by Ava O'Shay
“Took off with our new hire.” She settled onto the piano bench. “Again.”
Assad tried not to smile like a cat that was looking to eat a canary, but just the thought of Quill made his stomach turn to goo. “We went for coffee.”
“You mean you had sex.”
Assad shook his head like he was trying to get his thoughts straight. “And how does coffee equate to sex?”
Cori opened her eyes wide and talked to him like he was dense. “Coffee in Quill’s world means sex. Remember he asked me to coffee.”
Assad’s eyebrows drew together. “Well I am thinking he was actually asking you to coffee because we drank coffee. Completely clothed, in public, with all are parts to ourselves.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
Assad ran his hands over his face. “Do you like him? Do you want me to step down, because I will? You saw him first.” He’d die not being able to kiss Quill again, but if this got Cori out of her funk, he’d sacrifice his own wants.
Cori seemed to contemplate the thought for a minute. “No. It isn’t like that. I mean, yeah he’s like sex on a stick, and I have to say it was kind of hot watching him in the hall and all, but I don’t get all twitter-patted when he’s around. More like I want to give him a hard time like a long lost brother.”
“Twitter patted?”
“Yeah. You know all gushy inside. All you can think about. You get all tongue tied and goofy when they’re around. Twitter patted.” She wiggled her fingers in front of her heart.
“Kind of the step before love.”
Jesus Christ he was twitter -patted over Quill. Shit maybe he was completely gay. “Interesting.”
“Are you twitter patted?” she asked carefully.
“I think I might be.” Assad leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. He watched as Cori’s gaze trailed over his body, and she licked her lips. He put his arms down and pulled his T-shirt over his exposed abs.
“That’s nice.” Cori began to play a slow melody on the piano.
“Except he wants to stay in the ‘friend zone.’“ Assad made air quotes when he said friend zone.
Cori snorted. It made Assad laugh when her tiny body let out a snort like a pig.
“Ironic isn’t it?” She continued to move her hands smoothly across the keys. Whenever Cori touched anything musical, beautiful melodies came out. Assad was musical but not in the crazy way Quill and Cori seemed to be.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I like you, you like him, and he likes me.”
“Hmmm. Could make an interesting threesome,” Assad teased. Cori’s hands stopped. “I’m not doing that.”
“I wasn’t asking.” He rested his chin on his hand. “Although now that you brought it up.”
“No.”
“Where’s you sense of adventure. You only live once. Carpe diem and all that shit.” Assad tried to keep a straight face, but the expression on Cori’s face did him in, and he burst out laughing. “I’m not interested in it either. When I’m with someone, I don’t like to share.”
Cori began to play again.
“So you going to try out again? For Julliard. Aren’t the next round of auditions in December?” Assad decided her Julliard scholarship was a safer topic. “I can help you come up with something kick ass. Like that movie where the hip hop guy helped the ballet dancer get in with some retro mix tape of ballet and break dancing.”
Cori stopped her playing again. “How many cups of coffee did you have?”
“Give a guy a break, I was just trying to muster some enthusiasm from your mopey self.” Assad walked around the piano, sitting down and shoving her over with his hip. He cracked his fingers elaborately, then his neck, making a big show of his preparation, then began to play chopsticks.
Cori joined his hands on the keyboard, turning his simple tune into a more elaborate song. When they finished, Assad leaned over and kissed her temple. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to get through this.”
“I know. But I miss her.” Cori’s shoulders hunched.
Assad wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “It won’t make her come back and being with me isn’t going to make it easier. Just going to distract you for a while. I can stop coming around if it’s too hard for you. I don’t want to, but I can’t not be me and me is a guy that likes to touch you and kiss you in a best friends sort of way. I don’t want you taking it wrong. I don’t want you waiting and giving up on your dreams because you think something is going to change.” He squeezed her against his side again. “This isn’t going to change.”
Cori leaned her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want this to change. I understand. But I have to deal with the feelings and it’s hard.”
