Collision Course

by Anne-Marie Flemming

  For nearly a month, I moped. Zach came over a few times to hang out, but I had little desire to talk about the tour, and spent a lot of energy evading his questions. I alternately cursed Rhys and wished myself back to his side. I definitely had it pretty bad for him, I was only too aware of that. I didn’t need anyone else laughing about it and telling me to get over myself.

  So bad was the hurt that I made an incredibly stupid decision. I knew Collision In Reverse would be playing in Minneapolis at the beginning of April, and I had a few friends in the area.

  I bought a ticket to go see the band.

  It would only serve to set back my recovery, I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself. I missed Rhys too badly. I wanted too much just to see him again – preferably without him knowing. I did have my pride. I wasn’t about to let him see that I had a hard time getting over him.

  So I took three days off work and packed my bags, and Thursday evening saw me braving the long drive up to Minneapolis. I stayed with Jason, an old platonic friend of mine, who had agreed to let me crash on his couch. Most of Friday saw me frantically trying to stay calm and tell myself that this hadn’t been the stupidest decision in the world, finally making my way to the show feeling sick.

  “Why are you so nervous?” Jason wanted to know, driving me through the thick traffic. “Just a concert.”

  “Right. I know. I’m hoping this hot guy I know will meet me there.” It was a bit of a white lie. I’d been pretty uptight about telling anyone of my time with the band. It wasn’t anyone’s business but mine, really. Zach only knew some of it, and he was pretty much the only one.

  “Hope he makes it,” Jason grunted, and slowed to let me out on the curb near the concert venue. “Traffic’s shit. Just call me when you’re ready to be picked up.”

  He was a good guy that way, reliable and helpful. I thanked him and, on shaky legs, went to see the band I’d gone touring with for nearly three weeks.

  They weren’t even the headliner in this one. I hadn’t cared whose show this one was, buying the ticket and fairly certain I wouldn’t stay around for the main act anyway. It was odd to once more experience the entire affair from a fan’s point of view. I made my way through a crowd full of guys wearing band t-shirts, past the merch table, receiving a wristband without even planning to buy any beer. All I wanted was to see the guys up on stage once more, to hear Rhys’ voice and catch a glimpse of him as he sang his heart out. I knew I’d probably feel like shit at the end of the night, but the instant gratification of seeing him pathetically overruled all of my common sense.

  After what seemed like hours, I got my wish.

  The emotional roller coaster took me far during the show. I could barely take my eyes off Rhys, looking just like I remembered him, in jeans and one of his favorite t-shirts, hair wild, singing with confidence and stage presence. Part of me wanted to run up onto the stage and beg him to take me back. Another part wanted to tackle him to the ground and pound his face into the pavement for being such a colossal asshole. I changed my mind about once every five or ten seconds.

  When I wasn’t watching Rhys, I was paying close attention to Oz and Angus. Penley, behind his drum kit, was difficult to see, but the other two shared a bit of Rhys’ limelight. Both of them had been so good to me, especially during that final night, and I missed hanging out with them. I was hoping to be able to catch them before they went back to whatever hotel they were staying in, but I would have to rely on luck to be able to accomplish it. Knowing the routine gave me no more than a slight advantage.

  It was pretty close to being both the best and the worst hour of my life. Amidst the screaming fans and music so loud I could feel my body vibrating along with the floor beneath me, my heart broke all over again.

  Afterwards, I hurried out of the concert hall like a bat out of hell. It’d be difficult to catch the guys, but my best chance was to find the tour bus, which was generally parked somewhere close to the venue. We had often stopped by the bus to grab something we had forgotten, or to hang out for a bit if the hotel wasn’t within walking distance, and I was hoping that I’d be able to wait for whoever happened to be going that way tonight.

  Hopefully not Rhys. I wouldn’t be able to handle meeting Rhys again.

  The clunky vehicle blended in well with its surroundings, but now that I knew what to look for, I found the bus within a pretty short amount of time. It looked abandoned, no lights on, but there were people talking close by, in the small back alley parking lot that connected to the concert venue itself. I thought I heard Angus’s deep voice. Tentatively, I stepped closer.

  “We haven’t been there in a while.” It was definitely Angus, but I had no clue who he was talking to. “We don’t get to choose any locations, of course, but sometimes I wish I could just walk in there and be like, hey, the fans over here are really missing out, do something about it!”

  A couple of guys, fans, from the look of it, were lighting their cigarettes and nodding. Another man wearing a baseball cap that might have been security was standing nearby, his feet shoulder’s width apart, as though expecting someone to be up to no good.

  When I came closer, one of the fans noticed me.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, and Angus turned.

  “That’s…” he said, broke off his explanation, smiled, and went to high five me.

  I laughed and hurried forward, meeting him.

  “Hey,” I greeted him exuberantly

  “Hey, how’ve you been?” Still with his arm around me, he walked me to meet the other people. “Friend of ours,” was his short but excited explanation to them.

  “I’ve been pretty good, actually.” I tried for a genuine-looking expression. “How about yourself?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. It’s going.” He nodded, as though to say everything was quite alright. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m visiting a friend, actually.” White lie again, as not to sound completely pathetic. “Figured I’d try to say hi.”

