Waiting for you: A troubled vulnerable hero romance

by E. V. White

  He tried blowing off some steam after the argument with Matt by lighting up another cigarette. He was watching a wisp of smoke coming out of his mouth when a girl off the distance caught his attention. She had long brown hair, big eyes and was conceivably pretty if she was not so thin. She seemed to be starving to death. Her clothes were dirty and torn and it was obvious that she did not do it on purpose like those standing outside the club. He watched her beating her fists with persistence against the door of one of the houses that looked over the park, which was actually a square. Someone answered the door after five minutes of irritating pounding.

  “Please, let me come in,” she pleaded.

  “I told you I don’t want you here. Bog off!” The tall, hulking man told her, slamming the door in her face.

  She continued banging the door for another few minutes but when she realized that he would not open the door once again, she turned, crossed the street, jumped over the locked gate of the park and lay down on one of the benches.

  Alex watched the whole scene leaning against a wall and smoking a few more cigarettes. He was somewhat surprised and troubled by the cruelty of how the man had driven the girl away. She appeared to be so lonely and desperate he felt sorry for her. It was a chilly mid-December evening and he hoped she had a place to sleep. He took one last drag on his cigarette before going back inside, casting one last glance at the girl who was still lying down on the bench.

  Those cold bench planks were penetrating into Emilyʼs bones. A little less than an hour before, when she had started running, her legs had led her in that direction, toward that part of London she knew best, even though her brain was screaming that it was the worst decision she could ever make. In fact, her instincts had failed and Bobby, if that was his real name, had thrown her out of the house for the second time in a few days. She had lived in the basement of that house for almost two years; and, even though it felt more like a shabby pit, it was the only place familiar to her.

  She sat up and watched the people standing outside the club just across the street. Seeing them all dressed in leather jackets and torn trousers, she smiled at the thought that they most likely had paid an absurd amount of money for those tears in the right places while she would have sold her soul to mend hers in order to feel warmer. One thing she did not envy were the girlsʼ clothes: short skirts, non-existent tights, plunging necklines and jackets that barely covered their shoulder blades. Clothing that was very stylish but definitely not very warm. In fact, the girls appeared to look like they were about to die of exposure at any moment.

  Emily waited until there were less people over there before she would walk towards the alley that ran alongside the club where she hoped to find the dustbins. She needed to find something to shelter herself from the cold and a place less exposed than the park to sleep.

  Alex looked at Matt. He was talking to Jaden, Jordan and Christopher. Apparently, his friend had saved the day. He knew he had made a mess with the agent earlier; it was something he did quite often. Matt was great at dealing with people, he was not. The only situation in which he found himself at ease was on stage or locked up in his flat with his guitar and some good music. Any other scenario made him nervous and he knew it. This was the reason he went to them without saying a word.

  “Hey, Alex! So, are you ready to write couple of new songs?” Jaden asked, putting an arm around his shoulder.

  Alex smiled and nodded silently. Matt visibly relaxed after seeing this gesture. Flashing him a smile was enough to let Matt know that he was more sober than before. The two had been friends for so long now that Matt knew Alex was a hothead but that he was also smart enough to understand when to hold his tongue.

  “If you agree, we can set up a meeting for next week, is that okay?” Christopher asked.

  “Sure. Iʼll call you tomorrow,” confirmed Matt.

  The man then walked out of the room followed by the anxious and satisfied looks of all those present. When he finally went out the front door, they all breathed a sigh of relief. They knew that they had only played a part that night: they were not ready at all.

  “So?” Jordan asked. “Do you already have the songs?” he looked at Alex hopefully.

  Alex rolled his eyes and flashed an arrogant smile.

  “Of course, not!” He said, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. “That’s why Iʼm heading home. I have to work on it,” he added.

  “So, Abigail waiting by the door is not the reason youʼre leaving,” Jaden smiled indicating with a nod the girl across the room.

  Alex threw a glance at the brunette leaning against the wall near the exit, then back to his friend.

  “Of course, not!” He replied with a smug grin.

  A gust of cold air hurled at Alex and Abigail the second they walked out the door. He shuddered, buried his face in his scarf and walked toward the park in front of the club with the brunette at his side. He threw a quick look at the bench where the girl was a few minutes earlier but did not see her. A sigh of relief escaped from his lips. He did not know why, but he felt relieved at the thought that maybe she had found a place for the night.

  Emily tried to shelter herself from the cold wind that had swept London even at those hours and found a sheltered spot at the base of the stairs near Bobbyʼs house. She scavenged near the club, came across some boxes that had once held packets of crisps and holed up inside them to warm up. It was not enough for the night but it was better than nothing; at least she could focus on the fact that she was starving instead of freezing.