“You’re deflecting them to me.” Assad let her go and got up. “Is that Dr. McVee talking?”
“Maybe.”
“Please don’t throw your psychology degree in my face. I don’t need to be analyzed.” Cori pushed away from the piano and began moving the instruments littering the room.
“I think you need to talk to someone.”
“I talk to you.” She kept her back to him.
Assad ran his fingers through his hair, leaving his hands on his head as he carefully picked his next words. “You are transferring you feelings for your mom to me because I was there for you. You don’t love me, Cori. Not like you think. I filled the hole your mom left. Let the music fill it. Put your energy into something else.”
Cori turned around and looked like she was ready to argue, but an expression of resolve came over her. “I’m trying. Please don’t stop what you’re doing. Just give me time. It’s only been a few months.”
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, and it kills me when I touch you that you either pull away or want what I can’t give you.” Assad’s heart hurt when he thought of Cori leaving for New York, but he knew she needed a change of pace.
“Please don’t go away. I couldn’t handle losing you, too.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“Come here baby girl.” He held open his arms and took her into his chest. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get you to Julliard.” He just hoped she could.
.thirteen
Quill Diaz
September 23
6:30 p.m.
“Honey, I’m home,” Quill yelled and slammed the door.
Ren hadn’t been downstairs working at the coffee shop, and he knew her classes had ended earlier in the day, so she should have been home. But she wasn’t.
The apartment was extra clean and smelled of furniture polish and bleach. They kept the house spotless normally. After living in squalor most of their life, they both had a need for organization and cleanliness. They didn’t own much, so it wasn’t difficult.
Quill balanced the cello by the door and headed to his room, checking Ren’s briefly to make sure she wasn’t sick or dead or something.
Her room was empty.
He stepped inside and looked around. Her bed was made with a new purple comforter Jolin’s mom had given her. After their last official night living with their mom it had been important for her to get rid of the memories. Almost getting raped by their mom’s boyfriend, bleeding all over the house from what he now knew was self-inflicted cutting, she needed a do-over.
Maybe he did, too.
He’d been seeing a girl from the college when the shit went down. More accurately, he’d been banging a girl from the college so he could stay at her house and not have to deal with the shit at home. He never imagined Ren would be at risk with the new boyfriends. She was tough and would crush anyone’s balls. The men in the past liked them little. He didn’t think they would go after a seventeen year old. Shit, he lost his virginity to one of his mom’s girlfriends at eleven. His first hand job had been at eight so he wasn’t too surprised when his mom encouraged him to have sex three years later. He’d had a steady run of women since then.
Quill walked to the dresser where Ren kept the few photos they
had from when they were little. Next to her display was a picture taken at graduation and another of her and her friends standing around the car Jolin’s parents had bought her. He’d help with that gift. Felt it was the least he could do seeing as in a subtle way they were letting him know they didn’t trust him to be there for her. And he hadn’t. He couldn’t count the times he’d left her to find her own way home due to being drunk or preoccupied by a woman.
A blue piece of construction paper leaned against a photo, Brenda, their landlord and family friend, had taken prom night. Ren and Jolin hadn’t stayed long enough to get an official photo, Ren had been cornered in the bathroom by Jolin’s ex and made a quick exit. That seemed to be their pattern. Ren bailed. Jolin came after her. Quill touched the mane of a plastic white horse balanced against a framed paper with the lyrics to John Legend’s All of Me, their song.
Quill sighed and turned to leave.
Ren was standing in the doorway watching him. “See anything you like?”
Quill looked at his feet, embarrassed to tell her he was wishing for something she so quickly threw away.
“Was seeing if you were home. Then took a walk down memory lane.” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder.
Ren’s identical green eyes saddened.
