Faithless Dreams

by C. R. Jane

  And while some of the songs were wistful and pained, others were angry. Pissed-off. Occasionally enraged. It was uncomfortable. Actually, it was excruciating. At least for the first couple of months. I stopped listening to music eventually, something that had meant the world to me my entire life. I just couldn’t handle the reminder of them anymore. My heart couldn’t take it.

  But every so often, a car would go by with its window down, or I’d walk past a motel room playing the radio, and I’d hear one of their voices and it would be an unexpected jolt of pain all over again.

  After the release of their album, the band embarked on a short European tour, then followed it up with a much larger American tour. They started selling out stadiums. They appeared on every late-night show there was. Everyone wanted a piece of them. They were like this generation’s Beatles, probably even bigger. The next two albums certainly were bigger, although those were easier for me to listen to since the songs about me faded as time went on. They were the most celebrated band in the world and there was no sign of their success slowing down anytime soon. It was everything they had ever dreamed about and that I had dreamed about with them.

  They lived up to the bad boy image their label wanted to sell. Rumors of drug use and rampant women kept the gossip sites busy. I tried to ignore the magazines in the store racks by the checkout stand, but some of the pictures of the guys stumbling out of clubs with five girls each were a little too damning to be completely unfounded. And of course, there were the rumors that Tanner had secretly been in and out of rehab for the last two years in between tours. Tanner had always struggled with addiction but had only dabbled in hard drugs when I knew him. It wasn’t hard for me to picture him struggling with them now that he probably had easy access to whatever he wanted from people desperate to please them all.

  I often wondered if any part of the boys I knew were still around after I let myself give into my own addiction of catching up on any Sounds of Us news I could find. And then I would hear about them buying a house for someone who had lost everything in a natural disaster or hear of them participating in a charity drive to keep a no-kill shelter up and running, and I would know that a part of them was still there.

  I’ve never made peace with letting them go. I never will.

  Chapter 1

  Now

  I hear the song come on from the living room. I had forgotten I had read that they were performing for New Year’s Eve tonight in New York City before they embarked on their North American tour for the rest of the year. I wanted to avoid the room the music was coming from, but not even my hate for its current occupant could keep my feet from wandering to where the song was playing.

  As I took that first step into the living room, and I saw Tanner’s face up close, my heart clenched. As usual, he was singing to the audience like he was making love to them. When the camera panned to the audience, girls were literally fainting in the first few rows if he so much as ran his eyes in their direction. He swept a lock of his black hair out of his face, and the girls screamed even louder. Tanner had always had the bad boy look down perfectly. Piercing silver eyes that demanded sex, and full pouty lips you couldn’t help but fantasize over, he was every mother’s worst nightmare and every girl’s naughty dream. I devoured his image like I was a crack addict desperate for one more hit. Usually I avoided them like the plague, but junkies always gave in eventually. I was not the exception.

  “See something you like?” comes a cold, amused voice that never ceases to fill me with dread. I curse my weakness at allowing myself to even come in the room. I know better than this.

  “Just coming to see if you need a refill of your beer,” I tell him nonchalantly, praying that he’ll believe me, but knowing he won’t.

  My husband is sitting in his favorite armchair. He’s a good-looking man according to the world’s standards. Even I have to admit that despite the fact that the ugliness that lies inside his heart has long prevented me from finding him appealing in any way. His blonde hair is parted to the side perfectly, not a hair out of place. Sometimes I get the urge to mess it up, just so there can be an outward expression of the chaos that hides beneath his skin.

  After I let the guys go, there was nothing left for me in the world. Instead of rising above my circumstances and becoming someone they would have been proud of, I became nothing. Gentry made perfectly clear that anything I was now was because of him.

  Echoes of my lost heart beat inside my mind as another song starts to play on the television. It’s the song that I know they wrote for me. It’s angry and filled with betrayal, the kind of pain you don’t come back from. The kind of pain you don’t forgive.

  Too late I realize that Gentry just asked me something and that my silence will tell him that I’m not paying attention to him. The sharp strike of his palm against my face sends me flying to the ground. I press my hand to my cheek as if I can stop the pain that is coursing through me. I already know this one will bruise. I’ll have to wear an extra layer of makeup to cover it up when Gentry forces me to meet him at the country club tomorrow. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone at the club to know that our lives are anything less than perfect.

  The song is still going and somehow the pain I hear in Tanner’s voice hurts me more than the pain blossoming across my cheek. Would it not hurt them as much if they knew everything I had told them to sever our connection permanently was a lie? Would they even care at this point that I had done it to set them free, to stop them from being dragged down into the hell I never seemed to be able to escape from? At night, when I lay in bed, listening to the sound of Gentry sleeping peacefully as if the world was perfect and monsters didn’t exist, I told myself that it would matter.

  “Get up,” snaps Gentry, yanking me up from the floor. I’m really off my game tonight by lingering. Nothing makes Gentry madder than when I “wallow” as he calls it. As I stumble out of the room, my head spinning a bit from the force of the hit, a sick part of me thinks it was worth it, just so I could hear the end of their song.

