One Day At A Time - Volume 1

One Day At A Time is an epic that follows our main character. 

"An over-glorified groupie" magazines called her. She believed in following her heart and it always belonged to the road. She followed anyone she believed would help her to live fast, die young, and leave a beautifully wrecked corpse. 

Feelings are a funny thing though, because you can never run from what's inside you. No matter how many miles you put between yourself and the past, you carry a piece wherever you go. It's not about hiding it or fighting it. It's learning to harness that chaos. The answer is to create something.

Volume 1

Chapter 1
A Lonely Introduction

There's a purple glow illuminating my work space. It's casting a shadow, though only slightly, over my shoulder. The way it's reflecting off the mirrored dresser lights up the whole room. Suddenly, I catch my reflection in the whiteboard calendar that sits beside the bed. I see the magnet on the date. I use a magnet to tell me what day it is because I'm too scatterbrained to circle the date, never remembering to circle the following date or erase the last. Forgetting to move time ahead. This way, pulling the magnet is the easiest way to keep track of the hours rolling into days. Pushing the magnet into the empty squares that should be filled with assignments. I've got post-it notes on every corner, some scattered across the board. These are goals. Mocking me. Things I intend to accomplish this month. But, it's the end of the month and all the pieces of paper scatter the empty white squares. Reminders. The things I need to start doing, things I need to stop. All they remind me of are the constant failures I'm faced with each and every day. A slow progression into nothingness. Yeah. For that, they are doing a fantastic job.

I intended them to remind me of upcoming project deadlines. The occasional inspirational quote might inspire me to do something different. To make positive changes in my life. But, are they ever going to accomplish their goals? No. The same way I haven't been accomplishing my goals. Granted, I don't let the completed projects stick around to mock me. Once the assignment is finished and sent to the client, I smear the notes off the calendar. This way, I'm not looking at the finished workload. The finished projects mock me just as frequently as those that are unfinished. Reminding me of all the incomplete tasks that I keep looking over and ignoring. I ignore them because I won't be mocked by sloppily written to-do notes. Little squares of paper have no control over me, even if they are supposed to. Every time I glance at that calendar, those tasks mock me.

I think that's why I have his picture in the corner. Held on by a small blue magnet. This way, every time I glance at the calendar, my eyes can find something positive to focus on. His smile. There's nothing more sacred to me than his smile. It brightens the darkest of my days.

Of course, I could just look over to the other side of the bed. My eyes could find themselves glued to his sleeping form. He doesn't smile in his sleep. He never did. He looks contemplative and bothered. He gets a curl in his lips and his eyes wrinkle ever-so-slightly. It's like being asleep is more daunting to him than being awake. Something we have in common. Sleep reminds me of everything I no longer have, and those things I have that I no longer want. I find looking at him fills me with this rage I can't control. So I don't. I don't look at him. No. I look at the picture because it reminds me of a much more simple time. A time when we shared a bond that no one could break. A love that no one could imagine. We shared the world. It's not even him that I'm upset with most of the time, but the situation. We've gone through too much to go out without a bang. We've never been subtle. We've never been silent. But these days, the silences echo louder than the concert halls that line our memories of each other. I think, we were a mistake from the start. But we kept trying, despite the odds. We gave each other endless chances, even when they weren't deserved or earned. I think, it seems only natural we would end up here: at a dead end. Of course, we're both too stubborn to admit it isn't working. It hasn't worked since I moved back into this house. Maybe it stopped working a long time before that, and I just never opened my eyes. Maybe this is some fucked up cosmic path we're on. True love is a myth. Perfection. Simplicity. Maybe it's supposed to be complicated. Unsure. Fractions. Fractured. We're nothing but a fracture of everything we once were.

It's growing harder to look at him, because I see everything we were. Then, I look around and see everything we aren't. I settle on pictures because they don't speak and can't ruin the mirage I'm desperately holding onto. Despite knowing I should just let go. I should move on. Let this be our final resting place. But, I can't. He's special to me. That doesn't settle my stomach. That doesn't fill my lungs with air. That doesn't clear my eyes of the strange substance now glazing over them. I fucking hate having to feel. But, he brings out every feeling I've got. That's one of the reasons I loved him so much. But I've started to consider that love isn't the only thing that matters. This journey can't be fueled on love.

I reach out beside me, lifting up the submarine sandwich that's sitting on the table beside the bed. It's been there for about 6 hours now, beginning to harden. It might be easier to break the wall with it than try to break it with my teeth. But, I try because I'm momentarily hungry. It doesn't last long, those moments. I take a bite, toss the sub back onto it's wrapper and I'm done. I should have put it in the fridge, but I imagined I'd eat the damn thing by now. I should have known when he got home my appetite would be gone. That's how it works these days. I'm only hungry when I'm out of this house. Out of this hell we've created for ourselves. That's why I bought the sub earlier at lunch with Whitney. I should have eaten it then. I did eat half, brought the other half home. Once upon a time, the other half would have been enjoyed by the figure now moving in the bed beside me. I sigh, letting my displeasure be known in the air around us. I take the glass from the bedside table and down what is left of it. The Jamaican rum leaves a warm glow throughout my body and sometimes, I like to feel like I'm letting go. As I put the glass back down on the night table, I realize my bite of the sub has littered the bed with crumbs. I just cleaned my side, so I shake my head. I continue, brushing off as many of the offending pieces of hardened bread as possible. My eyes slowly find themselves back on him, now laying on his back with his hand on his stomach. He looks more rested these days than he has in a while. He usually looks rested after sex. Interesting that we haven't been together in weeks. We only share this bed in theory. In practice, I'm having an out of body experience and have been for months.

I feel sick thinking about it, looking down at the computer screen in front of me. I don't know if it's the two shots of rum that were left in the glass or the Ativan that is slowly circling my bloodstream. I don't like to take pills with alcohol, but I make exceptions. Today, I needed something to break free of the anger that was overtaking me. He came home at one in the morning. He said nothing to me, just offered a smile and a brief wave. Then he climbed into bed and went to sleep. That would be fine, if it were occasional. But, this has been every night. Every single night. For at least 6 weeks. I know what that means, even if I don't want to acknowledge it. I shake my head, reaching for my phone. I've got a pile of unread messages from Whitney. She wanted to know if I'd go out tonight. She sent them hours ago and I just didn't pay attention. She ends her string of messages by saying I'm obviously busy. She joked that I might be finally spending well-needed time with Hunter. Well, I'm certainly spending time with Hunter. But it's not needed. Hell, it's not even wanted anymore. He's become a plague to my thoughts, lingering in the background of everything I think. I need a distraction from him. I need a distraction from life, in general.

I briefly spoke to Whitney about my concerns. She said I just needed to talk to Hunter. That a rough patch didn't mean the end of everything we had worked on together. She doesn't know half the story. I spared her the gritty details that span our pathetic excuse for a relationship. I also know there's no talking to Hunter about anything. He's closed off, at least from me. He'll pour his soul out to strangers at open mic night. But, he never talks to me. Because I'm the problem and it's hard to approach. Same. I try not to talk to him. I try not to talk in general. When I talk, it ends up being nonsense. It's nothing more than meaningless words because while my brain knows what it wants to say, my lips can't form the words. So, words blur together and sentences lose focus. It's hard to try and express your feelings when you don't exactly know what they are. So, I keep my thoughts tongue-in-cheek. Bruising the inside of my mouth from biting my lip so hard. I'm so used to the taste of blood that nothing tastes the way it used to. It all has this metallic undertone. It's interesting, if it weren't so sad. I only tell Whitney the basics. I'm afraid if I kept it all to myself, I'd go insane. I mean, I'm going insane. But it's slow. If I keep it all to myself, I might blow up. Then, Hunter will accuse me of being over dramatic when I start crying. He'll storm out. I'll shut down. There's no point wasting both of our energy. The silence is livable. I guess. At least, I'm used to living like this. There are some people who would call it repression. I just couldn't be bothered to call it anything.

I can feel him stirring in the bed beside me. I don't have to look over to confirm it. I save the document that is open on my computer and quickly switch open tabs. By the time he's looking over at the screen, I'm sitting on Facebook, browsing through my feed. I never log onto Facebook. But, I keep it open in case I need a quick escape from what I'm actually doing. I wouldn't want him to know that I Google “how to handle a failing relationship”. Then, he might know something was up. I briefly look over, faking a smile. He's got himself propped up on his elbows, looking over half-dazed. I can't tell if that's because he just woke up himself, or if it's because he wasn't expecting me in the bed beside him. He looks pleasantly surprised, which is a nice change.

“What are you doing?” He asks groggily. He rubs his eyes, clearing the sleep that's formed over them.

“Just, checking something.” I dismiss. It's not like he's actually interested. He hasn't been in a long time. But he's making small talk and that's something. I'll humor him for now. Usually, he'd ask what kept me up and I'd tell him that I couldn't sleep. We'd joke about the insomnia and he'd offer to brew some Sleepy Time tea to help clear my head. Usually. A long time has passed since that was a part of our normal interactions. He doesn't say anything though. This is our usual now. I close the laptop, sliding it to the end of the bed. He takes this as a confirmation, leaning into my space. His lips brush against mine and for a moment, I forget all the bullshit. I get lost in his lips whenever they're against mine. He's sloppy, because it's been awhile. If I had to guess, he's not used to my lips anymore. But he persists, pulling me down on the bed. He positions himself above me, hovering like he's waiting. I'm not interested emotionally, but my body responds to his touch. I can't help it. Even when we're not talking, when all we do is fuck on occasion, he's good at what he does. His hands roam over my form, and I surrender to his touch.

I can feel the Ativan now, circling through my system. The bed has started to feel like it's caving in, sucking me into an alternate universe. Then, I'm falling. Endlessly falling. In reality, simply sinking into a cotton and fabric hell. The smell of sex is heavy in these sheets, but it's not a familiar scent anymore. It's something strange and unfamiliar. I've got to remind myself to get the laundry done tomorrow while hes gone. Rid myself of this awful smell. I remember a time I used to be fond of diving into a bed that smelled like this. A time when our bodies joining together happened around three times a day. I couldn't keep my hands off his well-defined body. Always touching his arms or his chest. Smacking his ass as he walked by. He'd turn around and laugh, grab me and kiss me with passion. We'd get caught having sex in public places because we couldn't wait until we got home. We indulged. We were young and in love. We found each other irresistible. Those were the days. I haven't had a sex drive in weeks. The more I realize what has changed between us, the more I don't care to indulge. When we finished, he rolled over and went back to sleep. I'm stuck awake, staring at a ceiling that is getting further and further away. If I died tonight, lost in a cotton abyss, would he miss me? Would he even notice I was no longer there?

I think about opening up the laptop, typing up these fleeting thoughts. I know myself. If I don't write them down as they cross my mind, they are lost to the ages. I like to take advantage of the feeling of floating and soaring through a textual heaven. Instead, I'm trapped in cotton hell. It's funny how that works.

I miss the kid I used to know. That's what it boils down to.

I look back at the calendar on the wall beside me. It's distant from reality, fading as I stare too long. Those fucking white boxes. Empty. Boring. Not living up to their potential. Really, that calendar is more like me than I'd like to admit.

Chapter 2
The Morning After

I wake up, feeling drained of all my energy. I realize I'm laying on a phone and figure I forgot mine in the bed last night. So I pull it out from underneath me, letting out a content sigh. I don't remember much about last night. I think after Hunter went to bed, I busied myself on my computer. I remember heading to the bathroom for a glass of water. Each of my steps felt like walking on clouds. It was like I was floating away from myself. I managed to find the edge of the bed and pull myself into the sheets. Languid. Defeated. It's all a blur from there. I press my hand into the bed to try and get balance. But I feel around and realize there is more than one phone. I'm on top of what feels like a phone graveyard. A pile of phones that don't belong to me. But that's not the only thing that's strange about this bed. It doesn't feel right. It smells worse. It's full. My hand finds the body laying beside mine. It's bare muscles, toned, and warm. There's a dent in the middle of his smooth chest. I let my hand slide over his torso, smiling to myself. I don't need to open my eyes to know who is beside me. That dent gives him away. It looks like he might have been in an accident. Maybe hurt himself on stage when he was in the middle of a back flip off one of the amps. But it's just the way his muscles define themselves. There is no cause. He has similar imprints at the base of his spine, back dimples. They are beautiful, much like the rest of him. There is something about his presence that brings a calmness to my soul. I think it's that beauty, how inviting and warm he is. Or, it's something else. Something I'm not quite ready to admit to myself.

Part of me wants to stay in the moment, even though I'm not quite sure what it is yet. I want to. But I don't. I pull myself out of the covers, away from that body. I open my eyes slowly and look around. It's hard to tell what time it is, since the room is mostly dark. There's a red hue over the entire room, but that's from a lamp that was left on in the corner of the room. There are no open windows, which might let in sound from the outside world. The curtains are black, blocking the sunlight from pouring in, if the morning hours have approached. I slide off the bed and land on my own two feet. I try to remember what happened last night as I look around the environment. There are bodies everywhere. Exposed skin stretches my eyesight like the ocean. As I'm walking across the crowded room, I'm kicking bottles. Some empty, some emptying onto the floor. Sticky puddles of alcohol and bodily fluids. I feel like I'm in the red light district in Amsterdam. I know I'm not, because I would have remembered boarding a plane. And the smell. It's hitting my nostrils like a brick of concrete. It's hard. It's rough. It's similar to those dressing rooms back stage that I know oh-so well. I step over people who are passed out on the floor. I'd be shocked, if this wasn't a common sight in the life I've lived. There are two bodies blocking the exit of the room I'm in. A young girl and an older guy who apparently fell asleep during their act of last night. It looks like I missed one hell of a show. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I was right there in the middle. I remember nothing, so it's best not to make assumptions. I keep walking until I find a staircase. Prior to the first step I take, I never consider what I'm wearing. I finally check to make sure that I'm clothed. Not fully, but enough to walk into an unknown persons' house.

My feet make no sound as I head down the linoleum steps. A large door greets me at the bottom of the stairs. It's closed, but the windows on each side are letting the sunshine in. It's bright outside. If I had to guess, it's just a little past noon. I continue around the doorway that leads into the living room. There's more of everything down here. More people, more bottles. A whole lot more fluids. More smells. But, I don't care. I know my way around this house, regardless of how big it might be. I find the kitchen and the coffee pot, quickly brewing myself something strong. I pull out the coffee cup I usually use when I'm here. It's hidden behind a box of his favorite kind of cereal. He'd say “so no one uses it”. He wants me to feel welcome here. I do, sometimes. But, he's hardly ever here anyway. He lives in two worlds. One, a mansion filled with exposed skin and bodily fluids. This is his lifestyle. Parties, drugs, women, men and everything else that matches his celebrity status. But he lives a duel life, his second being one of discretion. Secrecy. That's the life I fit into. That's the life I'm comfortable in. Every once in a while, we like to join the ranks of all the rest, step outside ourselves. That's why he keeps this house, even though it's never felt like home.

I don't have a home, just walls that house my belongings. I'm too used to longing for an escape. That does things to a person. Strange things. I often wake up in different places, as different people. It doesn't even phase me anymore. On a morning like this, the only thing I care about is a strong cup of coffee. I love that his coffee pot brews instantly, pouring the liquid into my mug until it hits the brim. I don't bother taking my creamer out of the fridge. I don't know if it's still good anymore. It's been weeks since we've been here, after all. I don't need sugar either. I'm not against sweet or smooth. I'm just not in the mood. I just need the blunt force that is black coffee. I need to wake up a little, maybe clear my head. At the very least, I hope to counter this gradually increasing headache that promises to rip my head wide open. I put my hands on the counter, wrapping them around my coffee cup. I hear footsteps coming from behind me. I consider turning around, to see if it's someone I know. But I don't. Because the larger part of me just doesn't care. There's a chance, with a party this size, I only know one person: the host. No one else matters anyways. The footsteps approach slowly, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen. I can tell they don't know that I'm already aware of their presence. They might be afraid of scaring me, so there's a caution in their approach. I feel hands rest on my shoulders, slowly moving down my sides. The same hands press into my stomach as the arms attached wrap around my waist. This is a surprise. He leans down and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. He brushes my hair aside with his nose, pressing his plump lips into my spine. Soft, gentle and endless like the ocean. His lips are inviting, the way the rest of his body is. I smile, removing my hands from my coffee cup. I let myself turn around, slowly. He adjusts, so his hands press into my back and I'm met with his smile. He leans down and his lips hover above mine. I could never forget the grace in the way they press to my own. A simple kiss, at first. He's testing his limits, but pushing just past them. He knows I don't approve, but that I can't resist him for long. Before I know it, I'm against the counter. We're wrapping around each other like a pretzel, never meant to be taken apart. He smiles against my lips and I moan into his mouth. Our hands roam each others bodies, his exposed completely.

By the time his lips move from mine, the coffee on the counter behind me is cold. It's not hot enough in this room for that to happen so suddenly. But it wasn't sudden. Time disappears when I'm with him. Five minutes into 5 months. Each second is a lifetime. Or so it feels. Right now, right here, I need that. He grounds me when I'm floating off too far. That's when it all comes rushing back. Last night. Him.

I left Hunter's, leaving him to dream whatever makes him more content than reality. I didn't bother pulling out my laptop. I went to get a glass of water, but my feet kept me going forward. The weightless steps I took to my bed weren't to my own, but to his. With him. Following, like I often find myself doing whenever he's around. I just went for a walk, to try and clear my head. I must have ended up at a bar, maybe pulled off the street into a house party. In this neighborhood, there are always house parties. It doesn't matter if you know anyone inside or not, they pull you in. You only roam the streets this late at night to find somewhere better to be. I must have found that better place. Or at least, wrapped in his arms, I feel like I did.

Maybe the better place found me.

Chapter 3

The Silence Is Killing Me

I'm in the kitchen, making dinner. Hunter is leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, watching me, like I care. He's wearing faded denim jeans, hanging on his protruding hips. He's not trying to cock them the way that he is, but it's his default stance. His arms are crossed over his chest, wrinkling the aging sweatshirt he's wearing. He doesn't ask me where I went last night. I get the feeling he's waiting for me to offer the information, but I won't. I doubt he cares anyway. It may be curiosity, but it's not concern. He stopped caring a long time ago. I'm not delusional enough to think otherwise. He's got his eyes glued to the kitchen floor, like he's waiting for something to move the tiles and break him out of this world. I didn't expect him home until well after dinner, but I thought it would be nice to make him something to eat anyway. I used to do that whenever he was coming home from tour. I'd have a feast made for him, knowing how tour food causes malnutrition. I'd go all-out, but, it's been a while since I've cared too. I'm barely putting effort into this meal. I'm just boiling water, making pasta. I'm watching the bubbles floating up when it's finally time to add the noodles. I choose the flat ones, because they pair the best with shrimp, in my opinion. The shrimp is already cooked, placed aside from the burner on the counter. I'm just waiting.

