Inked in the Music

by Kitt Rose

  It would have been better if she screamed. Yelling would hurt less than that broken-sounding whisper. My heart throbbed in my chest.

  I pounded a fist over the pain. “She kissed me.”

  “And you didn’t stop her. I watched you. I watched while everyone around me kissed the people they loved to ring in the New Year. And I watched the person I love most in the entire world kiss someone else. And not just someone else, his ex-girlfriend.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I asked, honestly not sure how we’d gotten to this place. What was I supposed to do? Shove Ella away?

  “Stop her,” Zirah said, a fat tear tracking down her cheek. Her tongue darted out, catching the drop. “Walk past her to me, where I was standing, not ten feet away waiting for you.”

  I stood and threw my hands up. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered after a long, painful moment.

  Cold rushed through my veins, throbbing and painful. The realization that Zirah didn’t trust me hit me with the force of a Mack truck. The woman I loved didn’t trust me.

  Zirah was slipping through my fingers. I’d never been here before. Holding on by my fingernails as the woman I loved drifted away from me. Except she wasn’t drifting, she was walking. I loved this woman so fucking much and she was walking away because of a New Year’s kiss with a friend. A fucking misunderstanding.

  I put a hand to my head as the room tilted and my stomach twisted.

  I was so done with this shit.

  “Fuck this.”

  I stomped into her closet, ripping shirts from cheap wire hangers and balling them in my arms. The hangers jangled, sending bolts of pain piercing into my brain.

  “What are you doing?” Z asked, panic and pain in her voice.

  My heart cracked open, oozing lava into my chest. I ignored the pain. “Leaving. We’re done. I’m done.” I walked past her but she dodged, stepping into my path.

  That damn gold ring in her eyes glowed and shimmered, luminescent with her tears. One dimple popped as she grimaced. My hands itched to touch her. Arms ached to wrap her up and never let go. But I hardened my resolve, straightening my spine.

  “Just like that? That easy?” she asked, shaking.

  For a moment, a heartbeat, my control fractured and I softened. Giving in to the urge to touch her, I lifted my hand. And then I shook my head. No. This was done. This was for the best. But I couldn’t leave without tasting her one last time.

  I grabbed her and mashed my mouth to hers. The kiss was brutal, cleaving my heart in two.

  I ground my lips on hers, tasting blood as the sensitive flesh inside my mouth shredded against my teeth. She stood frozen under my assault.

  It wasn’t enough. I would never have enough of her, and maybe that was the problem. I was done fighting. I stepped away, brushing my hand down her hair for the last time. “Goodbye, Zirah. Have a nice life.”

  And without a backward glance, I walked out the door, leaving a chunk of my soul behind.

  The stairs passed in a blur. My car was parked in the lot, but even drunk I wasn’t stupid. I stumbled to the street and hailed a cab. The backseat wasn’t big enough for me. Twisting and contorting myself, I tried to get comfortable as I gave the driver my address.

  Something wet hit my hand. I stared at the drop of water as it rolled down my thumb to land on my jeans. A second one followed, streaking down my middle finger. Shock locked my spine as pain ricocheted through my bones. I was fucking crying? I didn’t cry.

  I tried to sink lower into the seat. Didn’t work too well when my knees were already pressed to the front seat. Shifting again, I pounded my hands against my legs, relishing the bursts of pain.

  What had I just done? What the fuck did I do? Had I really just severed ties to the only fucking woman I’d ever seen a future with?

  Fuck.

  I tunneled my hands into my hair, gripping the strands and pulling.

  When the cab stopped at my house, I swiped my card and tipped ridiculously. Dude had been nice enough not to say dick about the tattooed giant sobbing in his backseat like… Like my world had just ended.

  Fuck.

  I unlocked my front door and slammed inside. The door ricocheted off the wall with the sound of drywall breaking.

  Didn’t care.

