Where the Mountains Meet the Sea

by A. R. Breck

  Please.

  Trish cries beside me, but I keep my focus. Hoping for something. Anything.

  Please.

  Nothing.

  My eyes pop open, and I look over at Neil. “She’s gone.”

  His jaw clenches and he looks away from her, off into the distance. “We better get back to camp.”

  Trish shuffles around, the rocks noisy beneath her. “I’m not leaving her here!” Her voice echoes into the distance.

  He looks down, not passing Shauna a glance as he stares at Trish. “Who’s going to carry her, huh? We’re all fucking dehydrated. Unless you want one of us to have a heat stroke and a seizure, too? Huh?” His arms go wide, splaying out at his sides.

  We all stare at him, the sun barely illuminating his outline. We’re all shrouded in the dark at this point, all visibility on this mountain gone.

  I look down at Shauna, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. Trish brings her hands up, placing her palms over her eyes and closing them. I sniffle, feeling like tears need to release myself, but I’m all dried up.

  “Can we move her, at least?” I whisper, staring down at Shauna’s peaceful face. I didn’t know her, not really. I don’t know much about her parents, or her life. I just know she’s from somewhere in Virginia. She was a free spirit. A really cool chick. We got along well.

  I hear footsteps around me, and Willie and Neil come up, Willie grabbing her feet and Neil grabbing her arms. They lift her, her body in the shape of a U as they bring her up against the mountain. They prop her up, settling her behind some brush.

  “I feel like we need to bury her or something,” Trish cries.

  Willie shakes his head. “We don’t have the energy. We need to get back before another one of us goes down.”

  We all stare at Shauna, knowing that he’s right, but wishing it weren’t true. We’re too tired, too dehydrated to do anything else. We need to get back to camp, and we need to get back now.

  With one last glance at Shauna, we turn around, continuing on our hike, each of us dehydrated, but the sun lowering and the moon raising gives us a much-needed cool blast of air.

  My body aches, my mind weeps. But I keep going.

  For him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ROMAN

  My knee shakes, the white notebook on my lap sliding off the side. My hand snaps out and catches it, only for me to set it back on my lap, and the process starts all over again.

  I'm fucking edgy.

  My words won't come today. I feel lost and confused.

  Last night I had the weirdest dream.

  I dreamt of Luna. She was sad. She was so sad and fucking broken, and she was just staring at me. Staring at me like she desperately needed help. The pleading in her eyes was gut-wrenching. She needed saving, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she needed me.

  I know that in the pit of my soul.

  I look into the night, the California sky absent of any and all stars. The city is loud, polluted, always busy. I fucking hate it, if I were to be honest. I hate the noise, and I hate the people.

  This is getting old.

  I don’t know what I want anymore. But that’s a lie, because I do know what I want.

  I want her.

  I look up at the sky, my neck aching as I stare into the darkness.

  She's somewhere out there, and she needs fucking help.

  The moment I was about to reach her, touch her, open my mouth and speak to her, I woke up, and I haven't been able to go back to sleep. So out here I sit on our condo deck, watching the nightlife that never tires. Wishing my brain would turn off but knowing it never will.

  I came out here to get some writing done, but a bump of coke later and I can barely see straight. My anxiety is at an all-time high. Thoughts of Luna are swirling in my mind and making even sitting here fucking painful.

  I fucking love her. After all these years, I love her so damn much and I can't do a thing about it. Now after this dream, I'm thinking the worst. I want to go back to sleep and start where I left off. Stay in my dream forever if I have to. I'll do anything I can to talk to her, just make sure she's okay.

  But I don't have that ability, and because of that, I'm fucking wrecked.

  Torn into shreds, inside and out.

  My bare torso burns even when I feel like ice is in my heart. The muscles twitch and roll with each movement of my body. I push my finger into the tip of my pen, wanting it to penetrate my skin, just for the fact that it'll distract me from the feeling I feel so deeply inside of me.