Life has become a waiting game.

He lifts himself off the wall and heads back into the living room. Not a word, but his silence speaks louder than anything he could waste his time saying. Is it so bad that I want him to call me out? To show the signs of jealousy, irritation, because at least that means he noticed I was gone... I want him to grab my shoulders, shake me and ask me where I've been. Demand an answer. Care. For all I know, he just woke up. I didn't bother going upstairs when I got home. That's where he was, from what I know. I came in and headed for the kitchen. Not because I'm hungry. I ate already, while I was still out. We ordered pizza for the 10 of us that lingered around. The “after party crew” is what he called us. I just laughed. I hardly know what else to say when he's being ridiculous. He asked me to stay too. He said I didn't have to come home to this. I told him I had to. Hunter would get suspicious otherwise. He knew I was lying, that Hunter isn't really here anymore. But, he lets me get away with my excuses. At least for now. He's made it pretty clear that he's not going to wait around forever. But, that's his call. I just want to make this nightmare go away.

I sigh as I grab my coffee cup, realizing that it's empty now. I fill the cup and add two spoons of sugar into the mug. Then I head to the fridge and add my creamer. A delightful smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee fills the air around the mug. Then I go to stir it, realizing a second too late that I didn't grab the spoon. Instead, I grabbed the fork that I had been using to pry the shrimp. Fuck. Garlic butter coffee was not high on my list of things to try. I'm happy to wake up in a sweat-filled room filled with naked bodies and rock stars any day of the week. But, garlic shrimp coffee? No. Oh well. I'm not going to dump the entire coffee down the drain. I'll try it. Who knows? I might like the taste of garlic butter coffee. Doubtful, but stranger things have happened in my life, I'm sure. Fuck this fork. I throw it into the sink, punishing it for being in the way. It's not the fork at fault, but my brain. I didn't realize. I can't punish the fork. I still need it to push the shrimp into the bowls when the pasta is finished boiling. It does the job I need it to do. It does. It's not at fault because I tried to make it do something it wasn't designed for, like stirring sugar.

I realize most of my frustration is because of Hunter. He's now sitting in the living room playing on his game station. He's got the headset on, too. I can hear him laughing and chatting with all of his online friends. He can talk to them, without any problems. He can smile and laugh and have a good time. I don't know when I stopped being his friend and became his enemy. I don't know why I bothered coming home. Well, here. This has never felt like a home. It's too big, too empty. I would say it was inspired by love, but, I don't want to turn such a beautiful emotion into a joke. Once upon a time, there was love here. But I think we lost it along the way. This love is nothing more than a chemical imbalance. If I wanted that, I could buy drugs. Drugs don't give me as much drama and the effects are longer lasting. More fun. I don't worry too much about the side effects, because I never let the drugs wear off.

“Hunter, it's done.” I call out as I finish portioning our meal. I can hear his muffled conversation with whoever he's talking to online. I place both plates on the kitchen table. I expect he'll grab his and head back to his gaming. I'll sit here, watching him from across this vacant house. To my surprise, he pulls out the chair and sits down at the table. I don't know what to say to him, so I opt for nothing. I know he's not interested in talking either. We occasionally look at one another, offering fake smiles. They have to be fake, because nothing in this house is real anymore.

“You added something.” He comments, looking up from his plate. I raise my eyebrow, surprised that he noticed. He usually doesn't. Or, wouldn't. I let the butterflies in my stomach flutter as I smile.

“I just added a dash of lemon juice.” I clarify. He nods, like he approves of this change. It's a small exchange, but it's more than usual. That's nice.

I remember when he wasn't so self-involved, when I actually mattered to him. When this relationship was valued by both of us, instead of something we just put up with. I don't remember when it changed. I don't know if I would have noticed, either. When something goes through constant changes, it's hard to pinpoint the one that mattered.

Back when we met, we were young and impulsive. I met him after a show in Nevada. He was playing with his band. At the time, they were only a local buzz. But, I had gone to Nevada with my boyfriend Luke. Luke had gone out of his way to see this particular band. I had gone with him to show my support, and because I didn't trust him in Nevada. I remember thinking how adorable Hunter was. How out of his element, too. He was too young to know much about the lifestyle he was getting himself into. But he wanted it with such a passion that I was impressed. So was Luke, who made sure that Hunter became a star. But that was only the first time we met. The first time we exchanged pleasantries. The first time I noticed the way he smiled. The first time he captured my heart. Then I didn't see him again until years later. It was at a venue in New York. He joked that fate had brought us back into each others' lives. I never believed in fate, but I believed in his smile. I packed my bags that night and hopped onto the tour bus. The band has just started the East leg of a cross-country tour. So, I tagged along until the end, moving into Hunter's California home. It was a brutal tour, but we loved every second of it.

Sometimes, when the bus was pulled to the side of the road, the two of us would climb out. We'd lean against the tour bus, sharing a cigarette. We'd watch as the smoke turned into clouds, floating up towards the sky. Up. Up. As if they were heading towards the stars, or the moon. It felt like we were a part of something, him and I. Something that was bigger than ourselves. I'd look over at him, watching the world with wide eyes. He was so fascinated back then, by everything. I'd tell him he was beautiful in the moonlight. He'd laugh and say I was stealing his line. After all, wasn't it him who should be saying that to me? I'd laugh. We'd kiss. Then we'd head back onto the bus, holding hands and in our own world. Oh, those were the days. Now we're eating garlic butter shrimp at a silent dinner table with nothing but memories echoing in the background.

Chapter 4

That Thing You Do

I've got my eyes shut tight, trying to encourage sleep to find me in the blackness of the night. I have no idea how long I've been laying here, awake and aware. I sigh as I let my eyes flutter open, turning my head to see the clock on the bedside table. It's flashing the number 2:33, which means I've only been attempting sleep for an hour. It feels more like an eternity. Of course, Hunter went to bed at 8:30, the same time he goes to bed every night that he's here. I dropped onto the bed at the same time as him, intending to go to bed with him. It's rare that we fall asleep together. Mostly because I don't sleep. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I hoped I would do the same, but had no luck. By 10, I was restless and picked up his copy of Invisible Monsters. I've already read it more than 20 times, but I'm always open to reading it over. Every time I catch something new and it feels like a whole new book. It helps that I always read it in a different order from the last time. Of course, this time, I couldn't concentrate. I read the words, but it was like they were on another plain of existence. My mind was too busy racing with thoughts of this morning.

Hunter used to stay up with me. We'd talk and laugh until the sun came up, before even considering bed as an option. But now, the choice is between going to sleep, or sitting awake in complete silence. Neither of us want to acknowledge everything this isn't. It seems like a better idea to deny it to each other, to ourselves. It's easier to stay silent. I fucking hate it. I thought I had finally fallen asleep around one in the morning, but the clock mocks me. I've been laying here in echoing silence for far too long. I wish my insomnia was caused by an overactive lifestyle that keeps me manic and edgy. But it's not. Instead, it's sharing a bed with Hunter. I can't sleep when I'm laying beside him. I slept just fine last night, when I found myself in someone elses' bed.

It was strangely comforting to wake up in a room filled with sweat and sex. A room filled with connections between like-minded people with common goals of experiencing something bigger than themselves. I miss that feeling. I miss waking up beside someone who notices when I get out of the bed. Someone who follows me because my absence is disappointing. I miss having someone who wants to touch me because they know it's me. Someone who wants the air around them filled with the sound of my voice, instead of my silence. I want that from someone. No, not someone. I don't want someone. It can't be anyone. I want him. I want those endless lips to be the ones mine meet every morning. They were. Once upon a time, they were. Oh, but that was so long ago. Who even remembers that?

Hunter pulls me out of my thoughts when he stirs in the bed. He rolls over onto his side, draping one of his arms over me. His fingertips press into my stomach, like he's looking for solid ground. He smiles in his sleep and a sudden calm washes over me. Then it's gone when he mumbles her name with a sigh of content. He does this too often. I think I hear her name more than my own these days. Oh well. Nothing gold can stay, and this relationship has tarnished. There's no sense trying to spruce it up anymore. I sigh, pushing his hand off of my stomach. His skin against mine burns me, like acid to the bone. I pull myself off the bed, letting my feet make a thud as they hit the floorboards. He doesn't notice my absence, instead pressing his fingers into the mattress all the same. I grab the sweatshirt of mine that's draped over the end of the bed. It's navy blue and has “Columbia” written on the front of it. It's one of Luke’s, but I never told Hunter that. He might know, since I never went to Columbia and Luke was his mentor. But he doesn't call me on souvenirs of the past. When we moved into this house at the beginning of the year, we had a cleansing ritual in the backyard. It went against local fire regulations, but we did it anyway. He tossed everything from a former lover into that fire. I did the same. It was supposed to help us start over. Forget about our past mistakes. His infidelities and my insecurities. We were letting go, moving forward. Or at least that was the intent. We were really just making excuses for ourselves. I had found this sweater a few weeks later, hiding it somewhere in the closet. As the bitter wind pulled in earlier this month, I gave in. I pulled the sweater out and Hunter didn't say anything about it. I grab the jeans that are laying underneath and pull them up my thin, bony legs. I don't bother doing up the zipper, leaving them hanging open. I head out of the bedroom and the door closes behind me, having caught on the sleeve of my sweater. That's fine. I want the door to close behind me. I want every door to close behind me. I can bum around for a few years, living on the street or couch surfing. I've done it so many times. But, I've exhausted my resources too. Too many people turned their back because I chose to give Hunter another chance. Little did I know. I laugh to myself out loud as I head towards the living room. I have no idea what I'm doing. Until I do. I pass the front door and notice the figure standing on the porch.

I watch him for a minute, nervously hovering his white knuckle above the door. Unsure. Then, he steps back from the door, looking up at the window above his head. He's standing on the steps, rocking on the heels of his feet. He's wearing a varsity sweatshirt, similar to the one I have on. His is black, with yellow writing. He's never enrolled or attended University, so the sweater isn't his. I figure it's probably Blake's, since he's trying to be discreet and blend in. He looks no more than 12 years old. The red on his cheeks and the glimmer in his eyes are illuminated by the lights that line the driveway. We're about a five minute drive from town, because Hunter wanted to live on the outskirts. It's not impractical. He's still too famous to live in town. Instead, he choose this house with a security gate. I briefly wonder how he got past the gate without using the intercom, but then I remember who I'm talking about. He scaled the gate. He's used to this by now. He looks up at me, noticing that I'm watching him. I sigh, realizing I have to acknowledge him now. Or, at least humor his presence. He took the initiative to come here. That's earned a few minutes of my time at least. I slowly pull the door open and he steps forward. The cool air hits me and I forget the temperature at night. It's not cold, but there's a bite to the breeze as it passes easily through my sweater, grazing my skin and making every hair stand up on my arms. I wonder how long he's been standing outside, noticing that he's shaking.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, breathing the cold air into my lungs. He shrugs, like that answers my question in some way. I shake my head, letting him know that it doesn't.

“Um, you left.” He tries again. I suppress my laughter, because that's nothing new. I'm always leaving. It's my trademark move if you ask anyone who has ever known me. When it comes to the morning after, I leave so fast that I'm nothing but a memory. I just don't want anyone to get used to my presence, or miss me when I leave. Because it's inevitable that I will always leave. I can't seem to pull that Houdini act with this one though. It's like he's a black dog and he's caught my scent. He can follow me wherever I go now, no matter how many times I try to shake him off my tracks.

He's looking up at me with these sad puppy dog eyes. I'd say he's lucky I even saw him standing out here, but I always do. It's like I just know whenever he's around. I can see the glimmer of hope now, his eyes lighting up even more. The streetlights wouldn't need to be on to see this sparkle. He makes it obvious enough with the smile on his face. I want to ignore these big brown eyes, putting me on the spot. Asking silent questions that I don't have the answers for. But I can't. I never can when it comes to him. He wants me to come back. I know the look on his face right now. That's the thing about him. Even when I don't want him to, he persists. He shows passion and perseverance. He pushes in all the best ways. I don't know why he tries so hard. I don't think he knows either. If I were to ask him why he bothered showing up tonight, he'd dismiss the question. But, eventually, he'd break down and answer. Because he always does. And eventually, I'll break down and follow him. Because that's what I always do.

Chapter 5

White Picket Fence

I take a deep inhale before handing the joint back to him. He takes it lazily, holding it to his over-sized lips. The smoke creates a cloud between the two of us as we pass it back and fourth. I was reluctant to follow him when he arrived, but he always manages to convince me. Those deep brown eyes just pull me in, every time. I opened the gate and we started walking. It seemed that neither of us had any direction in mind, ending up at a park a few blocks away. We're sitting on opposite sides of the metal slide. We haven't said much. It's been mostly silence, but, that's enough. We don't need words. We can share comfortable silences. It's not like it is with Hunter.

Now, we're watching the sun rising in the distance. It's nearing seven in the morning, judging by the position of the sun. It's still chilly out because the sun isn't high enough. I'm trying not to shake, but the joint is trembling in my hand. He'd offer me his jacket if he had worn one himself. Or maybe not. He knows I'm not a fan of chivalry. I've made it adamantly clear that I don't take hand outs. If I fuck up by not grabbing a jacket, that's my own problem. I always get myself out of my own problems. Have since I was a child.

I look at the neighborhood we're in. The park stands opposite of a row of identical houses. It's white picket fence suburbia. This neighborhood and the ones surrounding it are all beginning to wake up now. It's Friday morning, the last day of the week. There's an excitement in parents and children that the weekend is about to start. There's always more energy on Friday mornings than any other day of the week. Less feet-dragging. Right now, domestic wives are putting coffee on and greeting their husbands with loving pecks. Their 2.5 children are getting up and ready to go to school. Maybe there's a dog being let out into the yard. Maybe a cat is joining the family at the breakfast table. Maybe it's pancakes. Maybe just cereal and milk. If any of these mothers are part of the latest trends, there's a table filled with fruits and vegetables. Lunches are packed already in reusable containers and schoolbags are being put together. The wives will all offer another loving kiss as they send their husbands off into the world, telling them to have a nice day.

The world is waking up for people like that. People with normal lives.

As I'm sitting out here in the cold, I think about my own life in comparison. I wonder if life would have been easier had I taken that predestined route. If I had graduated high school, attended Columbia. If I had two parents and a stable home. I wonder if I could have been a happy housewife, with a couple of children. I don't know if I'd make a good parent. I didn't have any examples growing up. So, it'd be a coin toss. I guess it would depend on who I married. I know these happy suburban lives aren't all they're cracked up to be though. I've always know there's more than meets the eye behind closed doors like that. Usually, the wife is sleeping with her husbands poker buddy. Or, the children act out at school because no one pays attention to them at home. But, all of them put on fake smiles and pretend everything is fine. They invite other families over on the weekend for barbecues. They attend parties together, well-dressed and well-spoken. When it comes to that side of the lifestyle, I don't have to wonder about anything. I'm already living that.

Whenever we're in public, Hunter treats me like the best thing that's ever happened to him. He tells everyone how lucky he is to have me, flashing me around like some trophy. But, since we don't have kids, we haven't settled into suburbia. Instead, we live in a house that's way too big for the two of us. I never understood how two people required such a large house. He had bought it before we got back together. I don't know if he had plans to start a family together. Or, start a family with her. Either way, it never happened. He shrugged it off saying he required buying a big house because he was famous. He said it was expected. His fame card stopped working a long time ago. He retired from the spotlight back in 2012. He made his final press release announcing his decision to settle down. He'll be living off royalties for a long time. His band was a chart-topper for years. Of course, when he makes his introductions, I put on the same act. I smile, laugh at his jokes. I tell people how much I adore him. The adoring wife. God, my life is exactly the same without the children. Only I'm not sleeping with his poker buddy. It's much worse.

I know that Hunter isn't faithful either. He never has been. It's been behind my back, then flaunted in front of me. I'm never sure when it's coming, it just, happens. He also uses the rock star excuse for that one, too. Again, it's sort of lost it's luster. That doesn't stop him from clinging to it like it was the only thing he had ever known. I know he doesn't care about anything anymore. He doesn't even try. Not with me, not with his career. He seems to internally pity himself, holding onto this lifestyle that's been over for a long time. I wish I didn't care. I wish I could just move on with my life and give up on this idea. I do care, though. I still love the fucker. It doesn't matter to me that somewhere along the highway he took a wrong turn. He got lost on a stretch with no street lights. No signs. No directions. He's doing the best that he can to find his way back to a place that feels familiar. On that day, I want to be with him. I know that means I have to see him through these travels. Even when half the time, I can't stand to look at him.

His hand gently squeezes my knee and I'm pulled from the thoughts filling my head. I look over at the kid beside me, eyes half closed. He's dazing off. It's the strength of the weed. He gets only the best drugs because his fame card is still active, unlike Hunter's.

“Here.” He offers, stretching his arm out. I shake my head, waving him off loosely.

“I'm over it.” I dismiss. He takes another drag, then flicks the rest into the sand in the playground. I laugh internally, thinking about one of the suburbia kids finding it after school. Let them pick it up, play with it, try and understand. I'd like to see the look on that child's face. A mix of shock and curiosity. Maybe one of them can make correlations to something they saw mommy doing in the kitchen when uncle-so-and-so came over. I've heard so many stories like that. I think everyone has had that family member who wasn't really a family member. I wouldn't know. I never had a family at all, let alone pretend members. My mother was there, but only physically. She was mostly missing in action. She shut down when I was only a child due to many abusive relationships. I shouldn't have known that as a child, but I did. I watched her close in on herself. My father was gone the second he heard the word “pregnant”. I raised myself. By the time I was 4 years old, I learned to get breakfast by myself. I could cut up apples and spread out the peanut butter. By the time I was 6 years old, I was drinking coffee with breakfast. By the time I was 8, I was all grown up. It was a gradual progression. Of course, some of my mothers “friends” were adamant about raising me. I wouldn't hear anything about it. I left at the first chance I got with my first boyfriend, Luke.

I wouldn't choose a different life if the option was presented to me. Even when my life has been hectic and depressing, it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative. I think it's funny that the white picket fence life is a dream to so many people. To me, it's more like a nightmare.

He taps my leg again, standing up. I look up at him, shielding my eyes from the rising sun.

