants to see you or the fact that he’s still alive?”

  He snorts. “Pick one. I think they’re both taking up the number one spot. Why is my seeing him so important to you?” The elephant I feel in my gut gets addressed.

  “I guess, I’m afraid at some point you’ll regret it, and that I’ll be the one you blame and-”

  He turns toward me, leaning his shoulder into my car. “Stop, right there. I would never blame that on you. You’re not forcing me to stay here, I’m forcing myself to stay here, though force is a pretty strong word. I have nothing to say to him, there is nothing he can do, or say to me that will make up for my life being the clusterfuck that it is. I can’t honestly imagine any valid reason he’d want to see me, unless he’s feeling guilty, finally, and for that he needs to suffer.” He takes one last drag and throws it down, stomping it out. “In fact,” he says with a heavy, cleansing sigh, “That is my salvation in all of this, knowing that he felt guilty enough to ask for me and knowing that I won’t be there, means that he will suffer, never getting to say goodbye before he dies.”

  He pushes away from my car, standing a little straighter and a little more confidently than he was when he got here. “The only thing that would make it any sweeter would be forcing him to watch me kiss you before he goes.” He smirks. “That would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’.”

  I can’t help but shake my head and return his little smirk. “Well, whenever you’re ready to stuff it to him, I’ll be there,” I tell him as I stomp out my own cigarette and he takes my hand. “Do something for me?” I ask him.

  “What?”

  “When the tour is over, if you haven’t heard anything more from Iowa, will you consider returning?”

  He drops my hand. “Why would I do that? I mean it, Eric, it means nothing to me.”

  “Just hear me out. One of two things can happen. One, you tell me again that you won’t go, at least then you’ll have had some time to process the information you have now.” He goes to speak and I stop him with my finger on his lips. “Or, you will want to go back just to stuff it in his face that his treatments didn’t work. Let him know that no matter what, you won, not him, not the doctors, not anyone in town. You, Calvin, you won, not him. Prove that to him.”

  He smiles a little at what I’ve said. “And what if he’s gone before the tour is over?”

  “Then we go back together and you can kiss me at his grave.”

  “You’re an evil son of bitch, you know that?” he says with a laugh.

  I laugh too. “I’m aware, but either way it serves a purpose.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me and asks, “And that is what exactly?”

  I smile. “Closure. One way or another.”

  He nods his understanding and maybe a little bit of approval too.

  “Good, now, let’s go inside.” I usher him toward my building and he takes the lead, but not before taking my hand back into his.

  “WHAT are you doing?” I ask Eric as he grabs a couple pillows off his bed.

  “I thought you’d want to sleep in the guest room?” His voice is gentle and unsure.

  I shake my head. “No, I’d like to sleep in here, with you.”

  His face lights up and he sets the pillows back on the bed. “I’d hoped that would be the case.” He pauses, pretending to straighten the sheets. “After all that has happened today, I didn’t want to push you.”

  “Well, you’re not. But I do have one condition.”

  His eyes meet mine. “Anything?”

  “With clothes, please?” He nods his approval of my request. “I just… I don’t know how I would react to that, at least not while I’m asleep and I don’t want a repeat performance from this afternoon either.”

  “I understand.” He puts his arm out, an invitation. “Come here.”

  I smile and walk around the end of the bed and settle in against him. He slowly wraps his arms around me and I wrap my arms around him. He kisses the top of my head and the growing familiar tingle ignites within me and I want so badly to try again, but I’m scared to death of what will happen if we do. It’s with that thought that I resolve myself to behave. I truly don’t want to put myself back in that position twice in one day. I don’t know if I can handle it. Between what happened between us earlier and that fucking phone call, I’m a fucking wreck.

  “Did you bring any clothes up from your car?”

  I laugh nervously. “Uhh, no. I can run down and grab some.”

  He kisses the top of my head again. “No need. Wear what you had on earlier.”

  I nod and hug him a little tighter, he does the same and I release him, grabbing the sweats off of the bed from earlier, leaving the t-shirt. I catch his playful smirk when he realizes I’m leaving it there. “I’m just gonna-” I gesture toward the bathroom door and he nods his understanding. I don’t know why I feel shy about changing in front of him, maybe it’s just habit, or maybe I’m worried that I’m going to start something, indirectly, that I can’t finish.

  Tomorrow will be a long day, flying to Denver from here isn’t that big of a deal, but we have a show tomorrow night, one we added at the beginning of the tour. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Then we’re hotel bound after what will likely be a night in the bar. I shudder at the idea of being in the bar, being around the guys, and…I swallow as the burn of acid trickles up my throat. Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to tell the guys yet, let alone be next to Eric in that fashion, fuck.

  How the hell am I supposed to bring that up to him? I mean, I sort of did tonight, before we went to dinner, but this is different, this is the guys.

  I sigh as I pull up the sweatpants from earlier and run a hand through my hair before taking a deep breath and walking out of the bathroom.