  The smooth pen glides across my finger. The lined paper in front of me is filled with nothing but scribbles about hate and heartbreak. It's all fake, though. It’s a fucking rouse.

  I want to hate Luna for what she's done to me, but if anything, I love her more. I can't hate someone who wants to better themselves. Mostly her, I could never hate her. But if she wants to go and do what she thinks is right, what am I going to do, hold her back? That'll only have her resent me in the end. I had to let her go, even if it meant leaving me alone and empty.

  I'll stay alone for the rest of my life, waiting for her.

  I glance over my shoulder and straight into my bedroom, seeing Brandy's form underneath my sheets.

  She follows me, and it's just about time to cut her off. I can't deal with her anymore. She's falling for me. I can see it in her eyes, and I'm not even in the same dimension of being able to give her something back. I couldn't even give her a mindless relationship, even though she'd already probably say we're dating.

  We're not. We're really fucking not. I let her suck my dick because she gives me a bag of coke every day.

  "Baby, what're you doing out here?" The raspy voice of Brandy rings into the night. I don't turn around, don't give her my grimacing face.

  "No. Not right now," I grumble, half to myself and half to Brandy.

  The door slides open, the screen rolling and making the floor beneath my feet vibrate. I close my eyes, knowing she's going to touch me when it's the last thing I want right now.

  Within a second, her long, thin fingers wrap around my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze around my collarbone. "Trying to write some music?"

  I lean forward, sliding out of her hold. I put my elbows on my knees, pressing my face into my palms and gripping the front of my hair. I pull, wanting to pull until I rip out every last strand.

  I just want to be alone.

  But that's a lie, too.

  I don't want to be alone. I only want her.

  "Trying. I just want to be alone right now." I haven't looked at her yet. Not once. I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head. She wants me to look at her. She wants the affection I'm not able to give her.

  "Are you sure? Maybe I can help?" Her finger threads into the back of my hair, and I turn around, my head whipping toward hers.

  "Brandy, I want to be alone right now. Go back to bed." Her face falls, her eyes wanting so badly to fill with tears, but she's tougher than that. She grew up around men. She can hold her own.

  She's nothing like Luna. Luna would have broken down already, fallen to her knees with emotion. She's always been emotional, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

  They're black and white. Night and day.

  Maybe that's why I’ve perused her, if you could call it that. She came on to me, and my shattered soul didn't know anything but to let her do whatever it is she wanted.

  I've been a zombie, a shell of a human throughout our entire relationship, and if this is what she likes, well, then I kind of feel bad for the girl.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I'm just not in the mood." I'm not a total fucking asshole, but I wish she would take the fucking hint.

  With a nod, she slinks back inside, shutting the door behind her. I drop my notebook and pen to the ground, listening as the pen rolls and falls off the edge of the patio.

  Fucking hell, that was a good pen.

  I put my feet up on the railing for a second, wondering if I should
just jump over the damn thing. End it once and for all. Be done putting myself through the pain I feel every single day.

  Is this how it'll be for the rest of my life?

  I don't doubt it, honestly. But maybe this is how it's supposed to be. Maybe I am an old soul, like Luna told me a long time ago. Maybe I was a bad person, and this is my penance for the sins I've committed. In this life and the last.

  It doesn't matter, anyway.

  Luna is my heart and soul. If she's out there somewhere, then I'll be here. My heart will be wide open, bleeding at my feet. My body will ache, my mind won't be right, but if she's out there, then I'll be here.

  I'll fucking wait. And if I'm waiting forever, well, at least I tried.

  "Dude, you okay?" Lonnie side-eyes me backstage.

  I haven't been able to sleep. Not since that dream. I've tried, trust me, I've tried, but I just can't. It might have something to do with the lines of coke I've done. My body feels electrocuted, and everything around me is shaking, or maybe it's just me.

  Yeah, I'm fucking shaking.

  "I'm good."

  "Dude, you don't look good. You look like you're seizing." He's about to reach out and touch me, but I step away from him.