“Let's go.” He announces, motioning forward. He's got an impatience about him that I don't quite understand. I think it's annoying, sometimes. But, there's something about him that I can't get enough of. His lips are now curling into a pout as he looks at me. I smile, which seems to ease him slightly. The minutes pass without me moving and he starts to look impatient again. Now, there's a plea in his eyes. I sigh, sliding the rest of the way down the slide. I let my feet fall into the sand, still looking at him. He shifts in his position, wrapping both his arms around his chest.

I struggle, trying to stand up, but he holds out his hand. I lightly wrap mine around his and lift myself up. I want to move my hand, but it lingers. My fingers wrap around his, causing his eyes to shoot to the ground. We're not good at this, me and him. We can't be. I wasn't raised to show emotion. Mostly because I wasn't raised at all. He knows that. He knows I can't be the American dream for him. But, he's understanding of that. He shows patience when I struggle with the concept of where this is heading. Unlike me, he was raised. He had supportive parents and a handful of siblings. He grew up in a home that most people would be envious of. He had the picket fence life, but even better. His parents were actually in love, though poly-amorous. They still held hands while walking down the street, still made-out like teenagers behind closed doors. They were still happy and in love. All of their children grew up to be happy and successful. Except this one, who is still chasing a happiness in me that I don't know if he'll get. It's become obvious he's willing to wait forever. That's how I know his parents must have done something right.

Chapter 6

Cotton Lavender Panties

I've spent three hours scribbling down nonsense on my laptop. But, there was nothing I could do to concentrate. So I closed my laptop and pulled out my notebook instead. My mind was whirling about what I had come home to. Hunter was playing video games, there was nothing strange about that. He was eating the pizza he had ordered. I had eaten dinner before coming home, because I knew I wouldn't eat once home. We went out with a bunch of his friends to celebrate the upcoming tour he's going on. Once home, I headed up to our bedroom. There, I found a pair of lavender cotton panties on the floor. I wonder if they were left there intentionally for me to see. I have to assume he left them laying there as a trophy. Letting me know what he's doing behind my back. They were stretched out, from being torn off the person who was wearing them. They don't belong to me, that's for sure. Hunter has an impressive talent when it comes to undressing someone. He'll slide one hand between a pair of legs, wrap it around the fabric and pull. They come off in a swift movement. It's paired with this look, a darkness in his eyes. When he gives someone that look, it's like he's looking deep into that persons soul. It leads to immediate submission, even from me. I am not the only one seeing these eyes. I know that. He knows that. I don't know if he knows that I know.

He didn't ask me where I had been. If he had, I would have said I went for a stroll. He knows that I tend to take midnight walks. But, they don't usually roll into the morning or afternoon. They never roll into the evening. I'm sure he's come up with his own ideas and I know he's not exactly wrong. He may believe I'm cheating on him. He may believe it's been going on for months. He did last time, too. He didn't ask, though. I think it's safe to say he doesn't want to know anyway. I know he's not faithful. He shouldn't expect me to be.

I shake my head, almost violently, looking at the final sip in the glass in front of me. I grab the bottle that's sitting beside the glass. I pour the liquid into the glass, filling it right to the brim. I pick back up my pen and stare at the spiral bound notebook in front of me. I can't help but laugh as my pen draws circles in the margin. Hunter is the reason I started using a spiral bound notebook in the first place. I used to have a PDA to write on. I kept notes and a detailed calendar. I preferred it that way, because it was portable. Now, it's old fashioned notebooks. He uses the spiral bound notebooks because they have more flexibility. Or so he once said. I know he's the king of what's flexible and what isn't. I take a sip as I toss the pen clear across the table. We've got a dining room table, but it's so rare that we ever have guests over. I wonder why we don't. He has so many friends. He has the money to throw a party. He bought this ridiculous house, after all. You would think he'd be having house parties every second night, like certain other people. He's trying to settle down, he'll say. I laugh internally when he tells me this. I laugh out loud as I'm thinking of it. He left shortly after I got home. He didn't say where he was going. Then again, I didn't ask, because I wasn't sure I cared either.

I think he knows that. I think we both know this is less flexible than it once was. Both of us. Together. Apart. Something isn't working. The sex wasn't even the first thing to go. It started with the conversation. Doesn't it always? We used to spend hours talking about nothing and everything. We'd stay up all night. Of course, on tour that's all there is to do while you're driving. You have sex, you talk, you drink. So we'd have sex of course. But neither of us were good at winding down. So instead of laying beside each other in silence, curled against each others bodies and waiting for sleep to come, we'd get up. We'd play cards and talk about everything. From books we were reading at the time to philosophers. We'd talk about the other bands on the tour. We'd talk about music and the lifestyle that comes with being a professional. We never ran out of things to say. But, then we stopped touring together. He kept touring for years after I stopped tagging along. When he finally announced his own retirement from music, I thought he would be happy. He had been touring for 8 months straight. He was so tired. I knew it wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. The band had been drifting apart, but the separation was fairly easy. They sat down and said "it's not working". No one argued. Nothing was smashed or thrown. There was just an onset of silent nodding. That was it. Contract over. We even moved to Illinois to start over and wind down.

That was a million years ago.

He never stopped playing music, though. No matter where we moved, he found himself gigs at local places. Right now, he had arranged himself a weekly gig. Every Friday, he'd head downtown and play to an adoring crowd. It wouldn't matter how long ago he retired, there would always be fans pouring into his performances. They hold onto the dream, the same way he does. He's still writing his own music. You'd think the conversation between us could focus on that. We could talk about the new songs he's been working on. Instead, we hardly exchange pleasantries. When we do, I can hear that there's a strain in his voice. I know he's not talking to me about the new songs because there's another pair of ears that his lips are speaking to. His voice is being shared with someone who isn't me.

I don't think he's fallen out of love. I believe, in my heart, that he's still in love with me. I can tell when he looks into my eyes. I know there's still a fire between us, burning bright and hot. But, I've realized we're coming to the end of camping season. The wind is getting cold and bitter and the fire is slowly flickering. We're both standing on opposite sides of the fire. When that flame goes out, there's going to be nothing left but the two of us. Alone in the woods, surrounded by unknown dangers. I'll probably be eaten by wolves in the darkness. He won't hear me calling his name, because that's how self-involved he's become. He always lived in his own world, but it's been getting worse. Still, I want to ride this out with him. I want to stand and support him, even if one of my legs is eaten off by those same wolves. I'll stick with him until he pulls himself together.

Then, I hear his voice echoing in the back of my head: what if he doesn't? I know that he's right. He's always right about things like this. Maybe, just maybe, I can tell him what he wants to hear the most.

Chapter 7

Glass Of Water

I can hear footsteps, creaking along the floorboards at the foot of my bed. Each step seems to be coming closer to the end of the curtain that surrounds our bed. Hunter hates the curtain, but I can't sleep without it there. Otherwise, I'm staring restlessly at what feels like an endless void beyond the foot of the bed. Right now, those footsteps are light. Undetermined. Hunter is asleep beside me, so I know that it isn't him. We don't have pets anymore, not since our cat ran away a few months ago. Ironically, the cat made it across town and was adopted by him. So I can visit the cat anytime I want to. Hunter doesn't know that, of course. He wouldn't care anyway. He only bought the cat as a decoration. It was something to fill the silence between us. He knew that words weren't going to be enough anymore. It was a peace offering, I think. He wanted to stop the war of silence. He doesn't seem to realize that the silence isn't a war, it's a surrender. I wasn't shocked when the cat ran away. I would have too, if I wasn't so stubborn.

I hear the footsteps stop. The final imprint is at the end of the bed on my side. I pull the curtain back slightly to see what the commotion is about. We don't lock our door, so it could be anyone. But, I would have heard the gate open, or the intercom go off. It's unlikely that someone has broken in. They would have stayed in the living room, where all the electronics are. No robber would have bolted up the stairs to the bedroom. I pause as the curtain reveals her. She's standing there, staring at me with this blank expression on her face. She's got hollowed eyes that are blackened from the lack of light in the bedroom. Or, it's from a demonic force that has brought her here in the first place. I sigh and slightly shiver. She always gives me this uneasy feeling. It's something in her presence. I'm normally brave or bold. I'm not scared of anything. I'm willing to take on everything. But, she has a way of undoing me. She destroys me completely. She doesn't say anything, either. She just stares at me, unblinking. It's entirely nerve-wracking. I don't know what she wants, or I'd rather pretend I didn't. The truth is, I know what she wants. I know there's only one reason she ever shows up.

I used to be more scared of her. I guess I've gotten used to her with time. Back when I was a kid, her appearance would rattle me. I'd cry for days, refuse to sleep with the lights off. I once told my mother there was a little girl in my room. She dismissed it completely, saying it was a side-effect of my overactive imagination. I don't have an overactive imagination though. She's real. I know she's real. I knew even as a child that she was real. My mother wouldn't care anyway. Unless the little girl I spoke of was made of cocaine, she wasn't batting an eyelash. But, she attempted the typical parent response of telling me that monsters don't exist. She had an overactive imagination. Monsters are real. She isn't a monster though. She's not real in the sense of a physical presence, either. No one else can see her except me. She's a manifestation. As I grew older, I started to make connections about when she would appear. She still frightens me, sends chills down my spine, but she makes sense now. I know why she's here. Of course, this is the first time she's ever made sound as she approached. She doesn't usually make her appearance known. Usually, I open my eyes and she's standing in front of me. Sometimes I scream. Sometimes I shut my eyes tightly and hope she goes away. Tonight, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and look her right in the eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask out loud. I'd be worried about waking up the person beside me if I didn't know that he slept like the dead. God, I wish I could have a fraction of that ability. Sleep would be nice every once in a while. It feels like I haven't slept in weeks, but I know I got a few hours the other night. I slept when I was by his side.

I get out of the bed and walk towards her. As I pass through her, I grab the glass that's sitting on the dresser. I head to the bathroom down the hall to fill the glass. Normally, I keep one by the bed. I've been too out of it recently to be normal. I guess that seeing him really shook me up. It's not seeing him, necessarily. It's what he asked of me. It was one thing when we were going behind their backs to spend time together. We were loyal, at least physically. We've always been emotionally disloyal because that's the way we are. We've avoided going out together in the daylight, to avoid other people getting the wrong impression. But, he's left Blake. Now, he's waiting for me to leave Hunter. I keep telling him that I want to be there for Hunter. I want to be there. Then he argues that Hunter won't come out of it. He says that Hunter is too far gone. I can see his point, I guess. I look over my shoulder, where she is still standing at the foot of my bed. She's turned to face me though. She's watching every move I make the same way she always does. I walk back into the bedroom, walking through her again as I sit on the edge of my bed. I think about the conversation him and I had after dinner. I look back at her.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask softly. There's no response, but a smile creeps over her face. Her smile is creepy, like she's plotting something. She can't look any other way, even if she wanted to. She's cute, in a dead-child-coming-back-to-life sort of way. Her skin is pale and she looks like a younger version of me. It makes sense, because she technically is.

With that, she's gone. She leaves behind only a feeling that something is wrong in my life.

Of course she's offering her opinion on him. I tap my finger on the edge of the glass that's in my hand. I drink down the contents and let it fall to the table in front of me. Yeah, he'll get his answer.

Chapter 8

Eloquent Reveries

She's moving around the small living room of their now-shared apartment, swaying against the music that's turned just a little too loud for four in the morning. She's got a joint hanging out of her mouth, then in her hand, then back to her mouth. She's wearing a bob cut wig that's a combination of orange and red. She's drunk by now. Beyond drunk, actually. She's reached a level of intoxication that's rare for her. Rare for anyone, actually. It's more rare how she handles her alcohol with such grace. It's because she drinks to have a good time, not to forget the world she doesn't want to be living in. Her movements are fluid. There's an elegance. It shows in the way her hips cock upwards, then back down as she's moving. Her ripped up t-shirt is riding up her torso, revealing the curves she does her best to accentuate. I can see why she would. Her skin is smooth, not a single imperfection. She's pale, but covers up a good deal of white with dashes of color in the form of her tattoos. She's not much taller than I am, but she carries herself like the tallest person in the room. When she enters, she is the focus. Even if she's not trying to be. She's the focus right now, at least of my eyes. I'm not seeing clearly anymore anyway. My eyes stopped working a long time ago. She's moving in blurs of color now, but I know what she looks like. I know what I'm supposed to see when I look at her. Right now, it's nothing but streaks of color. Flashes and white dots that decorate the otherwise boring apartment we're sitting in. This is out of her element, this small and insignificant place. Her larger-than-life personality belongs on a stage, being adored by thousands. Though, she seems happy with her stage of the two of us. Or maybe I'm seeing things, like a brightly lit smile creeping across her face as her beer bottle moves to her lips. I know I'm not hearing things when the laughter from beside me draws my attention. He jumps off the bed in the living room, swiftly moving towards her. He moves gracefully as well. Far more graceful than I could if I attempted to rise. Far more graceful than anyone should on a night like this. He takes the joint before it reaches back to her lips. He takes a deep inhale, blowing the smoke in her face. She laughs, shaking her head through the cloud around it. He dives back into the bed, causing a bounce that lifts me off the springs. I shift, suddenly conscious of where I am.

He has always had a strange way of making me forget where I am. Who I am, even. It's like, when I'm with him the rest of the world no longer exists. No longer matters. In those moments, nothing matters. I wish that feeling could last, but it's just not a practical way to live. He tells me it could, if I just said yes to his question. He wants that “yes” more than I think I've seen anyone want something. But I can't give into the idea. To him. I can see that he grows more and more eager each time we see each other. He gets excited, like the next time, I'll have the answer he wants. He's expecting that I'll have a revelation or something. I have. But I won't tell him such. I can't bring myself to. I know it will only escalate his hopes, and I don't want to knowingly string him along. I wonder sometimes if coming to his apartment or his house is giving him the wrong idea. I try and tell him I just need a short break. Nothing long term. Just a day here or there. A weekend. But it's getting more and more common. He's starting to ask more frequently when I'm just going to accept that it's over.

I've accepted it. I just can't bring myself to do so out loud. I just don't see what good it would do at the end of the day. I know this process by now. Accept it's over, move on with someone else. Everything falls apart on a long enough time line and then we always end up back with each other. Why bother? We may as well settle into a life of everything already being destroyed. It's cynical. But if my history is anything to go by, it's also factual. I ask myself, if I had let Hunter in, would things have lasted? I find myself guilt-ridden more than I think I should be. After all, Hunter would have to let his defenses drop too. That would never happen. He's been closed off for a long time, like someone else is walking around in his shoes. Like he's nothing but a shell of everything he once was. It's fairly accurate, not that I could pinpoint when he changed. I don't think it was sudden. It was gradual. He started closing off and I just didn't fight hard enough. I didn't try to stop him from building the wall, so when it was finally there, I was on the other side. There was no way in. Sometimes, I think he wanted it to be that way.

He taps my shoulder, offering me the joint he's taken hostage. I loosely accept. Though I can hardly see where his hand is, I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. I hand it back to him after a long exhale, sighing as the air leaves my lungs. As much as he allows me to forget the world around us, he also makes me face reality. At least the reality of what I'm doing here.

“Where are you?” He asks, softly. He's resting his head against my shoulder, looking up at me.

“Where am I always?” I ask, avoiding the answer. Avoidance is my only defense mechanism at the moment. After 8 months, I've perfected it. He knows that, but he thinks it's unhealthy. I argue that I can't face reality. He suggests I need to find a reality that I can. I could try and tell him he's wrong. But I know he isn't. He knows he isn't. That's why we'd be so fucking perfect together, he says. But if I've learned anything, it's that there's no such thing as perfection. I doubt there's such thing as love, either.

“Come back.” He demands, pushing my shoulder as he sits up on the bed. I look over at him, my eyes taking a few minutes to follow. He's got a sparkle in his eyes. He knows that he's always asking too much of me. He does it anyway. He doesn't care. He pushes me constantly. But I'd be lying if I said I minded. Honestly, I fucking love it. Every once in a while, I need someone to pull my fucking head from the clouds. Push reality in front of my tightly closed eyes.

When I'm with him, I feel like my defenses go offline. I feel open in a way that I've never felt with anyone else. He's the first person I've felt like I could be myself around because I know he doesn't judge. He's looked into my eyes and he knew all there was to know. Because he looked into the depth of my soul. He saw all of the monsters down there. He's seen some of the blackness. But he wants in anyway. He wants this. Me. He wants the good, the bad and the ugly. He would be there, unconditionally. That means a lot when I'm barely keeping my head above the water.

I know that no matter how much I fight this, him, he's going to win. He's already under my skin.

Chapter 9

Unwelcome Home

Hunter had this idea to spend the weekend alone in a hotel room. I never asked what brought on his sudden need for alone time, but I didn't really care. I accepted his offer and that was all he needed to hear. We didn't go far, only a few cities over. It wasn't about the distance between our house and the hotel. It was about the distance between us and the world. In that hotel room, the world outside didn't matter at all. It was as though we were the only two people left in the entire world. Well, us and room service. I can't deny, it was nice.

The first morning, we woke up together. There was nothing magical about waking up together, but it had been so long since it happened. Usually, one of us is up and out long before the other one. It's easier to deny our lack of interest in one another when we spend enough time away from each other. We didn't end up getting out of bed until well after noon. Even then, it was only to grab the food he ordered through room service. That hotel was our sanctuary, even if it was only temporary. It was the best sex I think we've ever had, too. It was slow, like we were discovering each other all over again. It was all about pleasing and touching. There was no rush. No finish line. We got lost in the moments, like we used to. We consumed each other, like we used to. We were in sync with each other, like we used to be. Everything felt like it used to, like we had gotten into a time machine and went back 5 years. There were moments I forgot everything that was waiting at home. I think he felt those moments too. But, we both knew they were fleeting. We could only temporarily indulge in the fantasy world that we created inside of that hotel. Reality was ever-pressing, trying to break into our bubble.

We were both reluctant to leave the hotel when it was time. I think, we both wanted to hold on. I know he did, actually. He said we should just stay. He went into a ramble. I thought it was cute, but my mind was already focused on coming home. Or rather, what coming home meant. As we left the hotel, I started to think. I thought about everything we once had. Everything we no longer had. Everything we could no longer grasp. I thought about how sad it was that everything we had was gone, but found my mind wondering about possibilities. I wondered, if we could stay connected if we had stayed in that world. It only took the opportunity to connect to feel like the flame was still burning brightly. We have both been too wrapped in our own worlds, convinced we were past the point of saving. But, maybe we have overlooked the fact that it isn't too late to make a change. As the taxi pulls into the driveway, all those thoughts are lost. The house no longer looks inviting. The dark windows look like gates to a dimension that resembles hell. I walk up to the entrance, alongside Hunter.