  He gave me a thoughtful look.

  “Are you gonna…” He nodded sideways, towards the venue, and I thought I caught his meaning.

  Are you gonna say hi to Rhys, too?

  “Fuck no,” I told him with rather dramatic emphasis. The two other guys snickered, even though they presumably had no idea what this was all about. Angus laughed too, and patted my shoulder.

  “Probably better that way,” he muttered, and nodded as though to say he understood.

  I stayed for a good ten minutes, mostly just listening to everyone else, the way I’d done it when I had first been on the bus. I didn’t mind. I liked being around Angus again. Eventually though, I began to get restless.

  “Is there a bathroom nearby?” I wanted to know, while one of the two fans offered yet another round of cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked since I’d left Rhys, through sheer effort of will, and I had no desire to start again.

  Angus frowned. “Ah, I haven’t got a bus key. There’s a bathroom inside the venue though, if you can find it.” He reached for the laminate he was wearing around his neck, and handed it to me.

  I nodded, appreciating that he trusted me with it. It wasn’t a big deal, really, I’d always had my own while on the road, but still, we’d never been allowed to give these to just anyone.

  “Be right back,” I told him, and went to find the back door that led to the backstage area.

  The walk through the building was nerve-wrecking. I was afraid I’d run into Rhys at any moment, or somebody who might tell him I was here. I did meet a couple of security guys who glared at me, even though I’d perfected the look-like-you-belong-here attitude during my stay with the band. I did find the bathroom, used the time to take a few deep breaths, and walked back out the door just to run straight into Rhys.

  I felt like my stomach had dropped right through the floor. My entire body felt numb. He stared at me with frighteningly bloodshot eyes, and I stared back at him, for just a moment, and then panic kicked in and I turned away and
walked into a random direction as fast as I possibly could. My heart beat a tattoo inside my chest that made it difficult for me to breathe.

  Was he coming after me? No, I had to be imagining that. He didn’t give a damn. Then again, if he was trying to kick me out…

  The footsteps grew more distinctive. There was definitely someone following me. Fuck. I had no idea what to do, what to say. I was already lost in the maze of backstage hallways, and there was no one around for me to ask for the way out.

  “Are you not even gonna talk to me?” Rhys called out.

  I froze, mid-step.

  Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. I couldn’t even think.

  “What would be the point of that?” I eventually asked, my tone cold. I wasn’t about to let him see how I felt.

  “You just left.” He thrust the statement towards me like an accusation. I kind of wanted to punch him just for his tone.

  I still wasn’t facing him. I couldn’t. I probably would have started crying or something equally undignified.

  “Can you really blame me?” I asked. My voice was as sharp as I could make it.

  He made some sort of incredulous noise in his throat. “Well,” he said then, using the same tone. “I just want to talk to you.”

  I turned.

  He looked… like Rhys, for lack of a better description. He looked like everything I remembered, nights spent cuddling, moments spent laughing, him kissing me in the middle of a pool full of dry ice. His eyes were trained on my face. His hands were clenching and unclenching repeatedly as he stood there.

  “Fine,” I said, still distant, still cold, turning any and all feelings I had into anger. Then I looked at him. And for a very long moment, we just looked into each other’s eyes. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to read something in my eyes or face, or whether he just wanted to look at me or stare me down. He did have lovely eyes, even when they were bloodshot. I hated myself for thinking that.

  “I just…” His voice was much softer now, as though his own aggression had left him. Then he closed his eyes, briefly. His lips were pressed together in a thin line. When he opened his eyes again, they were once more back to being steely. “I just want to clear things up,” he said.

  I sighed, then made a noise of amusement. It was just all too bizarre.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He was back to looking at me, trying to read me, or whatever.

  “I didn’t want you to leave.”

  The words just sounded ridiculous in my current state of mind. I was in full-on fighting mode.

  “Then you probably shouldn’t have done what you did,” I informed him coolly.

  “Probably not,” he agreed.

  This was, in fact, much closer to an actual apology than I had ever expected to get from him. It threw me. I didn’t know what to say in response, and so I stared at him somewhat helplessly.

  “Look, we never agreed on… being exclusive.”

  It was a flimsy argument, one that I had no trouble ripping apart.

  “No, we didn’t,” I nodded. “I never agreed to stay around indefinitely either. And Rhys, when you do something like that, not just fucking someone else but…” I broke off, trying to convey the way I had felt to him. “I had to watch you two at that bar, and it hurt,” I told him. “For fuck’s sake, I could hear you two later, too. I didn’t even have a place to sleep. Jesus, you stopped using protection with me, and I let you. But you didn’t give a shit, did you? You never did, and that pretty much lets me know that you don't respect me for shit. Maybe I was naïve to think you would. But I’m not going to stay with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

  “But…” he started.

  I wasn’t finished. I pointed my finger at him and narrowed my eyes.

  “Can you honestly look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you didn’t know I would be hurt as hell?”

  He stared at me, making it his turn to look helpless.

  “Can you?” I demanded mercilessly.

  Hands shoved into his pockets, he turned away, seemingly exasperated. When he had completed a full turn and was facing me again, he had an answer ready.