  I stormed into the kitchen, yanked open the utility drawer. The drawer coasted off the track and clattered to the floor with a crack that stabbed into my brain. Pens and batteries, tools and crap spilled out, rolling and scattering across the linoleum. I searched the debris for the glint of my stainless-steel kitchen shears.

  There.

  I grabbed the scissors. Numbness swept through my chest, sending tendrils into my skull. Better than the pain.

  Grabbing a hank of hair, I hovered the gleaming blades over the strands.

  This was me, self-destructing. But I didn’t care.

  The scissors closed with a sharp snip of sound and inches of hair fell to the floor. The dark strands scattered and drifted among the wreckage. Panic made the scissors move faster and the pile of hair around my feet grew.

  I would regret this in the sober light of day. But then, this would be the least of my regrets.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Broken

  Zirah

  The door to my apartment slammed shut with hollow finality. I sank to my knees and cried. My heart cracked and shattered in my chest. The shards piercing my insides with gut-wrenching agony.

  This was all my fault. I’d lost the only man I’d ever loved and it was my fault.

  He had a hand in our undoing. Whether or not he wanted her to kiss him, he had stood there and let her put her mouth on him. But this was my fault because I couldn’t deal. Because I wasn’t strong enough, or sure enough, to handle someone else hitting on him. Wasn’t strong enough to do what Trina had suggested that first time, go up and yank her away by her bleached-blonde hair.

  Weak. I was so weak. I’d stood by and watched her take Dennis from me. Hadn’t even tried to fight.

  I crawled into bed and slept. Or at least, I tried to. I watched the sunlight crawl across my ceiling. Counted the cracks that spider-webbed across the plaster. The backs of my eyelids had never before been so well inspected.

  But sleep never found me. Everything hurt. This felt like death, like I was dying.

  Sometime in the late afternoon, I gave up and climbed out of bed.

  I checked my email, and like a knife in my heart, there was one from Helen. She’d sent the pictures I’d wanted. The ones of Dennis and me. I stared at them and cried more.

  And then I grabbed my violin, the old one because I couldn’t stand to touch the new one, and played. The afternoon disappeared and evening set in. I wrote a song, raw and haunted by my grief. And then I recorded that song.

  Night had settled when someone knocked on my door.

  I hadn’t dressed. I hadn’t eaten. Paper covered my living room. Instruments were strewn about. I tried to care but failed. I cracked the door open, leaving the chain in place.

  Dennis stood there. Impossibly large and here. He was here.

  The tears started again and I dashed my hand across my eyes.

  “Z, can I come in?”

  For some stupid reason, I let him in. Wordlessly, I closed the door and took the chain off, letting him inside. He looked around my living room, at the mess, but made no comment.

  He looked terrible. Dark circles underlined bloodshot eyes and his hair was… there was something wrong with his hair. It was braided, but it looked like the time my niece had gotten ahold of the scissors and given herself a haircut.

  “I’m surprised to see you,” I said after a long silence.

  “Shit. Z, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for what happened at the club, and I’m sorry for what I said and did this morning. I was a dick. I am a dick.”

  He reached for me, his touch tentative as he pulled me into his arms. I went, though a part of me hated myself for it.
He drew me close to him and held me tight. His warmth sank into my tired bones, chasing away the cold that had settled inside when he left me.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry,” he whispered.

  When he tilted my head up and kissed me, I didn’t fight him. I sank into his kiss. But my tears kept coming and at some point, the taste of them must have penetrated because he pulled back, cupping my cheek in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You broke up with me,” I said, voice raw.

  Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “I was mad and frustrated. Still a little drunk when I came over here this morning. I overreacted and I’m sorry. Can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean any of the shit I said. I was just so fucking scared to lose you. Fear is kinda a new emotion for me and I didn’t deal with it right. But I don’t want to lose you.”

  Indecision divided my heart. “Nothing’s fixed here. You still kissed another woman. And when I left, the last thing I saw was her arms around you. Then you came over here and somehow turned my hurt into a reason to be mad. And you said goodbye. You hurt me.”