I drop my suitcase in the entrance, looking around. It somehow felt like less of a betrayal when we were away. Now, coming home, everything feels heavy. The distance between us has never been greater than it is right now. We've never been further away. We may have spent months convincing ourselves that everything would be okay, but we're both facing the reality that it isn't. In fact, it never will be. We can never be what we once were. The weight of the time we've spent apart is hovering in the air. It's thick, creating a wall between the two of us. I can feel the guilt has started to sink in. The nights I've spent away and the body he sleeps beside now. I can see it all spread out, like a map or diagram of how badly we've fucked this up. But I can't see around it anymore. I can't feign ignorance to the obvious reality that we've fucked this up. Again. Coming home, we've realized that. I can't deny it anymore and neither can he. It's time we stopped pretending. It's time to face the music, or lack there of. I can see he is thinking the same thing, even though the lights haven't come on. It may be hard to see in the darkness of this house, but our hearts have never had more clarity. He turns on the light, walking forward into the living room. He's dragging his feet on the floor, each step echoing throughout the empty house. I follow along behind him, grabbing a glass from the cabinet in the dining room. I walk over to the bar in the corner and pour myself a drink. I don't hesitate slamming it back, either. It seems the only way to greet this unwelcome home. Home. What a shame that it just isn't anymore.

He walks over to me and pauses. His hand reaches for my shoulder, but I feel the air as he neglects the idea and drops it back down. For a split second, I wonder what happened to us? Was it a conscious decision to let this all fall apart? His or mine? Or, was it just time? Things either evolve or they die. I think we're facing the latter. It's apparent that things have changed. I've come to accept that. It's okay to change. It is. We've changed. I've changed. Everything has changed. I'm running through our entire history in my head when his hands both grip my shoulders. He turns me to face him, trying to be graceful while putting enough force into the action to make it happen. I smile, but I think we both know it's fake. In that hotel, the pristine sheets and immaculate windows brought to light our fake reality. We only worked in such a fake environment, because we ourselves have become a charade. I think that's become pretty clear. For the first time, we're transparent. It's in cotton panties where they don't belong and the scent of a man whose too familiar to ever forget. I think he knew, deep down. Or had his own suspicions. I knew, which is all that matters. He puts one of his hands under my chin and slowly lifts my face to his. He softly presses his lips to mine and it all feels so familiar, yet strange. Because we're like strangers. We're so distant that it feels like he might be living on the moon.

It's funny because he always felt like his home was among the stars. He had his dreams about becoming the next big thing. But that's the thing about dreams. Once you've achieved them, you're left with nothing but a hollow reality that nothing comes next. Me, personally, I've made peace with living in the dirt. I take each day as they come and don't consider the future at all. I can't. It would overwhelm and depress me. Especially if this is the future we're looking forward to.

He steps back, and there's something in his eyes now. I can tell. But I know he can't bring himself to say “this isn't working”. Neither can I. We don't have to confirm or deny it anyway. We don't have to call out this fucked up relationship. We already know. He can tell in the way I hesitate when I'm with him. There's someone else on my mind and he knows that. We've been here before, too. I don't sleep in the bed upstairs. Instead I find rest in a bed with two other bodies, because Crystal sleeps in the same bed. It's too big for two people. Or that's just the way I feel when I'm with him. Everything is too big. But not in the sense that it's intimidating. It's too big because the possibilities feel endless. The opportunities. The chances. That's why I'm willing to give him the one he's asked for. I'm willing to walk away from this transparent dream.

Chapter 10

Run & Never Look Back

I haven't pulled myself from this bed in days. I feel like time is just slipping between my fingers. It's a concept that's eluding me. No matter how hard I try to get a hold of it, it's just slipping away. Time has decided to run and never look back. I guess I'm expected to do the same. I ignore the way my stomach is rumbling. I haven't eaten in days, either. I haven't slept. Hunter has been gone, so it's been nothing but the silent lulls, echoing throughout the house. A window left open downstairs has occasionally startled me. But I can't bring myself to go close it. Even if the breeze has managed to get upstairs, chilling me to the bone. I wouldn't feel it. My bones are already cold and my skin is kept warm from the glow of the whiskey bottle I keep beside the bed. I've been relying on it heavily. I think, a little too heavily. I've been seeing double for at least an hour. Everything has been scrolling, instead of standing still. I guess the room is spinning too. I didn't think I drank too much, but it adds up I guess. The pills, the alcohol, lack of sleep and not eating anything. It adds up. I don't usually mix pills and alcohol. I try to be smarter than that. But, I found myself in a moment of weakness. A fleeting moment, of course. I just wanted to stop thinking.

The thing about a problem is that it doesn't go away when it's ignored. The thing about conflict is that the problem doesn't go away, either. So I know where Hunter has been the past few days. I know who he has been with. I wouldn't call him on it, because that breaks the rules in our game of avoidance. He wouldn't ask me where I've been for the same reasons. We both know where we stand. It's not in a very flattering light. Yet, neither of us can bring ourselves to say the words. Admit defeat. We're fucking stubborn like that. But he's staying gone, and that's a message. A clear sign that he doesn't approve of my sudden disappearances. That is new. He's expressing a feeling, though indirectly. He doesn't usually entertain feelings. Hasn't in a long time. I guess that the game is changing, though. I changed it, without meaning to. I thought we coexisted, but that was only as long as we danced around each other. I took a step away and he read that as a whole new game. Although he has no idea where I've been. He can only come up with his own stories. His own ideas. He will too. It's the same thing he did last time and the time before. We never talk about what's going on. Whitney is right. We should fucking talk about this.

I think back to that bachelor apartment. A small thing he's only renting because of Crystal. She shared it with her boyfriend, but he took off. It left her short on rent, so he stepped up to take over. He wanted to help out his friend. It's more homey to him than his own house. Not because it's small, but because no one knows about it. For him, being there is an escape. The same way being with him is an escape for me. I could have asked Crystal her opinion on the situation at hand. Whitney is biased. She's been around for a long time and she knows the patterns. She knows that me and Hunter dance around our issues, but always end up back together. She thinks she can save us the in between of falling apart. It's such a nice idea, in theory. But there's no practicality to it, so I wouldn't bother trying at this point. If I did ask Crystal, she would be biased too. Her bias would lean in the other direction. She might suggest that if I was happy, I wouldn't be finding my way to their apartment. I wouldn't be finding myself in his arms. I would be here, in my home. I would be in Hunter's arms, even if I wasn't welcome. I don't have to ask anyone for their opinion though. I know if I'm considering it, I've already made up my mind. I'm bored and I'm restless, stuck in this house and this life. My heart has the instinct to flee, the same way it always does. I have this innate problem of fleeing every time things get difficult. I just disappear to a new city and reappear with a new identity surrounding myself with new faces. I go somewhere else as someone else. A whole new life to fuck up at some point or another. I always fuck them up, of course. I have this innate problem of fucking up my life.

If I could see straight, or move without feeling a sudden bout of dizziness, I might go for a walk. The fresh air might clear my head, even through the mid-October rain. Of course, I can't move. The last time I tried to stand up, I was heading to the bathroom. I had to hug every wall and one of them pushed me off. The rest of them have become good friends of mine. They are keeping me balanced, on my feet. That other one can go fuck itself for letting me fall.

He keeps asking, but he's stopped using his words. Now, it's written all over his face instead. It's on display in his eyes, this hopeful glimmer. Right now, I fucking hate that. I have a concrete wall around me too, but he always seems to break it down. At first, subtle. Then, not subtle at all. More like a bulldozer, smashing through. Loudly. Then, I'm left exposed. I'm an open book that he can read as he sees fit. He can see all those things I try to hide from the rest of the world. But I take solace in knowing he's the only one who can do that. At least no one else can see how fucking broken I am. Only him. He's the only one who knows how weak I truly am. The thought terrifies me. I know that I tend to be a control freak, so the idea of having no control is scary. Lately, that's what my whole life feels like. I've lost it. I've lost control. I've lost my mind. I've lost Hunter. I'm on the brink of losing everything. The things I know, the things I don't. The life I wanted more than anything, but never truly had. Well, I guess it wasn't the life I wanted. I never wanted this deafening silence in a life of cooking dinner as a trophy wife. I wanted Hunter. I just didn't realize that his own dreams involved this type of settling down. I saw us on the road together, maybe writing music together. I'm not a great lyricist, but, I pen some stuff now and then. I saw us rubbing elbows with some of the greatest names in the music industry. I saw us taking pictures at all the tourist monuments in Europe. I saw a lot of things in my head that I never saw in reality. I never would have seen them, either. Because that wasn't Hunter's dream. The music was a job, not a passion. He moved on. When he did, I think, he left me behind. It's sad to think we've been over for that long. But as I lay here, staring at two scrolling ceilings, I realize that's how far back I can trace this. This disconnection.

I think about that life. In an alternate universe, where Hunter and I were touring and seeing the globe. I think of all the people we'd be meeting and the stories we'd be telling. I think of the stories we'd be living. It would certainly be more exciting than garlic butter shrimp with a hint of lemon. He once said we were refined now. Growing up and settling down. It was a nice thought, one I obviously bought into. But, we weren't refined. We're the same dirty hoodlums that we once were. We just put on masks and started to dance around like life was a stage. But it isn't. There's no script. No predestined plan. We make it up as we go. I think I'm sick of this stage. I think I miss my life the way it was. I think, putting on the mask was like running away from myself. I've done it so many times before that I don't even notice I'm running anymore. I don't notice until I slow down, when it starts catching up with me. That's where I am. Slowing down enough that it's starting to catch up. So I either let reality sink in, or keep running. One of the things I miss most about the life we used to share was touring. It was like being on the run, but not running away from anything. But, tour life ages you. I swear every year on tour ages you by a decade. It's insane. The pressure. The drugs. The groupies. The schedules. The jet lag. Fuck the jet lag. That was always the worst. Or maybe it was sharing a tour bus with 10 people and the collection of smells. Between body odors and bodily fluids, the bus always smelled similar to a high school locker room. Or, maybe it was being crammed in a small van, having to pull over to the side of the road every time someone needed a bathroom break. At some point, our mornings started with a cup of black coffee and two lines of white powder. We're not talking about sugar, either. It seemed to me that was how everyone kept going. Of course, these weren't always Hunter's tours. He never got mixed up in the heavy drugs, not until after he quit music. I toured with many other bands. I did get to Europe, he just wasn't with me when I did. In fact, he wasn't with me for most of the golden moments of my life, now that I think about it.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when the front door slams. I attempt to sit up, pulling myself to the edge of the bed. But the sudden movement kicks in and a dizziness rushes over me. I fall back down on the bed. I don't know what has brought on these sudden dizzy spells. I'd play a game of process of elimination. But, there are too many factors to take into consideration. So I don't bother. I just accept my inability to move. For all I know, it's caused by the way my thoughts are racing, nothing more. I take in a deep breath as I hear footsteps on the stairs. They are hardwood, so they naturally creak whenever they are stepped on. I look to the top of the stairs, expecting a confrontation as Hunter gets to the hallway. Maybe he'll be shocked that I'm home. Maybe he'll be ridden with guilt, knowing where he's been. Maybe he'll be both and she'll be coming home with him. I brace myself, but it's not Hunter who comes around the corner. It's him. He's here, in Hunter's house. He's walking into Hunter's bedroom. My mind is whirling about how awkward and uncomfortable everything suddenly feels. He's never been in this house. Not this one. We lived in Illinois when... I shake the thoughts from my head. It doesn't matter when. What matters is that he's here, right now. He's looking around the room, making comparisons in his own head. I can see the way his eyes are darting in all directions. Or, maybe I'm just imagining it. When my eyes can finally focus on him, he's just staring at me. There's a blank expression on his face and all four of his arms are crossing over his chest.

“It's time.” He insists, motioning forward. I notice the suitcase sitting on the floor in front of me. I nod, letting myself drop on the floor. I'm listening. I'm obeying. But he's going to have to do a lot more to get enthusiasm out of me. I'm not even sure I'm making the right decision. But, then again, I didn't make the decision. It was made for me, I suppose.

Chapter 11

Hard Luck Story

Crystal has this issue with sleeping alone. Of course, there's only one bed in this small apartment, so we'd be sharing anyway. But even in the biggest house, she'd find herself draped over whoever was available and willing. It used to bother me whenever I saw the two of them in bed together. I'd feel a hint of jealousy, like she was overstepping her boundaries. The more I got to know her, the more I just felt sorry for her. I only met her a few weeks ago, when she was attached to his hip. I didn't know her very well, but my initial opinion wasn't flattering. I thought she was overbearing and using her looks to win him over. I had no idea how wrong I would turn out to be. She doesn't have a malicious bone in her body. She has pure intentions and she wears her heart on her sleeve too. She is as sweet as she is beautiful and I know she'd never do anything to hurt this relationship. Or any other relationship, for that matter. Although she has her own idea of physical boundaries, she understands emotional ones. After getting to know her, the jealous feeling faded. Now, I don't mind watching them lay together in bed. I don't even mind how she digs her baby blue nails into his chest. Or the crescent moons she leaves behind. Whenever I leave imprints in his skin, on his back or chest, I'm claiming him. I'm proving that he chose me and everyone better respect that choice. When she does, she's just leaving a trail of where she's been, in case she might forget for herself. She never realizes she's doing it either. It's an absentminded action. She never knew I was jealous of her, and I never told her such either. I realized that my jealousy issues were my own. I was projecting them on him because I was too used to . He could never sleep in a bed with another woman innocently. His aura is too sexual for that.

Crystal isn't exactly a saint herself. She's a sexually assertive person too. But there's something different about the way she uses sex as a weapon. When she's laying in bed with someone, there's nothing sexual about it. She's unwinding. Relaxing. Letting go. She only does that with the few people she trusts. From what I've learned about her, she doesn't trust easily. She's only doing this right now because she doesn't have a love interest of her own. She's still coming to terms with the end of her recent relationship, which didn't end smoothly. When she finds a new love interest or moves on, she will let go of her need for affection and approval. It won't be hard. She's a gorgeous woman. She's got this thin hair that goes past her waist. It's always changing colors, but generally a bleached blonde. She's slim figured, but curved in all the ways someone might picture running their hands over. She's got bright blue eyes that can put the stars to shame. She's got fragile features, like a porcelain doll. She's baby-faced, but has a few scattered piercings to try and look her own age. She's got a warming smile that just lights up the room, which demands all the attention away from anything else. Her lips are thin, often painted in a gloss too dark for her complexion. She tries not to wear too much make up, because she says it's bad for your skin. But when she does make herself up, she goes all out. From what I've seen, she's got two distinctive sides. She's a simple girl, who wears jeans and a t-shirt around the house with no make up and her hair pulled into a bun on the side of her head. Or she's dressed like a rock star or a barbie doll and she's exaggerated enough that you could see her outfit from space. Usually, the second option combines an assortment of colors that don't go together, but somehow she manages to make it look good. She could make anything look good, that's just a gift of hers. One of many, so I've learned. Though, her greatest gift is the way she can see the world. She told me that she doesn't see people at all. She sees auras. She can tell if a person is good or bad. She knows if they are confused and hurt, or misguided in some way. She bases her attraction to other people on those auras, avoiding physical appearances altogether. She says she's dated men and women, because she only cares about what is at the core. She says no matter what we look like, or what parts we have, our hearts beat the same.

I'm not shocked that he found himself drawn to her. He has similar views. I'm not shocked she was drawn to him, he's fucking perfection. He's conventionally gorgeous. He really is. Those perfect plump lips and sparkling brown eyes. His soft, tanned skin. His muscular shape and the definition in his body. He's beautiful, and pairs it with an equally beautiful soul. Everyone can see that he puts his best foot forward. He does everything he can to help other people. He speaks out for those who can't speak for themselves. He fights for those who can't fight at all. He puts himself last, no matter what. Everyone is drawn to him, the same way they are drawn to her. They are both positively energetic and it's a breath of fresh air from the bullshit that surrounds this world. People like that need to stick together. When they're together, they create a ball of purity that even the most corrupt soul couldn't break. I envy that, because I've never been that way. I've been through too much pain to see the brightness in their world.

Crystal wasn't always like this. On one of the nights we spent together last week, she went into details about her childhood. She was a little intoxicated, but I think she was trying to come to some common ground with me. She was trying to make a point that you aren't born seeing the world in such a light. You have to choose that. She told me that she ran away from home when she was 15. She had a decent family upbringing, but felt like she was missing something in her life. She felt hollow. So, she hitchhiked from a small town in Utah and headed out East to New York. When she got there, she got a cruel awakening to the real world. She told me she had to do many things she wasn't proud of, just to survive. But, she wouldn't take it back. She said the pain prepares us for the future and those who don't feel pain never learn to feel joy. She says that you can't let yourself be a victim of circumstance, chosen or otherwise. She carries herself like a survivor, too. She's victorious over her past. She's risen above it. But still, there's a pain in her eyes. A pain you can't run away from. She's afraid of letting people get too close, because she's afraid they will see right through her smiles and her laughter. They won't. That smile is so distracting. I've seen people at parties hang on to every word she says. They stare at her like she's a goddess. I don't think they're wrong. She hasn't realized her powers yet.

Of course, no one knows about her past. After a few too many drinks, as she's falling asleep against me or him, she'll share herself. Those things she does her best to keep inside. I never bring it up otherwise. But it was nice to hear some of her pain. It made me see her in a different light. I thought she was too perfect to be real. Beautiful and thoughtful. Nonjudgmental. Accepting. Who wouldn't be afraid of losing something to her? She was everything I wasn't. Everything someone could want. She was together, ready to take on the world. I was a basket case, torn up about the affair I was pretending wasn't happening and turning to the last person anyone would expect me to. But that night... Everything changed. She became human in my eyes. A great human, but a human none the less. She made me realize that everyone has baggage. We all have a hard luck story. It's not what we've lived through that defines us as people. It's how we handle those things. Of course, the first time she chose me as her night companion over him, I knew that she was just looking for connections. I think that was when my jealousy melted away. She never talks about her “negative” feelings. She told me that the world doesn't need “anymore of that nonsense”. She worded it much more eloquently than I could myself. Still, I agree. The world needs more of whatever she's putting into it. Everything feels lighter, more calming, when she's around.

I'm leaning against the wall between the bathroom and the living room. His eyes flutter open and he starts looking around the room. I know that he's looking for me. He's half asleep in frog pajamas and I'm the first thought in his head. His eyes land on me, holding a glass of water in my hands. He expression settles from its previous state of worry. He offers me a smile and I send one back in return to let him know I'm here.