  Later that night, long after I should have fallen asleep, my mind plays back what little of the performance I saw earlier. I wonder if Jensen still gets severe stage fright before he performs. I wonder if Jesse still keeps his lucky guitar pick in his pocket during performances. I wonder who Tanner gets his good luck kiss from now.

  It all hurts too much to contemplate for too long so I grab the Ambien I keep on my bedside table for when I can’t sleep, which is often, and I drift off into a dreamland filled with a silver eyed boy who speaks straight to my soul.

  The next morning comes too early and I struggle to wake up when Gentry’s alarm goes off. Ambien always leaves me groggy and I haven’t decided what’s better, being exhausted from not sleeping, or taking half the day to wake up all the way.

  Throwing a robe on, I blurrily walk to the kitchen to get Gentry’s protein shake ready for him to take with him to the gym.

  I’m standing in front of the blender when Gentry comes up behind me and puts his arms around me, as if the night before never happened. I’m very still, not wanting to make any sudden movement just in case he takes it the wrong way.

  “Meet me at the club for lunch,” he asks, running his nose up the side of my neck and eliciting shivers...the wrong kind of shivers. He’s using his charming voice, the one that always gets everyone to do what he wants. It stopped working on me a long time ago.

  “Of course,” I tell him, turning in his arms and giving him a wide, fake smile. What else would my answer be when I know the consequences of going against Gentry’s wishes?

  “Good,” he says with satisfaction, placing a quick, sharp kiss on my lips before stepping away.

  I pour the blended protein shake into a cup and hand it to him. “11:45?” I ask. He nods and waves goodbye as he walks out of the house to head to the country club gym where he’ll spend the next several hours working out with his friends, flirting with the girls that work out there, and overall acting like the overwhelmin
g douche that he is.

  I don’t relax until the sound of the car fades into the distance. After eating a protein shake myself (Gentry doesn’t approve of me eating carbs), I start my chores for the day before I have to get ready to meet him at the country club.

  My hands are red and raw from washing the dishes twice. Everything was always twice. Twice bought me time and ensured there wouldn’t be anything left behind. An errant fleck of food, a spot that hadn’t been rinsed – these were things he’d notice.

  Hours later, I’ve vacuumed, swept, done the laundry, and cleaned all the bathrooms. Gentry could easily afford a maid, but he likes me to “keep busy” as he puts it, so I do everything in this house of horrors. I repeat the same things every day even though the house is in perfect condition. I would clean every second if it meant that he was out of the house permanently though.

  I straighten the pearls around my neck and think for the thousandth time that if I ever escape this hell hole, I’m going to burn every pearl I come across. I’m dressed in a fitted pastel pink dress that comes complete with a belt ordained with daisies. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in such an outfit but far be it for me to wear jeans to a country club. I slip into a pair of matching pastel wedges and then run out to the car. I’m running late and I can only hope that he’s distracted and doesn’t realize the time.

  As I drive, I can’t help but daydream. Dream about what it would have been like if I had joined the guys in L.A. Bellmont is a sleepy town that’s been the same for generations. I haven’t been anywhere outside of the town since I got married except to Myrtle Beach for my honeymoon.

  The town is steeped in history, a history that it’s very proud of. The main street is still perfectly maintained from the early 1900s, and I’ve always loved the whitewashed look of the buildings and the wooden shingles on every roof. The town attracts a vast array of tourists who come here to be close to the beach. They can get a taste of the coastal southern flavor of places like Charleston and Charlotte, but they don’t have to pay as high of a price tag.

  It’s a beautiful prison to me, and if I ever manage to escape from it, I never want to see it again.

  I turn down a street and start down the long drive that leads to Bellmont’s most exclusive country club. The entire length of the road is sheltered by large oak trees and it never ceases to make me feel like an extra in Gone With the Wind whenever I come here. The feeling is only reinforced when I pull up to the large, freshly painted white plantation house that’s been converted into the club.

  My blood pressure spikes as I near the valet stand. Just knowing that I’m about to see Gentry and all of his friends is enough to send my pulse racing. I smile nervously at the teenage boy who is manning the stand and hand him my keys. He gives me a big smile and a wink. It reminds me of something that Jesse used to do to older women to make them swoon, and my heart clenches. Is there ever going to be a day when something doesn’t remind me of one of them?

  I ignore the valet boy’s smile and walk inside, heading to the bar where I can usually find Gentry around lunch time. I pause as I walk inside the lounge. Wendy Perkinson is leaning against Gentry, pressing her breasts against him, much too close for propriety’s sake. I know I should probably care at least a little bit, but the idea of Gentry turning his attentions away from me and on to Wendy permanently is more than I can even wish for. I’m sure he’s fucked her, the way she’s practically salivating over him as he talks to his friend blares it loudly, but unfortunately that’s all she will ever get from him. Gentry’s obsession with me has thus far proved to be a lasting thing. But since I finally started refusing to sleep with him after the beatings became a regular thing, he goes elsewhere for his so-called needs when he doesn’t feel like trying to force me. At least a few times a week I’m assaulted by the stench of another woman’s perfume on my husband’s clothes. It’s become just another unspoken thing in my marriage.