  Dennis’s hands spasmed on my hips and he grimaced. “You were right. Ella wants me back. I didn’t chase after you because you asked me to give you space. But I wanted to go after you. I told her I’m not interested. Not now. Not ever. We broke up for a reason and part of it was that we weren’t good for each other, but the biggest part was that I never felt about her like I do about you.

  “I made it very clear that there can be nothing there and that if she couldn’t respect that, then I wanted nothing more to do with her. She showed her true colors and I can tell you she’s nothing to me anymore. Not even a friend. And I shouldn’t have come this morning. I had no sleep and I was still halfway drunk. I felt you slipping away from me and I panicked. I admit it. I panicked.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. I need some time to figure this out. I will never be okay with other women touching you, kissing you. And you don’t see the problem with it. You said it yourself, my confidence—self-esteem—is the problem here. It’s my fault and I’m not sure I can fix that.”

  “No, Zirah, none of what happened is your fault. It’s mine.”

  I shook my head and he grabbed my face, stopping the motion. “Yes. Mine. I take complete responsibility.”

  “I’m not saying I want to break up, because when you walked out that door, I felt like I was dying.” I grabbed a thumb drive with the song I’d recorded and pressed it into his hands. “I need a little time and space to figure out if I can be okay with you who are, knowing it means that you’ll flirt and touch other women. Because that’s who you are. I can’t live like this, afraid and hurt all the time because you’re just being yourself.”

  “What does that mean?” He looked lost and vulnerable.

  “It means you come here and kiss me, make love to me, and remind me how good we can be together.”

  He stepped toward me with hope and heat in his eyes and I held up my hand.

  “I’m not done. Tomorrow morning you leave and we go our separate ways for a while.”

  “What’s a while?” he asked me softly, his heart in his dark eyes.

  “I don’t know. A week. A month. I just don’t know.”

  “So you’re telling me we’re taking a break.”

  I nodded. “Starting tomorrow morning. Because I really need you right now. I need you to prove that you still want me because I close my eyes and I see you kissing her. I see you telling me we’re done and to have a nice life.” A tear tracked down my face. “And it’s killing me. I need you to erase that memory.”

  He nodded, his jaw set. I stepped up to him and lifted his shirt up. He helped and stripped it off, dropping his pants a moment later. I worked on my buttons while he shucked his shoes and socks. Then it was him and I, standing less than a foot apart, not touch just looking. I drank him in, from his long narrow feet to his beautiful almond eyes, committing him to memory just in case. And when his mouth met mine, there was a hunger in his kiss I’d never felt before.

  He made love to me there in the living room, and when I came, he just picked me up and moved us to the bed, starting again. He made it last forever. Every touch seared through my skin, straight down to my soul. I cried through the end, and he stopped, still deep inside of my body.

  “What’s wrong, Z?” he whispered, almost as if he was afraid to break the spell.

  “I’m terrified that this will be the last time I hold you. The last time you love me. I have to do this, but I’m terrified that you’ll realize I’m not the one. That you’ll find someone else.”

  He shook his head, a fierce expression in his eyes as he moved inside me again. “Not going to happen. I love you. You’re it. If you took a year, I’d still want you. I’d still need you.” He grew quiet and the only sound was our breathing, the slide of our bodies.

  I fell asleep in his arms, my ear over his heart. When I woke in the morning, I watched him sleep as the apartment gradually lightened around me. Eventually, it grew too bright and he woke, a lazy smile on his face when he met my gaze. I kissed him deeply, my heart sad.

  I touched and kissed him while he dressed, willing him to take longer. When he set to work fixing his braid, I gasped.

  “What happened to your hair, Dennis?”

  He flushed, his gaze darting away. “I was mad and drunk and—”

  “Stupid?” I finished for him.

  The red mottled color spread from his cheeks down his neck. “Yeah. That.”