I'm here baby. I'm here.

Chapter 12

Drifting Apart

I haven't spoken to Hunter since we got back from our short-lived paradise. Neither of us knew what to say, deciding it was best to say nothing at all. He left right away, heading to an acoustic set he had planned last month. He didn't ask if I wanted to tag along and I didn't ask if I could. I stayed home, he didn't come back and the next thing I knew, I was packing a second suitcase and heading here.

I can't say I mind. The air was getting thin and it was getting hard to see the point of opening my eyes. Here, it's like a second chance. I can't let myself fall too far off the wagon, because there are two people keeping an eye on me. No, what I do have a problem with is the lack of privacy here. It's not like his house, where there are far too many rooms for either of us to know what to do with. Here, it's three of us sharing one bed. We haven't been intimate since I got here. Or, rather, we haven't been intimate since he left Blake. Of course, everything has been crazy since. He stopped being home, for one. He started coming to Crystal's more, practically moving himself in. She didn't seem to mind. Nor did she mind when he started bringing me over as well. But, it's not because Crystal is almost always here. She only works part-time, but it's enough that we could catch a few hours alone if we wanted to.

“It's more than Crystal.” I observe, looking around at the empty apartment. He nods, slowly.

“I took initiative.” He answers. By which he means that he broke things off with Blake. Now, he's waiting for me to do the same, breaking things off with Hunter.

“I don't need to. We know where we stand.” I assure. I didn't need to use words to tell Hunter we were over. I didn't need to take action. He knew. It was obvious after our trip together that our homecoming was anything but. The words would have felt hollow anyway.

“It's not enough.” He mumbles, sounding like a disappointed child. I lightly laugh.

“So, you're withholding until we're officially broken up?” I ask for clarification. He sighs.

“I'm not withholding anything.” He argues, air quoting the words as he says them. I know that means that he is and just doesn't want it to be phrased that way.

“I just, don't think it's right.” He mutters, half under his breath so I hardly catch it. But I do. Apparently, when we were both cheating on significant others, it was fine. When the affair was mutual, there was less guilt. Now, he feels bad. Now, he doesn't want to act on anything until we're official. He wants confirmation that it's over with Hunter. I can't give him that because I can't face the confrontation myself.

It was different when he left Blake. Firstly, he only started dating Blake to pass the time. He never really loved Blake. He wasn't hoping for a future with Blake, though the same could not be said in reverse. I'm sure Blake thought all kinds of things about their future together. But it existed in his head, the way my future with Hunter existed in mine. Another difference is they weren't living together.

“The confrontation of breaking up requires moving out.” I inform him. It's not enough to have taken some of my stuff. I'd have to remove it all. I look over at him to add an emphasis to my issues. He's twirling a pen in between his fingers, occasionally writing something down on the formerly blank paper in front of him. I can see numbers and think he's rough-drafting dates. The tour is already planned. It kicks off on the 20^th. But knowing him, he's planning ahead, getting ready for the next one. Or maybe the dates have nothing to do with his upcoming performances. Maybe they are personal dates. I don't recognize any of the numbers he's scribbled down. He's doing it absentmindedly anyway.

“You can move in with me.” He insists. I look around at the crammed bachelor apartment we're lounging in.

“It's barely big enough for Crystal and her costume collection.” He laughs, following my view.

“I meant my house.” He corrects. I raise my eyebrow in his direction, but he only shrugs.

“I don't see why I would do that.” I argue. He laughs again.

“I don't see why you wouldn't.” He counters. I don't have a comeback for that. Maybe because I can see now that moving in with Hunter was a mistake. We were fine before I moved back in. We weren't perfect, but, we were functional. I think we were, anyway.

When we first met, we barely got a chance to talk. Luke was the subject of conversation long after he headed back to the hotel. Luke had agreed to sign Hunter's band onto his record label. Of course, Hunter was excited. I only stayed behind to see a friend of mine who lived in Nevada. But our conversation transitioned from Hunter's band to other bands. I tried to fill him in on the life that he would be living in the near future. I had already seen a few hectic tours myself and he seemed like a sweet kid. I wouldn't want him to go into this world unprepared.

Three years later, I went to one of his shows. He seemed almost floored to see me and he filled me in on everything the band had done in the last few years. I had just found out Luke was cheating on me (not the first time, or the last time, either), and was in a rough place. He invited me to join his band on tour and I accepted. That was back in 2009. His band was touring nonstop and he loved having me around. His band, on the other hand, wasn't thrilled about my addition to the tour. I moved in with Hunter in winter of that year. We were glued to each others' side, the way newlywed relationships are. I was in love. So was he. He was living out his dream and he wanted me to be a part of that. I knew the road and I knew the lifestyle, even better than him or his band did. But, there was a certain disappointment to having a girlfriend on the tour. It wasn't even his decision that I could no longer be a part of this life. His band voted, and the majority vote was that I was becoming a problem for the band. Of course, Hunter argued. But, he didn't win. I didn't want to come between him and his band anyway. So I went back to our shared home without any complaints.

That didn't ruin us. But his band couldn't have known those little things that Hunter and I shared. The little things that fell apart when we were no longer together. He needed me because I helped to ground him. I made the chaos of his lifestyle make sense to him. I gave him the courage and confidence to get out in front of thousands of people and pour his darkest secrets out into a microphone. I had also become his muse for writing, so when we were no longer together, his writing suffered. I would say the most, but what suffered the most was the trust we shared. It wasn't on my end. I knew where we stood. I knew that even though everyone was throwing themselves at his feet, I had his heart. It didn't even matter to me if he hooked up with someone here or there. I knew he had needs. I wasn't bothered by that at all. I had been around long enough to know the tour rules: Girlfriends don't exist. That's the rule. Always has been. Every tour with every band has been the same. Whoever you have waiting at home doesn't exist on the road. At first, Hunter was faithful. He didn't care about the rule. He was starry-eyed and madly in love. I appreciated the sentiment, but knew it wouldn't last long.

He let the thought creep into his head that I had been unfaithful. This was inspired by a rumor that I was sleeping with my friend Daniel. Now, I had joined Daniel on tour in Australia. His band needed extra hands and I was home alone and bored. We went back a few years and I trusted his band. Two of them were married with children, already passed the idea of heavy drugs and meaningless sex. It was a safe bet, on my end. But Hunter got paranoid. I told him I would never dream of cheating on him, but he didn't believe me. He didn't say it directly, but I could tell by his voice that he didn't believe me. We were in different countries and there was no way of knowing where the other was, aside from looking up tour dates. It was hard to arrange phone calls, because we were never in the same timezone. He was clueless. He couldn't know that all we did was drink a bit and play cards. It had to be one of the most boring, yet relaxing, tours I had ever been on. Hunter began to feel like we were drifting apart. To be fair, we were. But his insecurities let him believe that it was because of someone else, mainly Daniel. I tried to let him know that it was all in his head. But the words were different when they were spoken through a piece of plastic. If I had said them to his face, not breaking eye contact, he would have never second guessed this relationship. He would have believed me. But he didn't. Instead, I'd see him on television appearances with someone else on his arm. When he was asked about her, he'd say she was "just a friend". But I watched his lips as he spoke those words and the curl in his smile gave it all away. He was trying to make me regret what he thought I had done to him. Retaliation. But the thing about getting even is that no one really wins. Especially when there was nothing to retaliate on to begin with.

His lack of faith in our relationship led me to many regret-filled nights. I did end up having a brief relationship with Daniel. But, when the tour came to an end, I was convinced I could work things out with Hunter. I believed that he only strayed because he thought I had. I knew it was actions based in hurt. He believed I broke his heart and he thought it was fair to do the same in return. It makes no sense in hindsight. We should have just talked about the way we were both feeling. We could have gotten back on the same page. I don't think we ever did. We came close, somewhere in the middle of this chaos we called a relationship. He retired from music, which limited his window to be unfaithful and gave me a renewed faith in our relationship. But, it turned out that he had plans to settle down with someone else. That someone else wasn't interested in a future with Hunter.

I didn't know they had been together, I couldn't know that. I couldn't know that Hunter had been unfaithful for so long. I found out completely by accident and Hunter never found out that I ever knew. My disloyalty would hurt so much more if he knew who I was spending my time with. I was going to tell him. I was. I thought he deserved to know. Then I found out that Hunter was in love with him. I never meant to take that away from him either. If I had known, history would have been different. I wouldn't have given him the impression I was interested in him. Then, he would have stayed with Hunter and Hunter would have stayed happy. Their relationship ended because of me. Because he wanted to be with me, exclusively. Not Hunter. He wanted the chance, and he's been asking ever since. He has shown endless patience. He's kept his distance when I asked him to. He's been close when I needed him. He didn't care when I said I was going away with Hunter. Maybe because he knew what it meant, even before I was ready to admit it. I hoped three days in a hotel room was enough to kick-start the flame back into a burning disaster. The way it once was. We once were. But he's more realistic than I can let myself be. I think he knew the flame was already out, but we're just too stubborn to acknowledge it.

Flash forward 6 years later. We've had lifetimes under our belt together. We've broken up and got back together. He's cheated on me, and I've cheated on him. Still, we're making the exact same mistakes we've always made. We're both jumping to conclusions about one another without talking to each other. Like saying the words will make it hurt any more than it already does.

He's been waiting for the answer for too long.

Chapter 13

Girl Talk

"He really loves you, you know." Her voice rings softly. I nod, absentmindedly with my hands wrapped tightly around my coffee cup. We're sitting on the living room floor of their apartment. Her legs are crossed and she's got her coffee cup sitting in the center. I've got my legs pulled to my chest, reflecting the defeat I feel inside. My cup is perched on my knees.

“I know he does.” I agree, for the sake of making conversation. My eyes look up from the floor, studying her attire this morning. She's wearing one of his t-shirts and it's practically hanging off her fragile shoulders. At least one of them, because it's bare. In place of the fabric is a tattoo Crystal has that stretches all the way down her back. It's one of many bigger pieces that she has. It's a string of assorted flowers from the back of her neck to her ankle, spiraling around different parts of her body to make an impact. For such a sweet and sincere girl, I must say that she makes a bold statement. Her fashion sense greatly contrasts her personality, leaving many people asking questions. She doesn't seem to mind the constant questions. She doesn't answer, either. She enjoys being mysterious, which is something we have in common. The more I get to know her though, the more I realize there's a lot we have in common. We both ran. We both keep running. She's now turned the conversation to her ex-boyfriend, David. She's telling me about how their relationship ended. He didn't do anything wrong. They were faithful to one another. But they were drifting apart.

“We had a business together, too. So there was extra pressure.” She adds. I nod along as she's telling her story. The breakup got messy, because of the business and the fact they lived together. She got a job right away taking as many hours as possible. She knew she had to pay the bills, they would be her responsibility.

“He saved me from that.” She adds, laughing as she looks around the apartment. She goes on to say that he seemed happy to take over and help her out. She was relieved, because it took some of the pressure off. She couldn't imagine being heartbroken and broke.

“I loved David. I did. But, I wasn't in love with him anymore, you know?” She finishes. She adds that to the end of her sentence, looking at me with hopeful eyes. Like I might. Maybe. Maybe I know what it's like to love someone, but not be in love with them anymore. Maybe she's baiting me to say it out loud and realize it for myself. But I already know. It's nothing new. But that doesn't invoke a sudden change of heart. That doesn't make me want to turn a blind eye to the promises I made to him and myself. I can't forget everything we've been through. If I can't forget, I can't walk away.

I knew Crystal was going to be biased. In my defense, I didn't set out to talk to her about this. We sat down for coffee when he left for work. He has a meeting with his management company before the tour actually kicks off. That's what he told me at least. He also wanted to make sure there would be no complaints if I decided I wanted to come along. I said I'd think about it, but largely couldn't be bothered. I can get my own place. Hunter never asked me to pay my own portion of the bills. So everything I earned and continued earning was my own. I mostly left it in the bank. I hardly buy food, because someone else is always willing to pay. I don't buy my own drinks when I go out, because someone is always offering. No matter what I need, someone is always offering. If I needed a place to crash while he was on tour, I could find one in a heartbeat. I could call up old friends too. I'm sure one of them might be willing to take me in. Whitney might enjoy having a live-in babysitter. But I wouldn't want to be a pain in the ass. They have their own lives. I need to do the same.

Crystal has stopped talking. She realized I wasn't really paying attention. I had been trying, I had. But my mind is too busy racing with thoughts about my uncertain future. My mind is busy racing with thoughts of an uncertain past, as well. I thought one could transition into the other, but it never happened. I guess it was never that realistic anyway. Too much time had passed. Too many lines had been crossed. We went from friends to lovers to complete strangers. I don't feel welcome in that house anymore. But, Crystal likes having me here. He doesn't want me to leave unless I'm leaving with him. I don't feel like I'm intruding here, which says more about being here than there. I feel like I'm intruding when I'm at Hunter's. Even if it is just to grab more of my stuff.

I took the calendar down, brought it here. I had to. I had to take it with me. I can't go anywhere without it, because it has all my due-dates on it. I can't miss those dates, no matter what is going on in my personal life. I have to maintain professionalism to some degree, after all. I wish I could just throw it all out. Walk away. But, I still need to make a living. I wonder if he noticed. If it struck him the way it should have. I can't go anywhere without that calendar, he knows that. But as long as it was there, it meant I was coming back. Now that it's gone, it means I am too.

My eyes look past Crystal, at the couch. She slept on it last night, so there's a blanket draped over the arm and a pillow resting against it. She had gone out, rolling in after 4 am. So, part of it was out of respect for the two of us, who were already asleep. But I think it's more than that. I think she's trying to make a statement. She wants me to feel comfortable here. She's trying to make me feel welcome in their home. As she gets me another coffee, I realize, she already has.

Chapter 14

Ticket

The front door bursts open like it's the end of the world. Startled, I roll off the couch and onto the floor, making a "thud" sound as I land against the wooden panels. I look up to see him coming around the corner. But he doesn't seem hurried or panicked. He seems excited, like he's on top of the world. He could be a little more, subtle, instead of practically ripping the door off it's hinges. But, whatever. He's paying for the apartment. If he wants to destroy something, he can.

“Where is Crystal?” He asks, looking around the room. I look around as well, following his direction.

“I wouldn't know. I think I passed out.” I dismiss. He raises his eyebrow, knowing I never sleep during the day. I also don't sleep unless he's around these days, but he doesn't know that yet. I just don't want to acknowledge her departure. She asked me to keep it between the two of us for now. I think she has a date, but she didn't want him to know. She wants to get a feel for the guy before making a big deal out of it. He's protective of her, might think it's too soon for her to try dating someone new. He thinks of her like she's his baby sister. He wants to shelter her, because the break up with David got rough. He stormed through the apartment and grabbed his stuff. He broke furniture, started shouting. The police had to be called to pull him out. So, there's a chance he'd be upset that she was trying to move on so quickly. He might also get overly excited, happy that she is already ready to move on. Either way, I have to respect her right to those secrets. I know she doesn't plan to keep them for very long. She just wants to have a better idea of where the relationship might be going before she says anything. I wouldn't know, either. But, I was sitting here when she left.

Of course, Crystal didn't tell me any of this about her boyfriend. Although, she went into detail about how the relationship was falling apart, she never told me about the break up. It was too negative for her to want to re-live, I guess. But he told me. He told me when he explained why he was living in this bachelor with her. Then, he went on to say he was happy that Blake didn't react that way. He admitted that he was afraid a reaction was coming. He said Blake was hot-headed. It was only a matter of time before there was a reaction. They had briefly broken up once before and Blake had been pretty upset.

It's none of my business why these relationships are falling apart, or how they worked themselves back out. I have my own failing relationship to think of. At this exact moment, I can only think of the piece of paper I'm being handed. It's a ticket to the first show. The tour is starting in California, moving east. He's obviously excited. I raise my eyebrow.

“I didn't know I needed a ticket.” I joke, handing it back in his direction. He puts one of his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“You don't.” He agrees, still holding the ticket in my direction. I don't say anything, so he sighs.

“It's not for you.” He clarifies. Now it's my turn to sigh. I know what he's saying, what that means. But my silence causes him to continue explaining it anyway.

“I want to talk to him.” He adds. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Right now, I wish it was toxic and would kill us both. But I know breathing doesn't work that way. I mean, the exhale is toxic. But only if it's the only air available. Right now, it isn't. There's an open window pulling the air out and letting new air in. There's a constant circulation.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” I dismiss, throwing the ticket down on the table between us.

“He needs to know. I mean, he needs to hear the words. I know you're too afraid to tell him, but, I'm not. I've done it before and I can do it again.” He assures, sounding confident. I shrug, but stay quiet. He drops down on the couch beside where I was sitting, but I remain on the floor. My eyes are glued to the floorboards. Finally, I look at the ticket on the table.

“Yeah, but, haven't you heard of a little something called the phone?” I finally ask, looking up. He nods as my eyes meet his. I slowly pull myself up to the couch, still looking in his direction.

“He wouldn't let me get a word out. You know that. If I showed up at his house, he'd slam the door in my face. This is the only way I'm going to get him to talk to me.” He explains. I know that he's right. Hunter wouldn't speak to him unless it was life or death. Even then, he might choose death over entertaining a conversation with the man he blames for ruining his life. He still feels so betrayed by the break up that there is no way he would be civil. He would swear, shout, break things, generally make a scene. I pick the ticket back up off the table.

“What makes you think he's going to show up?” I question, crossing my arms over my chest. His arm moves to wrap around my shoulders and he pulls my head towards himself.

“You're going to tell him to come.” He mumbles. I sigh, throwing the ticket back on the table.

“Yeah, somehow I knew you were going to say that.” I mumble in return, letting my displeasure be known.

“Am I going too?" I ask after a few minutes. He doesn't answer, which I know means that it's up to me. He'll bring me if I want to go. But, he's not going to force me to come along. Either way, he's going to confront Hunter. Face to face. In front of a crowd that came to hear him pour his heart out. They are going to get more than they bargained for.

Chapter 15

The Other Man

Let's rewind the story a little bit. I feel like I should detail their relationship.