  I can’t help but smile when I come out. Eric is lying on the bed, covers pulled down and he’s wearing his sweatpants, sans shirt. My heart flutters at seeing him shirtless. I have to be honest and tell myself that I’ve always found Eric, shirtless or not, attractive, though I’d never been able to dwell on it until now. Usually it was always a fleeting thought.

  I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the door jamb, watching him fiddle on his phone. I smile at some of his facial expressions. Wondering what he’s looking at that would cause a scowl, then a smirk, and then finally a blush. I raise an eyebrow as something I’m unfamiliar with rolls through me while I watch him. “What you looking at?” I ask without moving. An overwhelming need to know allows the words to spill before I can stop myself.

  He smiles wider and looks at me. “Our text messages.”

  I scowl at him. “Our texts? From when?”

  His smile doesn’t fade away even an ounce. “Oh, over the last week,” he says in a taunting voice.

  “So why the scowl before the smirk and blush?” I chide.

  He laughs. “I’m not the most eloquent with words sometimes.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, on the contrary, I find your words very eloquent and very true to who you are and I like that.” I push away from the door and walk around the foot of the bed.

  “I guess hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I thought it sounded good in my head, but I know what I was feeling when I wrote some of these and now, reading them, they don’t exactly sound, umm, good?”

  “You know? I think that one thing we have going for us is that we’ve been around each other long enough to know what the other is trying to say or even how they’re saying it. I know when I read your texts that I always felt like you were talking to me, like I could picture your face, or hear your voice. My favorite image was when the chat bubble would hang out forever, I could see you staring at your phone,” I chuckle, “With your tongue pressed between your teeth, reaching for your nose.”

  “Oh my god,” he says before he goes beet red, setting his phone down and covering his face. He is thoroughly embarrassed.

  “I kind of like it when you’re embarrassed,” I tease
him as I climb up on to the bed. I crawl over to him on my knees and sit back before pulling his arms away from his face. Okay fine, I try and pull his arms away. I start to laugh.

  “I never knew you noticed that.” His voice is lighthearted and muffled by his hands over his mouth.

  I laugh and place a hand on his stomach. He flinches but settles quickly, my touch taking him by surprise. He can’t see me, so I shouldn’t expect anything else. “I always knew when you were concentrating on something, whether it was guitar or even school work back in the day. Your tongue would get mashed between your lips and,” I chuckle again, “It’s pretty fucking cute. You were doing it in the car tonight too.”

  “Gah,” he groans, but he moves his hands, placing one over mine on his stomach. I intertwine our fingers but he’s yet to make eye contact with me.

  “I’m surprised you even know you do it. Something like that is a nervous habit most people don’t know they have.”

  He snorts a laugh. “Oh I know, one, my mother used to always try and grab it between her fingers. Funny thing about that though, she does it too. But ultimately, I catch myself doing it and that’s usually when I pull it back in my mouth.”

  I laugh and lay myself down next to him. He opens his arm for me to snuggle in and I do, sliding my hand across his stomach, holding him to me. He does the same with his arm, wrapping it around me. “I think it’s cute,” I tell him softly and he leans up, kissing the top of my head again.

  “Well, then maybe I won’t pull it back in anymore.” His tone is light, friendly, the embarrassment seems to be gone.

  “I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” I tell him as I start to trace my fingers over some of his tattoos along his side, over on to his stomach. He flinches, and I watch as his stomach muscles jump and I can feel him shaking.

  “Ahh, that tickles.”

  I smile wide and settle my hand. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, for either. I guess I just didn’t realize that anyone had noticed my little quirk.”

  “I guess it just means I’ve been paying attention,” I tell him and it’s true. “Though I couldn’t dwell on it, I noticed it, a lot. Though nowhere near as much as you’d done it in college. It still comes out once in a while. Like when you put your bass down and pick up your guitar.”

  He laughs. “That’s because I don’t play it very much. I actually have to think more about what I’m doing in order to play.” He laughs again. “I also do it a lot while playing video games.”

  “Yes, yes you do,” I tease him, tickling him lightly and he squirms under me, but I stop.

  Before long, we’re both yawning and Eric reaches over, extinguishing the light, plunging us into darkness. I squeeze him a little harder, holding him to me before I lift up and find his lips, planting a warm, soft kiss against his lips and he returns it, equally as warm and gentle. “Good night,” I tell him softly before settling back into my special place against his chest. Realizing only now just how much we mesh together like this. Molded together like we’ve always been meant to be.

  The idea of that sends my heart racing, for the first time, in a very good way.

  “UMPHH!” I start awake after something pounds on my chest.

  “Get off me.” There is a grunt followed by a strangled cry.

  “What the fuck?” I shoot up, flipping on the light next to my bed.

  “Get off of me.” The voice becomes more strained, more desperate. I look over and see Cal tossing his head back and forth, his eyes are screwed shut. “No!” he cries out in his sleep.

  “Shit.”

  I round the bed as quickly as I can, reaching his side as he continues to toss his head back and forth, he starts to thrash, his legs kicking. “Fuck. Calvin.” I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want to freak him out. “Calvin. Come on, Calvin, you’re dreaming, wake up.”