  I sighed. “I’m pretty sure when my niece cut her own bangs when she was ten she did a better job. Come in the kitchen and I’ll even it up.”

  Dennis followed me into the kitchen, dropping into a chair. By the time I was done, and his hair was even, the once elbow-length locks reaching just past his collarbone.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  “Do me a favor?” I asked. “Next time you feel self-destructive, cut up that awful Ozzy shirt that has a million holes in it instead of your beautiful hair.”

  He smiled, the expression far too sad. A pang rushed through me as he shook his head. “You leave my Ozzy shirt alone. It’s vintage and one of my favorites. I suppose I should go.”

  Dennis stood and shifted on his feet, stuffing a hand deep into his pocket. With his free hand, he swiped his thumb over my cheekbone. “I love you, Zirah. More than I thought was possible. I hate this, but if it’s what you need… Just don’t take too long, okay?” And then with one last kiss, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Come Home

  Zirah

  Saturday, January 30th

  I twisted my hands in my lap, nervous. Rick was picking me up in a few minutes. I checked my outfit one last time and fiddled with the handle on my violin case. After some internal debate, I’d chosen to bring my new violin even if the beautiful instrument made me sad.

  I hadn’t seen or talked to Dennis in weeks. It hurt how much I missed him, but I still needed time. My head was a mess and my heart still stung with betrayal. Betrayal that hadn’t happened.

  Dennis had left four voicemails I hadn’t listened to. He’d sent a dozen emails I hadn’t read. I’d asked Trina to tell him I needed space. If I caved and read one of those emails or heard his voice, I might not be strong enough. Trina said he’d seemed to understand.

  After a week of holing up in my apartment, isolating myself both on purpose and accidentally, Trina had dragged me out. I hadn’t realized until Dennis was gone how much of my life here was tied to him. Most of my friends were his too. My daily routine had been stopping into Ink’d—a place I was doing my best to avoid. I found myself using the alley to escape the large shop windows which would only remind me what I’d lost.

  Joey wasn’t speaking to me. She’d refused to come out with us and had answered none of my texts. I supposed I understood. I was hurting her best friend.

  A knock tore me from my thoughts and I opened the door. Wood, whose real name was
Rick Ring, stood on the other side. Rick wasn’t anything like he seemed. The joker, the inappropriate commentator, was actually an intelligent and insightful man. He’d come into the coffee shop to hear me play the week after everything went down. We’d got to talking and I’d ended up introducing him to my friend Jillian, the cello player. Despite going to dinner and for coffee a couple of times, I’d had yet to gather the courage to ask about the event that earned him his nickname.

  “Ready to go?” He must have seen the nervousness in my eyes. “Hey, I swear you’ll do great. I’ve heard you play. You got this.”

  I took a deep breath and grinned. “Thanks. It’s just hard not to be nervous. It’s not even the music or playing, it’s the people.”

  “I get that.”

  And surprisingly, I knew he did. Past the bluster, Rick was almost shy.

  After locking up, we headed down the stairs. Rick had parked on the street at a meter right in front of Ink’d. I took a deep breath and he shot me a sympathetic look.

  I tried to distract myself. “So how’d the date with Jillian go?”

  “Z, she is awesome. Jillian’s just about perfect. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes she can do a hell of a lot better than me,” he said ruefully.

  I pushed his shoulder playfully, “Stop that. You’re a catch and she knows it.”

  Rick flushed, smiling. We reached his car and I felt eyes on my back. I turned and there he was. Beautiful, tall, strong, and so achingly familiar.

  Dennis smiled at me, sadness and excitement in the twist of his lips. I looked back to Rick.

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait,” he said as he slid into the car.

  I set my violin in the front seat and walked the few short feet between us, stopping awkwardly before I could throw myself into his arms. Because I really wanted nothing more than to be held by him, to inhale his scent, and feel his skin under my hands.

  “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to see me but I wanted to wish you luck.” He gestured back to the car and Rick. “Seems like you and Wood are getting along.”