  She tried to get some sleep, but the thoughts amassing in her head made it difficult. Bobby had thrown her out at least three days before and she still had not found a place to stay. It was difficult in London, especially in the areas most frequented by tourists. Nobody wanted a homeless person in front of their shops and the police were very severe with vagrancy: if caught, you were forced to leave immediately. However, those shops were also the best places to panhandle – tourists were easier to convince than the Londoners were. People born in this city already find it difficult to talk while crowded together in the tube in the morning, let alone take notice of a homeless person.

  The semi-underground staircase she had found previously concealed her enough to keep her safe for the night but she was not able to stay there forever. She needed a place to guard her against the rain that constantly drenched London. Then, in addition to all this, there was the issue of not having her dose of oxycodone, making it difficult for her to cope with anything – her bones had already started to feel battered and it would not have taken long before the hallucinations began too.

  The wind continued to whip persistently so Emily closed her eyes and hoped that morning would arrive quickly.

  Alex and Abigail were in his flat. She was on her knees, wearing only her bra, leaning on the couch; he was standing behind her, his trousers at mid-thigh and his t-shirt still on. He was banging her from behind, holding her hair firmly on the neck with one hand and grabbing her hip with the other. Their fast and abrupt movements did not last long as they both reached orgasm quickly. Alex did not even take the time to enjoy that moment of pleasure; he immediately sat down on the couch putting even more distance between them.

  “We have to stop seeing each other like this, you know?” She voiced out.

  “Why is that? I like it this way,” he said without a trace of malice in his voice.

  Abigail rolled her eyes.

  “I know you do, and so do I. But I can’t find a boyfriend if I keep on shagging you,” she explained.

  He looked at her puzzled.

  “Why do you want a boyfriend?” He asked quizzically.

  “I donʼt know. Maybe because I like the whole dating thing, I like the idea of someone calling and texting me. Someone who cares about me,” she responded timidly.

  Alex was not able to comprehend her words completely. Abigail had never brought up such a discussion and he never thought that it would be something that would even suit her.
/>   “Right, but you have friends for that, havenʼt you?” He noted.

  She stood up, visibly irritated and began putting on her clothes.

  “You donʼt understand. I would like to be able to go to bed with the person Iʼve just had sex with. Can I stay here tonight? Sleep next to you, wake up with you?” She demanded feeling enraged.

  “No, you know you canʼt,” he replied bluntly.

  “Thatʼs exactly what I mean. I want more than just sex: I canʼt kiss you, I can barely touch you, I canʼt get up with you in the morning. I want more,” she justified, her voice stammering from rage.

  Alex was stunned by the girlʼs tirade and sudden cause of discontent. He never thought that anyone could ever want such a thing from him. He had always made a muck of all his relationships and had since decided that he would no longer have any serious affair with anyone. The only people who were part of his life were Matt since they were four, Jordan and Jaden.

  “You know I canʼt give that to you,” he said without any intimation of anger or resentment in his voice.

  “I know and that’s why I should find someone who can and stop wasting my time with you,” she returned.

  Alex felt somewhat wounded by her words: he was not a waste of time.

  “You know where the door is. Go.” He stated in an embittered tone.

  She looked at him furiously and then headed to the fridge and opened it.

  “Is there something edible in this house? Except for ketchup and a dried piece of lemon, obviously?” She asked fairly crossed.

  “If you don’t approve of what you see, there are plenty of restaurants out there,” he snapped.

  He knew that there was not much to eat in the fridge but he did not have enough money to buy food. He had to pay the bills that week and did not have enough money left to refill the fridge. Everyone thought that he was rich but it was not true. It was true that he did not have to pay for his flat since his grandfather had left it to him after his death, but it was very expensive to maintain and the bills were remarkably high. They did not have the possibility to do many concerts that month and he was running out of money very quickly. He was even considering accepting a job as a model for a horrendous advertising campaign for a small car dealer south of the Thames. He did not like doing that kind of job at all, but then again it would allow him to buy something to eat for the next few weeks until they could do some other gigs.

  Abigail headed towards the front door and then out of the flat without saying a single word. He watched her leave following her with his eyes, still sitting on the couch. He glanced over at his guitar resting beside the couch a few feet away from him. He stood up, adjusted his trousers, grabbed the instrument and a piece of paper and sat down again in the same spot. He began to think of the new song but nothing came to mind. Every single pain experienced in his life had already been written about, played and buried under tons of alcohol, he did not feel inspired by anything at that moment. It was hard for him to write when someone asks him to, let alone orders him. It had to come from his gut, not his brain. He tried a few times to put the pen on paper but nothing happened. He stood up, grabbed a bottle of scotch, began pouring himself a glass and drank. The sensation of lethargy alcohol gave him was comforting and helped him not to think too much. He fell asleep on the couch as it usually happened when he was drunk.

  The sun shining over London woke Emily. She rubbed her eyes and stretched; every single bone in her body ached and she craved for the much-needed dose of oxycodone that would thwart off the onset of the hallucinations.

  She rose slowly and began to climb the stairs. Hoxton Square had undergone a transformation from the night before – several people now populated the park in front of her, a number of workers crossed the square running to catch the bus or the tube and even the club that hosted a gig the previous night was closed. All seemed free from the frenzy of last night, making everything less frightening.