Two years ago, I was asked to accompany a band on tour. This was the band Luke had been fronting since before we even met. They had broken up, but they were getting back together. This was their reunion tour, but it was going to be a surprise. So, the band wanted to use roadies and stage hands that they were familiar with. They needed help that knew how to keep quiet, so rumors wouldn't spread and the announcement would stay under wraps. We boarded the tour bus, heading across the country. I was introduced to everyone else who would make the tour happen. One of the roadies, I happened to know already. I had met him back when he was a roadie for Hunter's band. After a few weeks, we started to bond over the tours we had been on. Within a few more weeks, we started sleeping together. I knew that Hunter had already been unfaithful. He was withdrawing from me. Every time I went to see him, he seemed more and more distant. I was lonely and confused. I had also fallen in love, but hadn't realized yet.

The tour ended and we headed back to Illinois. He was living on Luke’s couch at the time and I was still living with Hunter. Hunter wanted to be closer to friends and family. I just believed we could get a fresh start. But when the tour ended, I confessed to Hunter that I had been unfaithful. He asked if it was a serious thing or something temporary. I didn't have an answer for him. It didn't matter, because he was hurt beyond words. I had never felt more guilty in my entire life than I did right then, seeing the look of devastation in his eyes. Then, it got worse. Much, much worse. He confessed he had been seeing someone as well. I already knew, but I didn't want to call him on it. The conversation quickly escalated into an argument. His temper flared, my emotions got the best of me. He said hurtful things, and I said them back. But, everything we were going through ended up on hold when his phone started ringing. We were on the opposite side of the living room in our house. His answering machine picked up the call. He had turned on the feature that reads voice mails out loud. Something he would soon regret forgetting to turn back off. I heard his voice, speaking through the piece of plastic on the living room table: Hunter, you've been ignoring my calls for a week. We need to talk. I didn't want to do this over your voice mail, but, I can't do this anymore. There is someone else. I'm sorry. But, I'm leaving you. Click.

Everything was paused in that moment. I couldn't properly describe the look on Hunter's face. I could tell by the way he picked up his phone how broken he was. He stared at the missed call notification for more than five minutes, silently. That's when I knew. For Hunter, it meant so much more. He wasn't just having sex with someone else. He was in love. I was too shocked to comment. He was too preoccupied to notice. I had been trying to find the words to tell him who it was. But it wouldn't matter now. It would only add insult to injury. As hurt as I was by his infidelity, I couldn't bring myself to do that to him. So I kept my mouth shut.

I went to see him the next day. He was happy to see me, telling me that he had exciting news. He told me he had broken up with his boyfriend. I asked how his boyfriend took it. He said he didn't care. They had been together for years, but, it was time to move on. He wanted to move forward with our own relationship. He wanted to make things official. I sat down across from him on the couch and stared at him with no emotion in my eyes. He could tell something was wrong. He was always observant like that. He asked me why I didn't share the excitement.

“My boyfriend was cheating on me.” I started. He looked sympathetic, letting his eyes fall.

“I'm sorry, but, maybe it was for the best. I mean, you were cheating on him too.” He offered. I nodded, covering my face with my hands. After about five minutes of silence, I let them drop.

“With you.” I finished, exhaling deeply. His eyes went wide and he jumped off the couch.

“What?” His voice cracked as he spoke. I pressed my back into the couch and stared at him.

“Yeah. How is that for irony?” I laughed. He didn't find the same humor in the situation. We were both cheating on each other with the same person. He had no idea I was dating Hunter. He knew I had dated Hunter. I was dating Hunter when we met. But, we broke up and got back together. Hunter apparently left out the part where we got back together. He began pacing back and fourth, muttering to himself.

“You and Hunter.” He clarified. I nodded.

“Me and Hunter.” I repeated, looking over. He dropped his hands to his sides and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I thought you broke up.” He mumbled. I nodded again.

“On and off since we started dating.” I detailed. He dropped down on the chair that Luke had in the living room. He wasn't home, of course. He was out with one of his friends.

“Most recently?” He asked, trying to get as many details as possible. I could tell he was confused.

“May, last year. We moved to Illinois to start over. Or, so I thought.” I looked over, making eye contact.

“I, uh.” He paused, looking down at the floor. I nod.

“Yeah. I'm guessing it was for you.” I corrected. Both of his hands were in his hair, moving the strands around. I wondered why he was in such a panic. Was he afraid I'd be upset? Was he worried that Hunter knew about the two of us? I didn't bother asking. I knew he was usually good with expressing his feelings. I had faith he would, once the shock wore off. I watched him in this sudden state of panic, trying to resist a building laughter in the back of my throat.

“Wow.” He muttered under his breath. I let the laugh escape the prison of my esophagus. He dropped his hands and looked over at me, now smiling and shaking his own head.

“I didn't tell him about us, if you're wondering. I was going to, but, your oh-so-classy phone call came in right before I did.” I explained. He didn't say anything. The shock value lingered in the air between us. It was like he was running over the past eight months. He was trying to make any connection that would confirm my words. We both did a really good job hiding the affair, except for the part where we told each other. Apparently, we did a great job hiding who it was with. Even from that person.

“He's in love with you, you know.” I added, letting my voice drop. He looked over suddenly, seeming frightened by the statement.

“What?” His voice cracked again. It was an unflattering sound, but made me want to giggle.

“Do you feel the same?” I asked, feeling a sudden curiosity.

“I did. A long time ago. But, something has changed in him. I just,” He paused. I smiled, letting him know I understood his feelings.

Flash forward to present day...

I'm sitting in the living room of the house I once shared with Hunter. I'm sprawled out on the couch reading his copy of Invisible Monsters. My personal copy is at Crystal's apartment. Hunter walks through the front door and I cough, so he knows I'm here. He looks over, seeming confused about my presence. He puts his guitar case down in front of the hall closet and walks into the room. He stops at the door frame, leaning against it. I sit up, closing the book and placing it on the table. I cross my legs and look up at him. He crosses his arms and motions towards me.

“I just came to grab a few things, and,” I pause, standing up. I walk towards the doorway and he moves into the living room. He drops himself down on the couch and pulls one of his legs into his lap. I look back into the living room. He's motioning towards the ticket that's laying on the table.

“Is this yours?” He asks, reaching forward. Silence falls on us as I watch him reading the ticket. I can see the confusion spreading across his face. He looks up, wide-eyed.

“Are you going to see Frankie?” He asks, voice cracking when he says the name. I shake my head.

“No. You're going to see Frankie.” I answer, trying to be dismissive.

“Why?” He asks, looking towards me. I pick up the bag I have sitting beside the living room entrance. Then, I look over my shoulder. I could answer him right now, but I wait until I'm at the front door. It's all about the impact. The delivery of information matters more than the information you're delivering. So I stop once the front door is open and turn back to face him.

“He asked for you.” I answer. With that, I'm out the door. I don't leave him the chance to ask me further questions. After all, I don't have the answers. I'm not the one who wants him at that show. I'm not the one who plans to confront him in front of an adoring crowd. I'm not lining up to break his heart. But that doesn't mean it doesn't need to be broken.

Chapter 16

Pre-show Nerves

Crystal stretches her legs across the couch we're sitting on. The venue has a massive lounge, clearly intent on having big names and many stars. Since everyone else is busy getting ready for the show, it's just the two of us. For the most part. We're occasionally joined by a girlfriend of the band, since it is a home show. There are cousins and relatives everywhere. It's feeling more like a family reunion than a concert. At least, that's what Crystal said. I've never been to a family reunion, so I wouldn't know. Reunions require an initial union. I don't even know my second parents' name.

I've told Crystal all about Hunter's invitation to the show tonight. She started asking a handful of questions, mostly relative to the history of me and Hunter. So I humored her for a while. I told her some stories about the good old days. Maybe they are all rose colored memories, considering what our present is. The little things suddenly feel so much more important than they were at the time. For instance, Hunter used to come home every night. Then, if I couldn't sleep, he'd get back up with me. We'd head into the living room, where the fireplace we once had would sit and crackle. He'd tell me about his day, rambling in depth because he knew that was exactly what it would take to slow my brain down. We'd sip homemade hot chocolate. Or we'd enjoy tea, but that was only when his stories didn't work to tire me out. Those were the days. Once upon a time, we were so in love. She asked about how we met the first time and I told her about Luke. I told her about Hunter's self-promotion and how it brought us to that show after the tour we were on. I told her about the show, later, in New York. When I found myself watching Hunter's band, I didn't have a backstage pass for that show. I didn't know anyone special. It was completely coincidental. But, I felt like it was the Universe’s way of lining up the stars. So I paid a security guard backstage almost $500 to get a backstage pass. That's three times what they cost for that particular show, but I knew I had to pull out all my cards to get there. I had to see him, shake his hand, hear his voice. It was like something inside of me came back to life. I tell her about the first tours, the blissful happiness and everything between. Then I tell her all about his foolish insecurities. His belief that I had been unfaithful, which led him to retaliate and led me to a few mistakes. Only, I can't quite bring myself to see them as such. But, hindsight is clear. At the time, they certainly felt like mistakes. The kind of mistakes we never bounce back from.

I gave her all the details of our history, but left out any of the emotion. She wants a time line, to understand the impending confrontation. She doesn't want to hear about how in love I was with Hunter. Mostly because she knows that despite all of our history, I still feel exactly the same.

Then she asks about how it all began with him. I always had a thing for rock stars. When we met the first time, he was a roadie. He was a nobody. When it came time for the reunion tour, he had made a name for himself. He had been in a band, that had since fallen through. But his music was played on the radio and he was recognized in public. There was so much press around because of the reunion and because of him. It was hard to believe the story never got out when we were seen holding hands. She smiles when I tell her this story, like it was destiny. She smiled through my introduction to Hunter as well. She might think I'm the luckiest girl in the world. She might also think I don't know how good my life has been. If you take out the glaring continuity errors, I couldn't agree more. But somehow, I can't bring myself to feel lucky.

I didn't expect things to happen between the two of us. I was drunk, upset about moving to Illinois and nothing working out. He was there, open and willing. I didn't think twice when he offered to take my mind off of everything. I went for it. For him. I expected the morning after to be the kind you hear about in movies. Although, I couldn't sneak off, because we were still traveling together. But, I expected he'd be gone. He wouldn't bring it up. We'd pretend it didn't happen, for the sake of ourselves and everyone around us. I expected him to feel bad about my drunken state of mind, or for myself to regret having cheated on Hunter, again. I could have expected anything, really. But, I know now that you can't expect anything from this man. He's unpredictable. He always was and always will be. No, that next morning came as a shock. We woke up in bed together. There was no awkward conversation about what had happened. Instead, we went out for coffee at a local cafe wherever we were. Anyone could have seen us together, holding hands and laughing. Paparazzi could have snapped pictures of him and his new fling. The same pictures and stories could have made their way back to Hunter, who might have showed up on the tour to confront me. None of that happened, though. No one saw us except the people who would have found out. The band knew. Friends knew. No one else had to. That first morning, he said to me I don't normally do this sort of thing. I laughed, because that's a line that people use when this is exactly what they do. I would be wrong to have that expectation too. But at the time, I hardly knew him. I'd learn that he was a free-spirit who just did whatever felt right in the moment. He wasn't worried about ruining his personal relationships. He wasn't worried about the stories that might spread. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. He was unlike anything I could have prepared myself for. Over breakfast and coffee, we laughed. He made cheesy jokes and the more he smiled, the more my heart melted into my stomach. The butterflies started fluttering every time we made eye contact. It never faded. As that tour kept going, the connection kept building. So, when the tour was over and we were heading back to Illinois, he asked if we could keep seeing each other.

Then I found out about Hunter and him. Then Hunter found out I had been cheating. I couldn't bring myself to leave Hunter in that state of mind, so I turned down the offer. I was determined to help Hunter move past the heartbreak. It was foolish, but my head was set on that path. Then, we moved from Illinois to New York. That confirmed my belief that we had only moved there so Hunter could be closer. I didn't mind going back to New York. So many of my friends were there, from the last time I had lived there. A month later, I realized that Hunter was still sleeping with someone else. I tried to see that it was a response to his heartbreaking. But, that didn't mean I had to stand around and feel my own break as well. I started to regret not staying in Illinois. So I called Luke, mostly to find out if he was still around. He wasn't, but Luke and I ended up getting back together. I left Hunter to his own devices, mainly the woman he replaced me with already. It was a peaceful couple of months, until Luke was throwing a Christmas party. He invited all of his friends, including Hunter, who denied the invite. He knew where I was. He didn't want to see me. Although he could have showed up with his girlfriend Kathleen. Hunter didn't. But, he did. He laughed about how I had ruined us for nothing then. I didn't hesitate to remind him that there never was an “us” to begin with. There were no hard feelings though. We caught up and went our separate ways. We had to. He had moved to California, where he was living with his boyfriend, Blake. So much had changed in four months, it was hard to believe. But, he did leave me with his phone number, in case I was ever in town.

Crystal listened to the whole story, but it seemed as though she wasn't paying any attention. I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't listen either. It was boring and contrite. A girl who was too confused about a blossoming love and too stubborn to walk away from what had already died. It's still painful to think even then, what I shared with Hunter was already gone. Either way, Crystal paid more attention that I would have asked her to. Even if she was the one who wanted details. Then she tips her head to the side at the end of a long silence and stares at me for a minute. I feel like she's seeing me in a new light.

“Did Hunter ever find out about the two of you?” She asks. I shrug.

“I never told him. Maybe he put it together. Maybe he didn't. It's hard to say.” I dismiss. I've never asked Hunter about it. I never would. I couldn't bring myself to dig up skeletons.

“Do you think he knows now?” She hints, her eyes looking towards the door that leads to the stage. I nod slowly, finishing what is left of the beer in my hand. I've gone through six of them during my story. I put the empty bottle on the table, beside the only one she's finished.

“I think he's put it together, yeah.” I agree. There's another silence and I continue rambling.

“I think that tour was the final nail in the coffin that holds this relationship anyway. Although, if you had asked me last week, I might have denied there was a final nail at all. I can't deny that now, it's dead. The look on his face when I gave him that ticket, the confusion. He must have thought about how the two of us even knew each other. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out.” I finally pause.

“Do you think he's going to show up tonight?” She asks, jumping off the couch. I can't move my eyes from the ground. They are having a staring contest with the tiles and somehow, I get the feeling I'm going to win. One of her bony hands lands on my shoulder and I pull my eyes from the tile. She's wearing three rings on each of her fingers. Plain silver bands and some with diamonds decorating the bands. Her hands make a rattling sound whenever she moves that is similar to loose change at the bottom of a cluttered pocket. She's moving towards the mini fridge against the far wall of the room. She pulls out two bottles, popping the caps off against the fold out table covered in mini sandwiches. I'm impressed by her ability to angle the bottles just right. It's not hard, but she does it effortlessly. Within seconds, she's walking back towards me, holding one of the bottles in my direction. I take it from her, nodding to say thank you. She doesn't sit back down on the couch. She stands still, waiting near the entrance. I wonder why, but I don't have to for long. He comes bursting through the door, smiling like a maniac. She hands him the bottle, then sits down on the back of the couch.

“Is Hunter coming?” He asks, wasting no time. I look him up and down, taking in the stage attire. He looks like Lestat, from the Anne Rice novels. He's even got the undeniable sex appeal and the blood lust it would seem. He stretches his arms up over his head, fully extending them. I watch the muscles in his stomach ripple as he's doing this. He's not wearing a shirt, because he'd only sweat through it. In fact, the dent in the middle of his chest has already collected a small pool of it. He never wears a shirt during the sound check. Before he heads on stage for the performance, he'll be wearing a black t-shirt and a suit jacket. The color depends on his mood, so no one would know until he walks out on stage. The first show sets the wardrobe for every show that follows. Usually, he plans this kind of thing ahead of time. But, understandably, his mind is somewhere else. The lower half of his body is leaving little to the imagination. He's wearing fake leather jeans that have a definitive outline of his crotch.

“She doesn't know. She didn't ask him. She just told him that you wanted to see him, asked for him to come along.” Crystal explains so I don't have to trouble my brain with an explanation. I had already told her Hunter's response long before I went into details about our history. She stands back up, looking over at me. I nod, realizing she wants to be dismissed. She nods in return, smiling sweetly as she darts towards the door. Her hand briefly touches his arm as she's passing him. I know that she wants to mingle. It's practically her life mission. She loves meeting new people and catching up with old friends. She knows many of the people who are hanging around the venue. As much as she wanted to go, she didn't want to leave me alone. She is so thoughtful, there should be a constant thought bubble above her head. She is so sweet she causes cavities in the teeth of everyone she meets. She is perfection, in every sense of the word. Bless her soul for waiting until someone else was there to deal with my pre-show nerves. It's funny how nervous I am, when I'm not even going out on that stage. No. My nerves are because the stage is coming to me.

Chapter 17

Backstage

The crowd has already poured in from all sides of the venue. We're walking hand in hand as he's introducing me to everyone who is of any importance. The stage crew already know who I am, from the many times I've been to this venue on the arms of someone else. Or the die hards know that, at least. I can only imagine what is going through their minds. They must think I make a habit out of hooking up with rock stars, then simply toss them aside, like it never mattered. They couldn't know it's more like the opposite. Every rock star I've dated has done that to me. Tossed me aside like I didn't matter, moved on without actually telling me. Luke set the bar and so far, everyone has lived up to it. Or down, depending on your sense of direction. But no one is asking about Luke. No one is asking about Edward or Noelle. They are all asking about Hunter. It's a home show, after all. I could have seen any of these people out getting coffee with Hunter last week. Well, not last week. But, last month, maybe. It's been a crazy couple of weeks since he demanded I left Hunter. I can't even keep track of time anymore. I'll admit, part of that is because I don't need to remind myself how long we've actually been over for. Now, he's dismissing every question that gets asked about Hunter. He wants me to be known as his girl. He's making that obvious. I haven't even given him a real answer yet, but he's taking the one he wants. I can't say I mind. What's the worst that could happen? He doesn't have a band, so there can't be a "no girlfriend" rule. He doesn't listen to what other people say, so he won't hear rumors about who I'm spending my nights with. Plus, he's confident in himself and this relationship. He won't have insecurities sneak up on him and ruin what could be a good thing. I have nothing to worry about as his girlfriend. That's what he keeps telling me, at least. But Crystal echoes them whenever he's not around to hear her. Whenever he is around, she plays the role of mediator. She takes my side and says it's too soon. That Hunter and I have been through too much to expect I just move on. She says she feels bad for Hunter, even if he made this bed he can't get comfortable in. But, as soon as he's out of earshot, she's singing the opposite tune. She tells me that I've given Hunter too much time, too much thought. She says there's no time like the present to welcome the future. Then she says I obviously know what I want, or I wouldn't be here.

Those words have been echoing through my head since she said them. I wouldn't be here. Why am I here? Why am I shaking hands and introducing myself as someone I'm not?