Quill studied her for a moment. They were twins, but where she was light, he was dark. If they put any thought into their last name, and their olive skin tone, they would have embraced their Hispanic heritage. Their mom’s history of men didn’t leave them with much assurance as to who their father actually was. Their unusual green eyes. The ones he used to pick up women and get them to drop their panties… those they got from their mom. The light in hers had gone out years ago. But theirs’ still sparkled like emeralds. Ren’s eyes were a window into her feelings. He’d often wondered if his were the same.
Quill furrowed his eyebrows. “Holy fucking shit,” Quill blew out. Ren stepped back as if the words had physically hurt her.
“What the fuck did you do…? You look like a fucking preppy. What did you do with my sister?”
The sassy attitude that made her… her, came back. “Shut up. I grew up. Time for a change.”
“No shit.” He laughed and walked toward her. Raising a finger in the air, he twirled it in a circle. “Turn around, Ms. Diaz. Let me check out these new digs.”
Ren narrowed her eyes, but turned around.
Her long rainbow striped hair, which Jolin affectionately referred to as skittle hair was gone. She’d either colored it back to her natural white blond or the six inches or so she cut off took care of the problem. Where her hair had touched her butt before, it now skimmed her chin in a stylish bob. Her heavy make-up and deep red lips were softened and a light pink gloss covered her mouth. She stood before him in a pair of fitted khakis, red flats, a camisole, and a blue and white stripped cardigan.
“Are you wearing a fucking cardigan?”
“Fuck you.” She tried to skirt around Quill, but he caught her and wrapped his arm around her, kissing her temple and squeezing hard.
“You look fucking beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.
She pushed at his chest, her cheeks pink with a blush. “Thank you. Get off me.” “Now tell me why, and does Jolin know?”
“We broke up.”
“No you broke up. He’s waiting for you to get over yourself and call him.” “He told me he didn’t want to keep dealing with my sh… stuff.”
“I’m guessing by stuff he meant your tendency to go bi-polar when things don’t go your way. And are we not swearing anymore now that you decided to dress like a mom?” Quill’s eyes got huge. “Wait. You’re doing this because of the frat thing. This is Jolin’s half way.”
“I did it because my counselor suggested I move on from high school. Let the past be the past. Let my outsides match my insides.”
“You’re a mom in the inside?” Quill said in complete astonishment. “Just shut up and get out.” Ren pushed him toward the door. “Get out.”
Quill thought better of his comment and turned on her. “You want to be like Jolin’s mom,” he said softly.
Ren shook her head, avoiding looking at him. “Is that wrong?”
“No. She’s a great lady, but she isn’t you. You can put the past behind you. All the crap from high school. The bullies. But what happened when we were little. That’s part of you.
Makes you who you are. Don’t be ashamed and bury it. Dressing like a librarian isn’t going to make it disappear. It will come back and bite you in the ass.”
“I want to be better. Someday, I want to be worth something. I want people to look at me and not wonder what’s wrong with me. When I dress like this, I get respect.”
“That’s because you look like the church lady.” Quill held his hand up when she glared. “But in a good way.”
“My counselor said I should project how I want to be treated, and I can do it by how I dress.”
Ren’s words reminded him of his earlier conversation with Assad about labels. It made him sad Ren felt she needed to change to fit in. To feel like she belonged. He had to admit he respected Assad’s fuck you to society. Society was sucking the spark out of his sister.
“I think no matter how you dress. Whether you take out your piercings. People will always be able to see how beautiful you are. I prefer your earlier look, but I’ll take you anyway I can. I get what you’re saying. Don’t agree with it, but if it makes you happy.”
Ren smiled shyly. “A really nice looking guy asked me out at the coffee shop. Polite and everything. Not like ‘hey you want to fuck me or suck me off,’ but could I call you sometime and we could do coffee.”
“You aren’t giving Jolin a chance?”
Ren lowered her gaze. “It’s for the best. He deserves a chance to be a college jock.”
Quill nodded. “Maybe he should be able to make that choice himself.” He took a step backward and left Ren to figure out how to fit her old personality into her new body.