  She set off for the door where she had knocked on the other night and did it again, but, this time, more gently. After a few minutes, the door opened and Bobby appeared still half-asleep.

  “What do you want?” He asked without any compassion.

  “Please, don’t shut the door on me again, please,” she pleaded with a feeble voice.

  “Why not? You haven’t got any money,” he shot back at her.

  “I swear I’ll do anything you want. Anything. But I need a dose,” she implored in a low murmur.

  He looked at her rather irritated then heaved a sigh.

  “All right. Come back tonight. I’m short of oxycodone right now,” he justified.

  Emily knew that it was not true. He always had a stash at home but he wanted her to suffer because he probably suspected she didn’t have any money to pay for it. And he was right. She would have to beg all day and still would not have enough money to pay for it. At that very moment, she really hoped that he was not able to see through the mask of lies she was wearing.

  She looked at him almost in tears.

  “Tonight?” She asked quivering.

  “Yes, tonight,” the man confirmed as he closed the door in her face.

  She was in complete distress. How could she ever survive so many hours without her dose? Worse yet, how could she pay for it? She laboured towards a bench in the park in front of her and lay down on it. Maybe getting some sleep would help her get through all those hours of waiting.

  Alex tried to open his eyes, a devastating headache disorienting him as he felt his brain violently throbbing against his skull. The sun coming in through the windows struck his face, blinding him. Making things worse, someone was vigorously banging on the front door, almost taking it down. He stood up and dragged himself to the entrance.

  “I’m coming!” He shouted in an exasperated voice.

  The maddening repeated blows from the door yielded. He opened the door and Matt’s elated face appeared before him.

  “Jesus Christ! What do you want? Shouldn’t you be at work? What time is it?” He asked with a gruff voice.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Matt bellowed, without answering his questions and tossing a paper bag to him.

  Alex knew exactly why his friend used this high-pitched tone: to make him regret getting drunk last night. His tactic was not necessary though, his excruciating headache was punishment enough.

  A muffin and coffee appeared before Alex’s eyes once he opened the bag. Meanwhile, Matt sat down on the couch sifting through the scattered papers on the table in front of him.

  “Did you write something last night?” He asked.

  Alex took a bite of the muffin and ate it with disinterest. He sipped his coffee: black and strong just as he liked it. Matt knew him better than anyone else did.

  “No,” he replied.

  “You know that we need two new songs by the end of next week, right?” He asked with a smile that badly covered his disappointment.

  Alex looked at him straight in the eyes. He was not really in the mood to discuss the issue with that headache pounding in his head.

  “No, WE don’t need any new songs. It’s YOU who needs that shit, and I’ve got to do it to save your miserable arse,” he tore into him.

  Matt looked at him sharply but then relaxed. Alex knew that he would not have gone off on him, nor called him egoistic because that would have been the best way to provoke his anger. He also knew Matt would have decided to play it his way.

  “Well, you’re not doing a good job, you know, right?” He ragged him grinning.

  Alex got serious.

  “You know I can’t write on command. I have no idea what to write about,” he confessed candidly.

  Matt sighed. Alex had proven to him a hundred times that what he was saying was the sad truth. He could not write under pressure and if he did, the lyrics would literally suck.

  “I don’t know. Write about Abigail...You bang her pretty much every night,” he suggested.

  Alex arched his eyebrows in surprise. If there was on
e thing Matt did not know, it was how to write songs and his statement was a clear demonstration of that.

  “Yeah, right. Really great lyrics,” he said. “I shag her every night on the couch,” he crooned.

  Matt looked at the couch on which he sat with utter repulsion.

  “Shite, mate! At least tell me where I could sit,” he grumbled.

  Alex snickered; there were very few surfaces where he had not had sex in that room.

  “I didn’t ask you to come by,” he protested.

  Matt stood up with a half grin on his face and walked towards the front door.

  “Tonight at the Underbelly. We need to talk about Christopher. He wants us in the recording studio at the end of the month,” he explained.

  Alex looked at him baffled.

  “How do you know all this stuff the morning after we just met him? You slept with him? Did you have breakfast together talking about how you spend your days? How?” He grilled him ironically.

  Matt smiled.

  “Alex, it’s almost one o’clock. Normal people start working well before this time in the morning,” he explained.

  Alex smiled triumphantly.

  “I’m not normal,” he affirmed.

  “I know. That’s why I’m here,” Matt retorted leaving the flat.

  Alex went back to the couch, looked at the scattered papers and sighed deeply. He really had no clue how he could pull it all off.

  Emily had taken advantage of the fine weather to go to beg for some money along the Thames. The boardwalk that ran along the riverbank in the vicinity of the London Eye was always very crowded with tourists when the sun shone upon the city. That day was no exception. It was good news; in fact, the cup she held was filled with more money than usual and she often had to empty it to encourage people to leave more.