  God, I feel so fucking stupid, but he’s obviously lost in the throes of this dream. He’s moaning and if it weren’t for the fact that there are no tears streaking down his face, I’d swear he was crying. “Calvin,” I say again, more clipped, sharper. He jolts to a stop. “Cal, come on, wake up.” He’s finally still. His breathing is hard, heavy, like he’s just run a marathon.

  Unsure of what else to do, I reach down and tap his shoulder. He doesn’t respond, no movement, no nothing. In all the time I’ve shared a room with him, he’s never woken me up from a dream, much less a nightmare. I grab his shoulder, a little harder this time. “Calvin, come on, man, wake up,” I say and his eyes open lazily.

  “Hey.” His voice is soft and I deflate completely, kneeling next to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  Jesus, he doesn’t remember. “You were having a nightmare.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Calvin, you were thrashing all over the place, you hit me in the chest.”

  He scoots back away from me, fear in his eyes. “I didn’t.”

  “You did, but I’m glad you did. It woke me up.”

  ‘Jesus Eric, I’m so sorry, I…shit, I didn’t know I…I thought they were all in my head,” he says as he sits up.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m just, I’ve spent so much time sharing a room with you and I’ve never seen or heard you like that before.” I look at him, and I know the concern for him that I’m feeling is etched on my face. “What were you dreaming about?”

  “They started up again after I told you.” He scrubs at his face. “I’ve never told anyone before, and I haven’t really dealt with the deep down emotions of all this shit in a really long time, couple that with the phone call, I think I’m just overwhelmed.” He sighs. “I was dreaming about him, the asshole in the institution.”

  “Oh fuck,” I breathe. Suddenly I feel very guilty because I can’t help wondering if what we did earlier today played a part in pulling up that dream for him. “Cal, I’m sorry,”

  His hand comes to my cheek, cupping it. “For what? You didn’t do that, you didn’t drudge him back up.”

  “No, but…what happened earlier.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think that had anything to do with it,” he tells me.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nods his head. “I have regular dreams about that place. I guess I just never knew I got so violent.”

  “And vocal,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t say anything, but I can see the concern and sadness in his eyes. I just give him a small smile and we sit there like that for a few more minutes.

  “What time is it?” he asks and I look past him to my clock.

  “Just after six.”

  “What time do we need to leave for the airport?” His voice is softer, calmer now.

  “Around eight-thirty or so,” I tell him.

  “Well, I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep. Why don’t we get moving and get the car packed up and grab a bite to eat on our way.” His suggestion fills me with warmth and I smile widely at him. I don’t want to press him any further about the dream. I know that he’s told me enough about the institution and what happened to him there that I don’t want him to dredge it back up.

  “Sounds good to me,” I tell him, thinking he’s probably right and that we should just get moving.

  We got moving alright. We got showered and dressed, separately, against my wishes at least. Though I never expressed those wishes to him. It just seems like every time I want to make a move, advance things between us, something stands in the way. If it wasn’t his dream, it would definitely be the time issues. But we’re both dressed and his car packed up with both of our stuff and we’re moving by seven-thirty. Headed toward Burbank and the private plane that will take us to Denver.

  Once we’ve sat down in a little family owned diner about ten minutes from the airport, I look at Calvin, a serious look on my face and he recoils slightly. I laugh.

  “Dude, don’t do that,” he scolds before laughing.

  “I’m sorry, though I do have a serious question to ask you.”

  He s
hrugs. “Go for it.”

  “Now that we’re here, in one car, all of our stuff together…what exactly are we telling the guys?”

  He doesn’t answer. In fact, he dodges me completely and looks at the menu. What the fuck? I roll my eyes, trying not to get irritated at his complete lack of conversation on something that I need to know how he feels about. I sigh and let it go for the moment, picking up my menu, though my appetite isn’t what it was when we came in.

  The waitress comes, takes our drink orders and then leaves.

  “Cal?”

  “Yeah?” he says in a way that is almost dismissive.

  “Did you hear me earlier?”

  “Yeah, I heard you, I just don’t know if you’re going to like my answer.”

  I want to roll my eyes. “If you don’t want to tell them about us, I’m okay with that, but you know as well as I do that they’re going to figure it out eventually. They’re not stupid.”

  He sighs like he is preparing for war, but he gets a reprieve when the waitress shows up with our drinks and takes out orders.

  When she’s gone I look at him, hoping he’s finally going to stop dodging me. He does, briefly, while taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m not ready to tell them anything yet.”

  “Okay. Can you explain to me why you feel you’re not?”

  He picks at his placemat. He’s thinking and I can tell because that’s the only time he fidgets with anything, much like my tongue thing. I wait patiently for him to answer me. After a few heartbeats he finally does. “I’m not ready to explain my past to them.”

  I cock my head. “What does your past have to do with telling them we’re together?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “I’m not sure I can do this publicly. You saw me last night, when we went out. If we tell them that we’re working on something between the two of us, but yet they don’t see us together or see us acting like we’re together, they are going to wonder why and in order to explain that to them, I have to explain my past and I’m not ready to do that yet.” His voice is nearly a whisper before he gets to the end of his declaration.