  "Don't touch me right now, Lon. I'm not in the fucking mood."

  "He's never in the mood. Rome is a shit lately." Clyde walks in, a beer in his hands. When he notices me, he stops, his eyes going wide. "What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm fucking fine!" I roar.

  He points his beer at me. "You aren't fine. And you have coke on the tip of your nose." His eyebrow lifts.

  I narrow my eyes, my fingers lifting to my nose, and he’s right, the side of my pointer comes away with white grains streaked across the skin. "Fuck off."

  I push off the wall, walking toward my chair, but the world is moving in slow motion, and I'm walking too fast.

  I run straight into something, and looking down, I see it's my guitar case laying on the ground.

  "Dude! Watch what you're doing!" Lonnie shouts at me.

  I flip him off, walking around my guitar case and falling into my chair. The world spins, and I turn the chair so I'm facing the mirror. My eyes are red, my hair is sticking up in all directions, even though it was just done by hair and makeup.

  I see a baggie of coke on the table, a line already missing. I pour out another, slicing up a thick line. We're due to be on in ten, and I don't usually take this much before a show.

  But after my dream last night, fuck it. Fuck it so hard.

  "Dude, you've had enough," Clyde says, walking up to me.

  I ignore him, cutting my line into perfection. The white powder is like snow, making everything painful in my life go away. Not fully, not even for a long time, but it dulls the ache, and fuck, if it even dulls the slightest bit, I'll take it.

  "Dude." Clyde walks up to me, pulling my chair back. I jump out of my seat, pushing my chair toward him. It groans against the floor. He stumbles, nearly falling to the ground. He rights himself at the last second, glaring at me, his dark eyes alit with fury.

  "Fuck. Off," I growl. Bending down, I take my last line, plugging my nose as the burn hits and the head rush flushes through my head, spreading down my body.

  I twitch. Twitch again.

  Fuck. Yes.

  "Let's go," I say once I open my eyes.

  They're staring at me, hesitation and worry in their gazes.

  I point at them just as Flynn walks in the room. "Look at me like that again and I'll lay you on your asses."

  I walk past them, opening the door so roughly it slams against the wall. Brandy is on the other side with a headset on, and she jumps about a foot in the air from the noise. She sees me, her face softening. She's about to take a step toward me, and I stop in place.

  She frowns. Stops. Then starts walking again. "You okay? You don't look good."

  "You're fired."

  Her eyes widen, shock slackening her jaw. "W-what?"

  "I want you off the set, Brandy. Go find someone that wants you."

  "Are you… are you breaking up with me?" She places her hand on her chest, her cleavage heaving with emotion.

  I smile, sickness filling me, cooling my bones. Cooling my heart.

  I feel dead inside.

  "We were never together, Brandy. You were just a pussy to slide into. I don't love you. I've never loved you."

  For the first time since I met her, years ago, tears spring to her eyes. They tumble down her cheeks, and I watch as she holds herself back from reaching out to me. She wants to beg; she wants to plead. I watch her patience thin.

  It's so fucking thin.

  "I don't love you, Brandy. I've only loved one girl in my entire life, and you aren't her. You could never be her." With that, I walk away from her crumbling form, not even waiting for my bandmates before I walk onto the stage.

  The crowd goes wild. I don't give them my usual smile, my usual playful demeanor. I grab my guitar, making sure it's tuned, keeping my face on the smooth, black wood.

  I pull out my pick, flicking it against my fingers. Wanting to throw it, wanting to burn it. Wanting to fucking cry on it.

  I can hear the guys walk out behind me. I can feel their heavy, solemn footsteps. The crowd even quiets down, still cheering, but not nearly as excited as they were when I walked on the stage. Bringing my hand up, I run my fingers through my hair.

  I feel fucking wild right now.

  My blood pumps extra hard. I feel crazy. Like everything in me is colliding at once. Like whatever has been laying low, is rising from the ashes, ready to break free.

  My heart and soul have fucking had enough.