  “I didn’t know,” he said.

  I wanted to choke him to death with his own guitar strings at this point.

  “Bullshit!” I nearly screamed at him.

  He lowered his eyes, shrugged, and swallowed. I waited in silence for him to acknowledge the fucking obvious fact that he was an uncaring, cold-hearted asshole. But he just stood there. Swallowed again. Shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable.

  “Fuck.” I laughed, loud and bitterly. “You actually figured I was happy being treated like your personal whore. Well, I guess at least now I know how highly you think of me.”

  His head shot up at that, and he looked at me, eyes wide.

  “You think I've been treating you like a... like a whore?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Have you been living in some parallel universe where using someone for sex, paying them and treating them like garbage means something else?”

  “I didn't...” He continued to stare. I could see his mind working behind his eyes. “No, that's not what...” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “I did not give you money for sex.”

  “Worked out to pretty much the same,” I pointed out. “Fuck, Rhys, it's already over. The least you can do is own up to it.”

  “I used protection with her,” That topic jump just about gave me whiplash.

  “Great. You want a parade?” I hadn't known before this moment just how vicious I could be. I had no idea where all the anger had suddenly come from, but I was unleashing it like a pro.

  “No. Fuck, Blue. Fuck.” His face continued to reflect his emotions, fearful to angry to confused. I watched it for a while before the realization hit me.

  “Shit,” I said softly. “You seriously didn't know.”

  Mutely, he shook his head.

  “What the hell kind of fucked up world do you live in where treating people like that is normal?” I demanded to know, fighting the shock that was trying to grab a hold of me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He laughed at that. “What isn't?”

  “You tell me,” I challenged him.

  “Blue,” he started, hesitating as he looked at me, biting his lip. “I know I'm selfish. I know that. Hell, I'm a complete asshole ninety-five percent of the time, and I know that and I still can't seem to help it. Maybe there's something actually wrong in my head. I don't get people, and fucking up is pretty much a habit of mine, and I'm sorry, Blue. I'm so sorry.”

  The few, simple words stripped away the entire wall of defensive aggression I had built around myself. I felt it all slip away as I stared at him, utterly unable to even respond. I hadn’t expected this at all. I hadn’t expected him to even be able to admit to fucking up. I hadn’t expected to hear I’m sorry.

  I’m pretty sure he could see I was suddenly close to tears. We were both silent, and I was tempted to turn away before I really did start crying.

  “I want you to come back,” he said then. “Please come back.”

  I couldn’t help it any more. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turned away. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Fuck.

  “As what?” I asked then. It was the first question that sprung to mind about this utterly ridiculous request. “A glorified whore, officially this time?”

  He was silent for a moment, probably digesting this.

  “Come along as my boyfriend,” he said then.

  I refused to believe he’d just said that. I wasn’t sad or angry any more, I was just utterly mystified.

  “What?” I asked, voice heavy with disbelief.

  “I miss you.” It seemed to be the only other thing he was willing to acknowledge. I turned at this point, because I simply had to look at him to determine whether he was actually serious, and when I did, it hit me again, that I loved him, that I’d missed him. My eyes started burning again. Fuck, I was such a girl.

  “Give me o
ne chance to fix this, Blue,” he asked. “Just one. Please.”

  Shit. This was exactly where I hadn't wanted to end up – under his spell again, tempted to throw good sense out the window for a chance to be his doormat.

  “Hey,” he said, more gently than I’d ever heard him say anything, and he stepped forward and took me into his arms. I clung to him and let him hold me.

  To say that this wasn’t the way I had expected the conversation to go was a bit of an understatement.

  Eventually, I managed to get it together a little. I looked up at him, and he promptly kissed me. I kissed him back. It had been too long.

  It was a good kiss, not because of any technique or anything, but simply because of the situation, because of the emotions involved. I lifted my hands, buried them in his hair like I’d been wanting to do for a month. He pressed me to him so hard I barely had room to breathe. Eventually, we came apart and I drew a deep breath.

  “God, you asshole,” I said, “You complete asshole.”

  There was no venom in the words now. How had he gotten me from wanting to murder him painfully to kissing him? I hadn’t a clue.

  He kept holding me tightly against him, and kissed my forehead. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

  I looked up at him, finally starting to think again.

  I can’t,” I said. “Rhys, I’ve got bills to pay and I need an income for that, and I know that’s not what you want to hear, and it isn’t what I want to be telling you either, but…”

  “So just let me pay them,” he said, then winced. “I didn't mean... I'm not trying to pay you again, honestly. It's just that I want you to come with me. I don’t really care what it takes.”

  I was fresh out of arguments.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked again.

  I lowered my eyes, stared at the floor, leaned my forehead against his chest, and told myself what a complete sucker I was. Then, I nodded.

  “One chance,” I clarified, and he nodded seriously. Then he tilted my face upwards with one hand and kissed me again.

  My head spun. I felt numb all over, but a pleasant sort of numb. I didn’t want him to ever let me go again. I’d missed his smell and his touch and the sound of his voice, and now that I could experience it all again, the entirety of my mind was tingling and floaty.