  Martin, Gentry’s best friend, is the first to see me and his eyes widen when he does. He coughs nervously, the poor thing thinking I actually care about the situation I’ve walked into. Gentry looks at him and then looks at the entrance where he sees me standing there. His eyes don’t widen in anything remotely resembling remorse or shame...we’re too far past that at this point. He does extricate himself from Wendy’s grip however to start walking towards me, his gaze devouring me as he does so. One thing I’ve never doubted in my relationship with Gentry is how beautiful he thinks I am.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he tells me, kissing me on the cheek and putting a little too much pressure on my arm as he guides me to the bar. Wendy has moved farther down the bar, setting her sights on another married member of the club. It’s funny to me that in high school I had wanted to stab her viciously when she set her sights on Jesse, but when she actually sleeps with my husband I could care less.

  “My parents are waiting in the dining hall. You’re ten minutes late,” says Gentry, again squeezing my arm to emphasize his displeasure with me. I sigh, pasting the fake smile on my face that I know he expects. “There was traffic,” I say simply, and I let him lead me to the dining hall where the second worst thing about Gentry is waiting for us.

  Gentry’s mother, Lucinda, considers herself southern royalty. Her parents owned the largest plantation in South Carolina and spoiled their only daughter with everything that her heart desired. This of course made her perhaps the most self-obsessed woman I had ever met, and that was putting it lightly. Gentry’s father, Conrad, stands as we approach, dressed up in the suit and tie that he wears everywhere regardless of the occasion. Like his son, Gentry’s father was a handsome man. Although his hair was slightly greying at the temples, his face remained impressively unlined, perhaps due to the same miracle worker that made his wife look forever thirty-five.

  “Darling, you look wonderful as always,” he tells me, brushing a kiss against my cheek and making we want to douse myself in boiling water. Conrad had no qualms about propositioning his son’s wife. I couldn’t remember an interaction I’d had with him that hadn’t ended with him asking me to sneak away to the nearest dark corner with him. I purposely choose to sit on the other side of Gentry, next to his mother, although that option isn’t much better. She looks me over, pursing her lips when she gets to my hair. According to her, a proper southern lady keeps her hair pulled back. But I’ve never been a proper lady, and the guys always loved my hair. Keeping it down is my silent tribute to them and the person I used to be since everything else about me is almost unrecognizable.

  Lucinda is a beautiful woman. She’s always impeccably dressed, and her mahogany hair is always impeccably coiffed. She’s also as shallow as a teacup. She begins to chatter, telling me all about the town gossip; who’s sleeping with who, who just got fake boobs, whose husband just filed for bankruptcy. It all passes in one ear and out the other until I hear her say something that sounds unmistakably like “Sounds of Us.”

  I look up at her, catching her off guard with my sudden interest. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” I ask. Her eyes are gleaming with excitement as she clasps her hands delicately in front of herself. She waits to speak until the waiter has refilled her glass with water. She slowly takes a sip, drawing out the wait now that she actually has my attention.

  “I was talking about the Sounds of Us concert next week. They are performing two shows. Everyone’s going crazy over the fact that the boys will be coming home for the first time since they made it big. It’s been what...four years?” she says.

  “Five,” I correct her automatically, before cursing myself when she smirks at me.

  “So, you aren’t immune to the boys’ charms either...” she says with a grin.

  “What was that, Mother?” asks Gentry, his interest of course rising at the mention of anything to do with me and other men.

  “I was just telling Ariana about the concert coming to town,” she says. I hold my breath waiting to hear if she will mention the name. Gentry’s so clueless about anyt
hing that doesn’t involve him that he probably hasn’t heard yet that they’re coming to town.

  “Ariana doesn’t like concerts,” he says automatically. It’s his go-to excuse for making sure I never attend any social functions that don’t involve him. Ariana doesn’t like sushi. Ariana doesn’t like movies. The list of times he’s said such a thing go on and on. I feel a slight pang in my chest. Ariana. Gentry and his family insist on calling me by my full name, and I miss the days where I had relationships that were free and easy enough to use my nickname of Ari.

  “Of course she doesn’t, dear,” says Lucinda, patting my hand. The state of my marriage provides much amusement to Lucinda and Conrad. Both approve of the Gentry’s “heavy hand” towards me and although they haven’t witnessed the abuse first hand, they’re well aware of Gentry’s penchant for using me as a punching bag. Gentry’s parents are simply charming.

  I pick at my salad and listen to Lucinda prattle on, my interest gone now that she’s off the subject of the concert. Gentry and his dad are whispering back and forth, and I can feel Gentry shooting furtive glances at me. I know I should be concerned or at least interested about what their talking about, but my mind has taken off, thinking about the fact that in just a few days’ time, the guys will be in the same vicinity as me for the first time in five years. If only….

  “Ariana,” says Gentry, pulling me from my day dream. I immediately pull on the smile I have programmed to flash whenever I’m in public with Gentry.

  “Yes?”

  “I think you’ve had enough to eat,” he tells me as if he’s talking about the weather and not the fact that he’s just embarrassed me in front of everyone at the table.