  Flynn starts the drums, and my fingers poise to start the notes. I know exactly what song he’s starting with.

  The tips of my fingers are shaky, my body running hot.

  It all feels fucking wrong.

  Why am I doing this? Why am I here when my heart isn't? Why am I doing something I no longer love? Music is a part of me, it's always been a fucking part of me. But if my soul is lost, am I really even here?

  What's the meaning of it all, at the end of the day? Is there even a point of living if you're missing half of yourself?

  My breathing picks up, and the moment comes when I'm supposed to start strumming my first note.

  I don't play.

  I stand there, and I can feel the guys around me grow irritated, worried. Waiting for me. Lonnie starts his notes, trying to fill in for me, and then Clyde starts his.

  Waiting for me.

  Fuck this shit.

  I grab the head of the guitar, swinging it over my shoulder. Gasps ring out, collectively, as if everyone breathes in at the same moment. The air gets sucked from the room as I swing the guitar over my head.

  Crash.

  It slams to the ground, my favorite guitar, the most expensive wood I've ever had, collides to the ground in a loud—so fucking loud—crash.

  Everyone stops.

  The crowd goes silent. You can't even hear them breathe. I don't look at the guys behind me, but I can tell they're shocked, fucking furious at me.

  They know.

  It's over.

  Hands grab my arms, fingers digging into my muscles as I'm shoved off stage. I can hear three sets of footsteps behind me, heavy and angry, shoving me. Pushing my back.

  Everyone is going crazy backstage. The stage crew have their headsets on, all shouting over one another.

  I don't see Brandy anywhere.

  I'm shoved into a closet, where all four of us cram inside.

  Lonnie slaps the light, switching it on. We're shoved beside stage equipment, some random fucking signs, and a box of toilet paper.

  Flynn's fist snaps out, hitting me straight in the nose. My head flies back, my hand going up to my nose. The back of my head slaps against the wall. "Fucking hell!" I roar.

  I can feel the blood flowing before it pours out of my nose. I pinch my nostrils, but the blood still leaks through, seeping down my
fingers and onto the floor. I can taste the blood in the back of my throat, and I lean forward, letting the thick red drip from my mouth.

  Clyde bends down, grabbing a roll of toilet paper and tossing it at me.

  "That's it, huh? That's how you wanted to go out?" He stares at me, his jaw clenching as his furious eyes bore into mine.

  "It's not right. Not without her."

  Silence.

  Lonnie closes his eyes, tipping his head toward the ceiling.

  "It's always been about her, huh?"

  "You know it has." I narrow my eyes at him.

  "You don't even know where she is. What is your plan, to fucking search the entire country until you find her?" Lonnie barks at me.

  I shake my head, grabbing a handful of toilet paper and plugging my nose with it. "I don't know."

  "You're fucked up, dude. You fucking threw the entire show because of your damn broken heart! You couldn’t wait until after the show to fuck shit up?” Flynn barks at me.

  I say nothing.

  “You need help." He frowns in my direction.

  "I'm fine." My voice is nasally, congested. The toilet paper gets soaked instantly. I pull it out, and I can feel the blood seep into the back of my throat. I bend down, spitting a pile of blood onto the ground.

  "Are you really done? This is it?" Clyde asks. We all stand there, staring at one another. We've been doing this since we were kids. Since we knew how to create music, we’ve been doing it. It’s all we know, really.

  Music is in our blood. Being on the road, it’s in our fucking veins.

  But I also know that I love her. And at the end of the day, she's all that fucking matters.

  "I can't… I don't think I can do it anymore," I say truthfully.

  They all nod, knowing it's true before I even say the words.

  My body is jittery, even if a part of me feels relief. I've been feeling this for a long time, and I didn't realize it. Not until I crashed my guitar on the stage.

  "Go get some fucking help, dude." Lonnie slaps me on the shoulder.

  I scowl at him. "Why am I the one that needs help? You guys all fucking snort blow, too. But I'm the only one that is an addict? We're all in the same fucking spot."