When Mrs. Daniel had taken him to get a haircut, he’d felt the same way. How did a screw up fit into a put together sort of guy’s body. He guessed that was why the baseball hat appeared.
It bothered him Ren was freezing out Jolin. Through their last year together, she’d pulled him in and out of her life, never thinking she was good enough. Jolin deserved her making a decision and ending this constant tug-of-war, Quill just wished she’d made a different one.
If Ren didn’t think Jolin could handle their shit, how could Quill believe there was someone out there for him? Assad had no idea what he was asking. Cori had good cause to turn him down.
Quill grabbed his cello and retreated to his room.
The set up was similar to Ren’s; bed, dresser, but his was much smaller and held no mementos of past happy moments.
He pulled a straight back chair out of the corner, tossing the pile of clothes from the other night onto the floor. Setting the chair in the small open space in front of the bed, he sat down, his back to the door. He carefully unzipped the case.
‘Treat her like a lady’ were Don’s parting words.
“Treat her like you’d treat Cori,” he whispered to himself.
Slowly, like he was undressing a woman, he slid his hands under the sides of the thin canvas, caressing the neck as he released it from its confinement. Quill trailed his fingers down until they touched the body. Moving forward, he rubbed his cheek against the smooth wood of the curled scroll, familiarizing himself with the feel of the pegs. Slowly, he ran his hands down the body, his thumbs caressing the strings until he hit the bridge, closing his eyes to hear the low tone of the instrument speaking to him.
“Come on, baby, show me what you got.”
Using his knees, he pulled the cello back, squeezing lightly to hold her steady while he reached into the case to retrieve the bow. Keeping his eyes closed, he dreamed of seducing a woman, seducing Cori - a woman he’d never let himself have.
He didn’t have the ability to love, to
care for someone gently, to give them the sweet love they deserved. He didn’t look at the women he fucked. He always took them from behind. His cock twitched when he adjusted the instrument closer to his crotch. He needed the control a random fuck gave him, he needed to possess, to show them and himself that he hadn’t been tainted by his past. Which is what led him to fuck hard and fast. Which is why Cori wasn’t an option, she deserved better.
Dreaming of her body nestled between his legs gave him a hard on like nobody’s business. Relived he was finally responding to a woman again, he took the bow and ran it over the strings. A beautiful low timber filled the small room. Ducking his head as if to kiss the neck, he ran his free hand up the strings, finding purchase on the note points, not pressing too hard or too soft, touching each note with a gentleness he wished he could give to Cori, He let his instincts guide him. He ran the bow across again, the vibration between his thighs almost brought him to orgasm as his mind conjured the thought of stroking Cori, or feeling her body shivering between his thighs as he drove her to insanity.
He continued to move the bow back and forth across the strings, letting the cello talk to him, guide him. Quill didn’t know what he was playing. The music flowed as he teased the instrument and tested its ability while keeping it tight within his grasp, but not so tight as to be overpowering. The cello wouldn’t succumb to him like the loose women of the bars. Earlier, he’d made a fiasco of the time spent practicing. The only thing a strong hand had given him was a screeching mess. She needed caressing and encouragement to trust he could be gentle, and when he proved it, she allowed beautiful music to be made.
His ability to create soothing tones moving from the bass line to the melody seamlessly entranced him. The sound he produced resonated like the voice of a trained vocalist taking him far away from the shit of his day. His body swayed with the movement of the bow. The picture of Cori’s tiny body against his dissolved as the music drew to a crescendo, turning to black before the celestial vision of Assad filled the space—his beautiful body laid out on his bed, waiting for Quill to lay beside him. He didn’t even try to suppress the groan that came from deep in his core. The sorrowful, soulful sound pulled him away from the small empty room and toward the mouth he wanted to feel against his again. Quill didn’t fight the flood of emotion that came over him with the deep, resonant sound of the cello pulsing against his crotch.