Crystal once told me that we don't always run from ourselves, but to ourselves. That sometimes, when we run away from everything we had, it's to get closer to everything we want. She told me that when she explained the story about running away from home. No one understood why she left, because she seemed to have a functional family. But, there was something missing in her life. Something she felt was keeping her from reaching her potential. She said that she wanted to find that something. She wanted to meet a different side of herself. She wanted to be someone she could smile at in the mirror. She didn't want to be so afraid of her reflection anymore. So she left. She never looked back. She eventually found exactly what she was looking for, too. Her story resonated with me in a way. I've long stopped recognizing my own reflection. I don't recognize the shape of my face. I don't recognize the color of my hair, or the length that's barely manageable. The green eyes I see in the mirror aren't mine. They belong to someone else. Someone who is deeply hurt and eternally confused about where the pain is even coming from. I don't recognize the hand around my throat, even if it is my own. Yet, I find myself recognizing the person shaking hands and making introductions. I feel well-acquainted with the smile that's now spreading across my face. It feels natural. It feels right. If being here with him is what makes me feel like myself, I should seek out more of that feeling. That's what Crystal would say, at least. He would just smile, letting my soul melt into a little puddle. Then he'd collect the fluid on the concrete floor and turn it into ice cubes. Then he'd put them into my drink, so I'd be complete again. He's fairly confident he can keep doing this for as long as I'm willing to let him. I'm not entirely sure he's right, but I'm in no position to argue him. I want to tell him he's wrong, but when I go to say the words, my lips curl into a smile instead. Maybe because I know he isn't.

This could be my life again. It's all I've ever known, but I gave it all up in the hopes that Hunter and I would settle down, become normal people. I wanted so badly for things to work out between the two of us. I forgot how much I disliked being a normal person. I thought stepping into the shadows would give us space from the light. To allow space from our problems and past mistakes. To demonstrate we were coming to an understanding. In the end, it gave us space from each other. He thought I wanted space from him. He took my understanding and patience to be dismissive. Those god damned insecurities of his literally tore this relationship apart. I was too hurt and too far in denial to do something about it. I just stood back and watched the fire that once kept us together go out. It burnt even more in the last moments of dying than it ever had when it was burning bright. It's funny how pain hurts the most in the last seconds. Removing the offending object begins a healing process, but not before the sudden shock. In the end, the healing hurts more than the cause.

Neither of us were meant to live in the shadows of silence, too used to the lights of chaos.

He kisses my hand as he lets go. He has to get on stage, since the show is about to start. His hand is replaced with Crystal's, dragging me along with her to get a better view. She wants to go to the ceiling floor. I want to stay on the stage. We're led by a stage hand to meet both our requests. There's a balcony right above the stage. It's only open to VIP holders, so we can avoid getting stuck with the fans and the average chaos. We're completely private, since there is no VIP option for this particular concert. Still, we get a great view of the show. He looks up and makes eye contact once or twice during the first song. Crystal has started talking about how much she misses being on tour. She's talking about how much she loves seeing new places and meeting new people.

“The food is my favorite part. You would think that it's universal across the states, but it isn't. Each state seems to have a dish that is exclusive and delicious. Well, most of them are delicious.” She adds.

“You should travel abroad.” I offer, hardly paying attention to her. She smiles brightly enough to draw my attention over to her. I don't know how she can compete with the stage.

“You know, he's invited me on this tour with him.” She continues, looking back down. I follow her view. He's dancing across the stage in what can only be described as a chicken going gorillas. He moves like an albatross or a flamingo. His long legs dancing forward before the rest of his body can even catch up. But he's having fun with it. I can see his smile from here.

“We'd be leaving tomorrow morning, traveling to New York by Christmas.” She continues. I nod again.

“I've been on too many tours to count, myself. But, I think it would be fun to be, you know, free. The last few tours I was on I had to earn my keep. You know guys in bands. They seem to think women are property instead of people. It was degrading, but, I had to do what I had to do, right?” She pauses. I nod, looking back over at her. Her eyes aren't towards the stage, but the ceiling. It's like she's picturing the sky and everything beyond our eye sight.

“I know.” I agree.

“It would be like, getting to explore the world. No expectations. Just us and the open road.” She pauses again, now looking over at me. I know what she's doing. She's waiting for an answer. I pretend to be enthralled by the show, but her words are sinking in. I've toured, as a roadie. I've been able to see so many shows, but I've also been a part of them. I've never been able to sit back and watch the magic. I've never been able to relax in a dressing room getting drunk and high with a bunch of other rock stars. I've never seen the casual side of touring, only the chaos. I wonder what this would feel like every night. My silence encourages her to start talking again.

“I would love to go along on this tour, you know.” She starts again.

“So go.” I offer, still pretending to ignore her. It doesn't seem to discourage her at all. She's still smiling, lost in her own world.

“I'm just worried. He's going to be busy a lot, between the shows and the press.” She argues. I know that she's right. He's promoting an album that came out last week or the week before. He's going to be swarmed with interviews, both radio and television. He may even have to do a couple for magazines and newspapers. Those always involve photo shoots as well. The whole PR business is time consuming, even though he has a decent manager. His manager is fairly competent when it comes to getting him time to relax. But, he doesn't want time to relax. Crystal doesn't care if he has a break between interviews and shows. She's only saying it because she'll be,

“So bored waiting for him to wrap up.” She mumbles, more to herself. I sigh, shaking my head. She's only quiet for a minute before she finally comes out and says,

“I'd tour with him if you were coming too.” She's got a smoothness to her voice that reminds me of blended cream. She even has the bubbles in the form of an excitement I'm surprised she can contain. She's trying to sweet talk me, make me feel guilty enough to agree. The worst part is that it's working.

Chapter 18

Somebody New

Crystal has a bigger wig collection than anyone else, I think. She may even put the famous drag queens of the 80's to shame. She says sometimes you need to be someone different for a little while. It's practically her life motto. She isn't like me. She is attached to her friends and her city. She likes her home and her possessions. She isn't ready to run at the drop of a pin, like I am. She is physically settled down. But, emotionally, she experiences the same wanderlust. So, sometimes, she wants to be someone else. But only for a little while, and only temporary changes. She'll cover up her tattoos with make up, throw on a wig and reinvent herself. She'll give herself a whole new name and even create a new background story. Then she'll parade around for a little while under this disguise. She has done this every Saturday since David left. Last weekend, I went to the bar with “Paige”. That was the name she chose for that particular evening. She ignored everyone who called her by Crystal, even if they were her best friends. She played it off and eventually, the people she knew caught on. They corrected themselves for mistaking her for someone else and left her. Everyone crowded her and started asking her questions. She rattled off made-up stories that made her sound more interesting than she actually was. I never say anything. I nod and smile and vaguely answer any questions that I'm asked because I'm in the cross fire. Some of the people who crowded us seemed to just want to be around her. Some of them seemed to want to touch her, feel her holy powers radiate through them. Wherever she goes, people crowd around her to kiss the ground her feet are standing on. Some of these people believed she was an actress, asking if she had played in such-and-such. Some of them believed she was a musician who sang “that one song that plays on the radio”. She's a celebrity in her own right, but with no real claim to fame. But when she's dressed up, she takes every claim she's offered. She agrees with anything anyone says, creating a buzz of mystery wherever she goes.

It's easy to confuse stupid people who are holding onto this world of rock stars. They aren't all they are cracked up to be, trust me.

This is what touring with her is going to be like. She tells me that she plans to take her life philosophy on the road with her. She'll be Samantha tomorrow night. Amy the next night wherever we are. She can recycle as many personalities as she can create, because we'll be traveling forward. She says it's the perfect time to leave her old self behind. Then she passes the joint she's been hogging in my direction. The show is nearing the end, but we couldn't wait any longer. Or, I couldn't wait any longer. My nerves were getting so bad that I was visibly shaking. She suggested a trip to the bathroom, even though she had been saving this particular joint until after the show. I assure her that the after-party is bound to have something to smoke. She agreed and proceeded to ramble on about her tour plans. She pauses, then says she wants to be herself in New York.

“Why?” I ask, handing the joint back to her. She shrugs, absentmindedly.

“I have friends there.” She answers loosely. I nod.

“You have friends everywhere.” I correct her, motioning my hands around the air. She nods too.

“I do. But in New York, I have a cult following. I'm too well-known to try and be someone else. Besides, I like it there. I want to be me.” She concludes. I just shrug. In New York, I want to be someone else. I'll borrow one of Crystal's wigs and pretend to be Paige's little sister or something. It's just been too long since I've been home and too many people were disappointed when I left. I haven't been back since Hunter moved us there. We were supposed to be starting over after his heart was broken. But he immediately started dating this girl behind my back. I left him behind and moved back to Illinois. I told the friends I had in New York that I would get in touch when I got back on my own feet. I never got in touch, because my feet never landed on the ground. I ended up back with Luke, then moved to California and ended up back with Hunter. I don't want to go home. I don't want to look at the place I lived and think about all the miles between then and now. I hate thinking about the miles. I don't want to think about the changes I made to get a new start and how I only ended up going backwards. I don't want to think about how it was all for nothing.

I'm not even surprised that Hunter didn't show up tonight. I didn't really expect that he would, given that I was too cryptic about the way I gave him the ticket. I thought it would add the right touch of mystery, maybe intriguing him into making an appearance. I should have known better. Hunter never liked the way I was cryptic about everything. He always told me I should say what I mean, instead of leaving it up for interpretation. But I've always left everything behind. It's what I do.

Crystal is stalling as I try to make my way out of the bathroom. She's grabbing my arm and pulling me back in with a concerned look on her face. I raise my eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” I ask, turning to face her. She lets out a deep sigh. She looks like she's trying to find the words she wants to say.

“I have a confession.” She begins. Her tone is as calm as the ocean. As light as the raindrops hitting a window pane. I don't say anything, motioning for her to continue.

“I saw Hunter.” She blurts out. I look forward in her direction, making eye contact. Her eyes drop to the floor, like she didn't want to be the one who told me. But, she did tell me.

“Okay?” I question, looking around the bathroom. The white and black checkered tiles are beginning to make me feel dizzy. I feel like the faded pink stalls are beginning to grow and the whole room is getting smaller. It's like she can read my mind when she reaches out and puts her hands on my shoulders. I feel more balanced and I try and focus on the way her concern grows.

“I just, I don't want you to be shocked when you see them out there.” She finishes, tilting her head up and re-establishing eye contact. She's got her head tilted in the same way a dog tilts its' head after bringing you the ball. She wants to be told she did a good job. Good girl, here's a treat. I know what she means when she says them. She isn't referring to the man who is still entertaining a crowd on stage. She's referring to the date that Hunter has brought to the show tonight. I sigh. Good for him, I guess. It's really classy to bring one of your girlfriends to a show that your other girlfriend invited you to, because your ex-boyfriend wanted to see you. He redefines the word. I laugh.

“I don't follow what's funny.” Crystal announces, sounding confused. I continue shaking my head.

“That's fine. Thanks for telling me.” I offer, opening the door to the bathroom and walking out. She follows me, quickly falling into step. We're not far from the stage, but there's a commotion as we approach it. I can only pick out one of the voices, which is Hunter. But he's not arguing with another man. That man is still on stage, finishing an encore that his fans are demanding of him. Hunter is arguing with a woman. I overhear him say he wants to leave, that there's no point in waiting around. As we get closer, two of the stage hands stand in front of us. They create a wall, separating us from them. I look between the two of them to see who Hunter is with. I recognize the blonde locks falling over her shoulders. She's wearing her long hair in a loose ponytail, but it's worn over her shoulder. I can see the lavender headband peaking out from underneath the knotted locks. She looks tired and worn out, which means she likely came from a performance of her own. She's still wearing the legwarmers that match her headband too. Under them, I can see black tights that look too thin for the weather outside. She's got on a short fur coat that is also black, over top of a skin-tight t-shirt that is white. She's also wearing lavender monster boots that are fighting for attention with the legwarmers. If she didn't just get off work, she was heading to work after the show.

“What's going on?” Crystal asks, directly talking to the stage hand on the right. His name is Samuel. I remember that he introduced himself to us earlier. He crosses his arms, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, just some guy fighting with his girl. Wouldn't want to see you beautiful angels caught in the crossfire.” He assures. His tone is just a little too flirtatious and his eyes are glued to Crystal. She lightly puts one of her hands on his chest. She looks up at him with her bright eyes, smiling widely.

“That's sweet.” She thanks, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek. I cough from beside her, drawing the attention to myself.

“What are they fighting about?” I ask, looking between the two stage hands. Samuel looks over his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Girl wants to meet the singer. Boyfriend wants to leave. See it all the time. Dude doesn't want to watch his girl getting gaga over the band.” He explains loosely. I suppress a laugh that I know is brewing internally. I'm supposed to be that girl. But I guess we both knew it was over. She was always happy to fill my shoes whenever I left them behind. I can't judge her because she's in love. I can't judge him because technically, I'm here with someone else too. In fact, I'm here with two other people. So I think I win this break up.

“Who would?” The second stage hand comments, looking towards the stage. I follow his view, watching the exhibition taking place. He's climbing up on top of one of the amps and the crowd is cheering loudly. Then, he's on his feet, facing them. He's doing back flips off the stage equipment.

“I hate when he does this.” Samuel mumbles, shaking his head. Crystal laughs running her hand up his arm. His attention immediately shoots back to her, smiling brightly.

“I think it's talented.” She offers. Samuel shrugs.

“Back in the day, I could have done a dozen of these. Never losing wind.” He boasts. Crystal smiles, like she'd be more impressed if he could. She seems to be captivated by him, but I know she's just leading him on. It's not that she intends to mislead everyone, but she knows the value of entertaining people. It's a valuable skill to have. I step to the side, moving around the second stage hand. He never introduced himself, so calling him by name would be impossible. I could guess his name. I could call him Joshua or Steven. Maybe he would correct me, maybe he wouldn't. He might let me call him Betty if it meant I was leaving. He's not amused by Crystal's playful flirting or the couple on the other side arguing. Crystal follows my lead as I pass the wall of muscle. She keeps her hand on Samuel's arm, so he turns to face the arguing lovers. She wants to see the confrontation, but she doesn't want to get close enough to be involved. She stays back as I keep walking towards Hunter. His back is turned to me, so he doesn't know I'm approaching. Kathleen looks over her shoulder at me and nods, stepping backwards. She knows who I am from the many times we've met over the years. It's unfortunate that it always seems to be under the same circumstances. At least she knows what is going on whenever she sees me. She's blonde, but she's not stupid. The only thing stupid about her is that she keeps giving Hunter the chance to let her down. I guess we have a lot more in common than I'd like to admit.

“Your girlfriend wants to talk to you.” Kathleen announces, looking directly at Hunter. He doesn't turn around. He doesn't realize I'm standing here. Instead, I watch his shoulders tighten.

“What does that mean?” He barks. Kathleen taps her foot on the concrete, motioning towards me.

“She's standing behind you, asshole.” She finishes, turning her back to me. I watch her storm off towards the stage. Hunter doesn't move. He's frozen right where he is. I'm not sure if he's trying to process what lie he can tell me. At this point, he should know we're past that point. But, I find myself not caring to face him. I turn around before he does and start back towards Crystal.

“This is stupid.” I mumble to myself, mostly under my breath. I just need to hear the words out loud. I can now hear Crystal telling Samuel and Betty all about Hunter. Samuel looks directly at me with a look of sympathy and I'm almost embarrassed for myself.

“I can throw him out.” Samuel offers, motioning towards Hunter. I shake my head, walking past them.

“Don't waste your time. The trash can take itself out.” I bite. In the background, I can hear Hunter calling my name. But his voice fades out quickly. If I had been paying attention to the show, I would have known it was over. I would have heard the cheers. I would have been prepared. But I was too lost in my own world to realize he was walking off stage towards me.

Chapter 19

Unfinished Business

I pause outside of the front door, looking around the yard. Hunter is gone to work, so Kathleen said it would be alright if I came to pick up my stuff. I didn't speak to her, but Crystal did. After the show, the two of them went out to the after-party together. Crystal called me, invited me to come back. I just wasn't feeling particularly celebratory. He chose to fly from the concert last night straight to the second show. He wanted to ensure the travel arrangements were going to be ready when Crystal and I flew out later this afternoon. I turn the handle of the front door slowly, in case it's locked. But of course, it's wide open and the door inches forward. I take a deep breath, pushing it open all the way and stepping into the entrance. I look around, mostly to see if my stuff is already waiting at the front door. There's nothing in the entrance except a pair of shoes that don't belong to Hunter. I nod to myself and quietly close the door. I head towards the staircase when I notice her blonde locks draped over the edge of the couch. My foot comes down from the first step and I head towards the living room. She's reading Invisible Monsters, picking up where I had left the bookmark only days before. I should be flattered she's so much like me. At least it means Hunter has been thinking of me. Or, some twisted version of me at least.

“Hello.” I greet, trying not to startle her. It doesn't work and she jumps up to her feet. She puts one of her hands on her chest, closing the book in her other hand. She drops it on the table and fakes a smile in my direction. I return the greeting, motioning upstairs.

“Is Hunter home?” I ask, even though I know the answer. She shakes her head, opening her hand and waving it around.

“No. He's gone to work.” She assures, making eye contact with the floor. I let my eyes scan the living room and notice the subtle changes. The pictures that were hanging on the walls of the living room are all laying in a pile on the floor. Her purse is sitting beside the coffee table, but her slippers are sitting underneath it. I notice that her dance schedule is laying on the table beside where she's placed the book. There are throw pillows all over the couch in bright colors. We never had throw pillows before. She looks like she's been making herself at home. I'm glad, because it's her home now. Just like it was back in New York.

“I just came to grab my stuff. Well, whatever I can.” I announce, though I'm sure Crystal told her the reason I was coming over. It's not like I have any other reason to be here now. She nods and I turn around, heading towards the staircase. I start up them, noticing out of the corner of my eye that she's following me. I can't say I mind. I feel much less intrusive when the new girlfriend escorts me around what was supposed to be my house.

“What happened to you last night?” She asks me softly as we get to the top of the stairs. I stop walking and motion her into the bedroom. I don't really want to touch anything. She sighs, lightly shaking her head. But, she opens the bedroom door, walks in first and looks around. When she turns to face me, she's motioning me inside. I head past her now, straight towards the closet where I kept my suitcase. When I get to the closet, I realize my suitcase is already laying in Crystal's apartment. I would have grabbed it, but it's packed for the impending tour. I didn't think I'd have time to finish today.

“You left right after the show. Everyone was so confused.” She adds. I nod, looking around the room. The curtains that were around the bed for my comfort are all down. He knew I wasn't coming back and he's already started to remove me from his life. The bedside table that used to be mine is empty. The place I kept my journal is now vacant. Everything is in a box sitting on the dresser with a sticky note that says my name. It's in the writing Hunter uses when he's rushed.

“I didn't know what to expect.” I answer, trying to be as vague as possible. I didn't wait for Crystal to wake up this morning. She came home last night, intoxicated and loud. She told me that she spent time with Kathleen and that I could pick my stuff up today. Then she passed out, draping herself over the entire bed. I didn't sleep. So when the sun came up, I took a taxi here.

“Crystal said you weren't feeling well, so you wanted to lay down.” She mumbles, leaning against the door frame. I nod.

“That's not far from the truth.” I admit, slightly laughing. I take the box and put it on the bed. I know there are a few things laying around that are mine. I start grabbing things and throwing them in the box.

“Are you and Frankie, like, together?” She asks, looking down at the floor. I pause, looking over at her.

“I don't know. We haven't really talked about it.” I answer honestly. We haven't talked about the future at all, actually. She nods slowly.

“I didn't know.” She confesses softly. I laugh.

“I still don't.” I admit, taking the note out of the box.

“I meant, about you and Hunter.” She corrects, her voice heavy with guilt. Ah. She's not trying to make small talk at all. She's not escorting me because she wants to. She's just looking for redemption. I stop packing and turn to face her. I can tell that her eyes are glossing over and she's on the verge of tears. Her hazel eyes are big and sad and when the faucet turns on, it's hard to turn back off.

“He told me that you were out of the picture. I believed him, of course. Until I saw you and Crystal at the show last night.” She rambles, trying to hold back the waterworks. I nod. I don't know what to say to her or about the situation. I hardly know what to say these days about anything. I feel speechless all the time, like I shouldn't even have a tongue because it's not like I ever use it anymore. It seems that only my brain works, and hardly. It races too fast for me to keep up with, even when I'm trying.

“I would never do that to you.” She finishes, her voice trailing off. I look over at her and she's looking up just as a I do. I make eye contact and I see the faucet turning on. I step forward and open my arms, pulling her into my chest. I gently run my hand over those blonde locks, trying to be soothing.

“I know.” I assure her, more to try and stop the flow of tears. I know she would never intentionally hurt anyone. She's too sweet to be that kind of person. She's a hopeless romantic and when she falls in love, she falls hard and deep. Her problem is just that she's too trusting. When she met Hunter, she thought he was going to be the one. She found out about me, but I had already left him. So, he did his best to sweet talk her into staying, which she did. Then, she found out he was unfaithful to her and she left him behind. She isn't a doormat. But, a year or so down the line, he said he changed and was ready to try again. She believed him and gave him a second chance to let her down. It seems like she's lining up to do it all over again.

“I can't believe Hunter would do this.” She mutters into the t-shirt I'm wearing, now wet from her tears.

“He's hurt. He's not malicious.” I offer, still defending him. I know that he's not a malicious person. He would never set out to hurt someone. But, when he feels slighted, he's not himself anymore. He gets defensive and acts on impulse. He makes questionable decisions that often hurt a lot of people. I realize, standing here with his doe-eyed mistress that we never had a chance. One too many mistakes, a willingness for denial and everything spiraled out of control. He was right. I would have waited forever only to see the truth that Hunter was never going to change. Human beings are so blind, especially when it comes to love. We convince ourselves to see what we want, instead of what is right in front of us. But standing here with her, the curtains have finally been drawn and I can see everything for what it is.

“How could he do this?” She asks, finally stepping back. She's wiping her cheeks off with the backs of her hands. She looks dramatic and small, like a child throwing a tantrum. She doesn't normally cry, but when she does, she lets everything out. I don't really know what to say to her. He could have told her the truth, that we were just falling apart. That we shared a bed, but there was nothing left between us. Of course, that would have meant facing reality. Instead, it was easier to pretend that I wasn't around at all, instead of being out of reach. If he had opened his eyes, he would have realized I was right here.

“This was a long time coming.” I offer, mostly to myself. Though, I can hope that she'll stop crying too.

“I don't understand. Why didn't he just, tell me?” She cries out. I shake my head, lifting my hands up. Her mascara is now leaking down her cheeks, creating lines that turn her into an abstract painting.

“You know Hunter. He doesn't know how to deal with his emotions.” I remind her. She shakes her head and I can see that she's now trembling all over. I don't know if it's sorrow or anger.

“That doesn't make it acceptable.” She argues, slightly raising her voice. I guess it's anger she's feeling. I shake my head.

“No, it doesn't. But, he went to you because he trusts you. You're one of the only people who has ever understood him. I think that says something.” I offer. I'm not sure if that's the truth. If he turns to her because they get each other, or if he's a creature of habit. Either way, I can see a smile now forming in the corner of her mouth. I'm happy that the tears have stopped flowing.

“Yeah?” She looks bashful as her eyes find the floor again. I nod.

“You'll bring the rest of my stuff to Crystal's, right?” I ask, picking up the box. She nods, stepping out of the door frame. I continue towards the staircase, quickly making my way down.

“Call me when you're back.” She calls, following me to the stair case.

“I will.” I nod, and she waves goodbye. I open the front door and head out to the taxi waiting for me.

Chapter 20

Taking Off

Crystal told me what happened after I left the show. She was disappointed that there was no confrontation, no show down. Hunter got out of there even quicker than I did, taking the opposite direction. He abandoned a confused and hysterical Kathleen. Crystal invited her out for drinks because she felt bad. She knew Kathleen was just a pawn. She was also bored and I had abandoned her.

“I want to keep an open dialogue.” Crystal explains, holding up her cellphone. She took Kathleen's number and they've been texting each other since I left. Crystal smiles, looking over.

“She wants to know how you're holding up. I think she feels bad about everything that happened.” She offers. I laugh.

“Yeah. It's really hard to steal someones boyfriend, right?” I attempt to joke. Crystal shakes her head dismissively. She's not buying the “I don't care” act that I'm trying to sell her. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me blankly.

“I'm fine.” I shrug, looking out the window beside me. I let my head rest against the glass as I stare out at everyone on the runway. We're not even in the air yet, but the people all look so small. Or, maybe that's just how I'm perceiving them. I'd like to say I was on top of the world, but I would be lying. I know in a few minutes, we will be. Literally. Crystal will be metaphorically, too.

“I've missed the tour life.” She starts, and I know she's spinning off into her many stories. I'm thankful it's a short flight to where we're meeting him. But, I know that Crystal's stories will continue throughout the tour as well. We're going to be driving everywhere, even though someone with his fame should be flying. I asked why he was renting a tour bus and he said he liked driving. He explained that one of his favorite parts of touring was watching the scenery pass by. He says it's not time conducive, but he has enough time to spare. He has such a strange way of seeing the positive side of everything. He's the only person I know who would trade private class jets for smelly buses that have been used by so many bands before. But it's his preference, one Crystal shares. She told me that it's hard to make new friends when you're that high above everyone else. I briefly tune back into Crystal's monologue. She has a captive audience in the assistant he hired to get us to the rendezvous point. I believe her name was Candice. I didn't bother making conversation with her, too lost in my own thoughts. I know that it isn't Kathleen's fault that Hunter is a player. It's his own. She's only going to end up hurt, and part of me wanted to warn her of such. But, if she didn't already know, she was letting her love blind her. That was her decision to make. I was grateful that she was the one who greeted me. I wasn't ready to see Hunter. I don't think I'll ever be ready to see him. I know that seeing him will make me face the finality of the situation and I can't. Right now, Hunter is at work, like nothing has changed in his life. Kathleen is back at his house, packing up my possessions with delicacy and care. By the time he gets home, she'll have cleared out every trace of me, leaving it sit in a deserted corner of the house. Hunter, on the other hand, would have tossed everything in a box and thrown it outside. Or, he would have had a bonfire and tossed everything into it. I could picture him standing in the backyard, in front of the roaring fire. He'd toss things into the fire, like I was dead or something. After all, removing me from his life was the next step in his cleansing process. I shake my head, trying not to think of Hunter. I look over at Crystal, who is now flipping through a fashion magazine. She's got one of her legs draped over the other and she's turning the pages so delicately. She's wearing just as many rings on her hands as she did last night, but now they are fancier. There are pink diamonds in every single ring. These diamonds match the color she's chosen for her entire outfit. She's got her hair tucked under a pale pink wig. The curls are hanging over her shoulders, resting on the mesh arms of the dress she's wearing. The mesh is white and goes across her chest and down both arms. At the chest, it meets a fake leather corset, which is also white. The lacing on the front is the same pale pink as her wig. Then, the skirt of the dress is layered. The top layer is white fake leather, matching the corset. The layer underneath is pale pink and mesh. Then there is another layer of white mesh. Underneath the dress is a pair of white shorts, in case she moves the wrong way and the dress exposes her. She pairs the outfit with white, fake leather thigh-high platform boots. They've got chunky heels and zip up the back. She's got her make up done in a light pink, to enhance the outfit. On top of the wig, she's wearing a white clip-on top hat with a pink bow. She looks ridiculous, yet somehow manages to pull it off. She told me that she made the outfit herself, back when she was interested in fashion. She had long since given up her dream, but I could see her having a future in fashion design. This side of Crystal, the over-done drag-queen of the 80's, would be a hit. She would be easy to sell because she's got a uniqueness to her.

“I want to be on the cover one day.” She muses to herself. I nod, still looking out the window. I'm looking at the clouds we'll be joining.

“I was before, you know. When I was dating you-know-who.” She adds, trying to direct my attention. I look over, watching her. She's waving the magazine around in her hand, then she drops it onto her lap. She goes on to say that she doesn't know which version of herself she wants on the cover.

“Maybe Crystal will die in a plane crash.” She exclaims, clapping her hands together. I can hear the jingle of her jewelry as she does, even though the plane is rattling. I shake my head.

“Don't mention plane crashes.” I request, looking over briefly. She pauses, raising her eyebrow.

“Are you afraid of flying?” She asks, sounding concerned. I shake my head, so she goes back to her magazine. No, I'm not afraid of flying. I'm not afraid of the plane crashing. In fact, I'd welcome a plane crash. But, isn't that a much bigger problem?

Chapter 21

Being Me

I can't help thinking about the path I've been on and the dead end I've reached. I thought I was headed in the right direction, but everything I thought I knew turned out to be wrong. I thought I was learning from our past mistakes, but everything I learned only served as a reminder of what went wrong. I think everything went wrong. I think Crystal was right: Don't ask questions. She said, we just have to enjoy the ride and not worry so much about the destination. I think I spent too much time considering how we were going to end up. I didn't even realize how far apart our path had taken us from each other. But, seeing Kathleen in his house for the second time, it became clear.

There's turbulence as the plane takes off from the runway. I can't deny that a part of me is smiling at the idea of it going down. I know that Crystal doesn't want to die. She's just getting her life back together and she's more excited than she's been in a long time. I don't want to take anyone else down with me when I do go. That's not fair. That's not my choice. I want my death to be quick, and oh-so-painful. There's no sense burdening others with my selfish wish for demise. Besides, I'm not in a rush to die either. It may feel like the end of the world, losing everything I had with Hunter. But I know that where one road ends, another begins. In life, there are no real dead-ends. Not if you choose to look on the brighter side. At least, I know that's what Crystal would say about it. She's determined to help me see the error of my ways. More so, the negativity that I attract to myself and those around me. She wants to help me see the more positive side of everything. I tried to tell her that I used to see things that way. There was a time I wasn't so jaded. A time I was filled with hopes and dreams and ideas. I used to be willing to fight for anything. But, after too many fights... So. Much. Fighting... I couldn't muster up the energy to keep going. So I didn't. I sat down and watched the world spinning around me. I watched my love fade, my life become meaningless and my dreams die. I feel like everyone reaches that point in life, but she hasn't gotten there yet. She says she never will, too. I don't know if she's right, but a part of me wants to believe that she is. To believe that it's possible to just keep fighting, even when it all feels pointless. She's passionate about never giving up on the things you want in life.

I don't know how she has managed to keep such a positive out look. I know that she didn't always have it. She's shared stories of her miserable past, told me about her thoughts on giving up. Once upon a time, she didn't have the drive to move forward. She settled into what she knew, what was available to her. She thought her dreams were pointless and she was never getting out of her miserable life. Then she did. She said she'd never give up again. No matter how bad things got for her, she'd find a way to keep moving forward. She's been wandering through life with no real purpose ever since. She doesn't have a career or a permanent home. She doesn't believe anything is permanent. She says there's a freedom to that. If everything is temporary, we need to take advantage of everything we have. From money to people to time. She couch-surfed until she met David. When he found out she was homeless, he insisted she move in with him. She worked at bars that didn't ask questions. She was always paid in cash. There are many people who would think of her as less fortunate, but she believes her lifestyle is uplifting. I don't know how she can be so confident when she doesn't know how she's getting her next meal.

“I don't think about it that way.” She answers.

“What way? Normal?” I ask, struggling to get on the same page. She bounces all over the world, both in her head and in her body. I doubt the two have really seen each other in quite some time. They'd be like strangers if they ran into each other on the street. She seems to like it better that way. No one else seems to notice. It's not me, though. I have to think about tomorrow. I have to think about when I get to eat next or where I am sleeping. I can't just saunter through life. When I left home, I had planned to. I had fallen in love and knew what the future held for me. I had security. I had certainty. But I lacked the genuine happiness I thought came with finding love. I think I did something wrong along the way. She left home with none of the above, but she was happy about her lack of a future. The more I think about Hunter, the more I realize we were never truly happy. We were happy enough, but it was nothing compared to the happiness Crystal radiates. Her bright eyes compete with the stars in the sky on even the clearest of nights. Her smile is so wide that she's being ushered through the airport because the staff is afraid it's going to break something otherwise. To her, happiness lies in the freedom of oneself. For me, happiness was nothing more than a charade. This is the real goal to set in life: Freedom.

“I'm going to teach you.” She assures me, recalling a conversation we had the other night. I laugh.

“Oh, what? How to take things less seriously?” I mock, but she nods like I was serious.

“I've been uptight forever. It's never going to change.” I dismiss, shaking my head. She smiles.

“It can and it will. Because you're going to let it.” She asserts. I don't know if she's right. Last month, I wouldn't consider it for a second. But, somehow, I feel her energy pouring into my tired soul.

I traded everything I knew, everything that brought me comfort in my earlier days. Traded it all for laughing at nothing more than the ceiling. I traded a home for hopelessness. A partner for a lover. I traded misery for something genuine. Hopeless but happy. Doomed, but more excited to get out of bed than I ever was when I knew everything. Ready to go, to take on the world, in a way I could never be when I had everything figured out. That uncertainty brought a freedom I never would have guessed was there. A freedom that has lifted my spirits and tricked my heart into reviving hope. And what is this weird sensation washing over me? What is this cloud that feels like it's been lifted? Before I know it, I'm being ushered through the airport too. If there were people around, they would be snapping pictures. My face has never seen a smile this big. Then again, I'm fucking tired of being me.

Chapter 22

Settling In

Crystal seems mesmerized by the hotel room we're now settling into for the night. In the morning, we'll be boarding the tour bus and driving everywhere. But, tonight he wanted a reprise. There is no show tomorrow and he thought it would be beneficial for everyone to get a good night of sleep. Crystal walks into the room and throws her suitcase down on one of the beds. The room has two double beds, each a good distance from the other. I thought we'd be sharing one bed, like always, but I was wrong. In between the two beds is a small night table with two drawers. The same table is duplicated on either side of the beds, making three in total. Across from the space between beds is an eight drawer dresser. On top of the dresser is a television, a hotel phone and a list of what the hotel offers guests. Further along the wall is a door to a small closet, for those who are staying longer than a night. In front of the closet is a massive window, overlooking the beach. Underneath it is a small table and two uncomfortable looking chairs. All of the furniture is an old wood that looks like oak. The walls are painted beige and have a stucco design throughout them. The curtains are striped both brown and beige. The bedspreads draped over each bed are similar to the curtains, but more vibrant. The color in the curtains has obviously faded over time. I watch Crystal drop down, pressing her back into the mattress. She wiggles around, like she's trying to get a feel for the comfort it provides. I laugh, standing in the entrance of the room. Behind me is the bathroom door, open to reveal a pristine set up. Of course, he's also standing behind me, pushing my shoulder as he passes. He sits down on the other bed, flicking on the television. There's a local news station on. He seems to pause, staring at the screen, then turns the television back off. We both look over at Crystal, now putting the suitcase on the ground in front of the bed. I don't think she's stopped to consider what having two beds represents. Then again, I'm not sure she cares, either. I think she's tired of being herself too.

On the plane ride here, she talked a bit about the new identities she planned on having. She wants to create a new one for every city. She doesn't want to recycle any of them, because she believes it's not creative. I can't argue her about that. But, she wants me to join her parade of charades. She wants me to be her sister some days, her best friend on others. She wants to keep things interesting by changing the story every time. I told her I'd consider going along with her masquerade ball. It's not every day you're given the chance to completely reinvent yourself, after all. She said it was time to reinvent ourselves with a champagne bottle loosely dangling from her hand.

She's giggling now, but she's looking at the ceiling. So, there's no point asking her what's funny. She wouldn't be able to answer. She's not all here. Her mind got lost somewhere over the ocean. I think it saw the water beneath us and jumped down. She always had a heart she was ready to throw out to sea. That's Crystal. I walk further into the room, putting my suitcase down beside hers. I cautiously sit at the end of the bed, next to her legs which are dangling off. She doesn't notice me. But, she flies off the bed, grabbing the phone that's sitting on the dresser. She looks over briefly and announces what she's ordering from room service. He laughs, which is his consent to pay for whatever she wants him to. After all, it's not like she has money.

He told me once when she was at work that he thinks of her like a sister. He said he didn't know a lot about her past, or where she had come from. He could see in her eyes that she had lived though. He wouldn't ask questions because he didn't really want to know. He told me he believed she had potential. If someone were to polish her off, she'd shine like a diamond. So he took her under his own wing, like a protege. He added that someone needed to be looking out for her because she wasn't looking out for herself. Those were his words, not mine. In the few late-night conversations I had with Crystal, I started to think she had a better bead on life than the rest of us. He hadn't seen that side of her yet. He thought she was a fragile doll, who needed protecting.

I look over at him, sitting on the edge of the other bed. He smiles when we make eye contact and he motions me over to where he's now laying down. I bite the side of my lip, unsure and nervous all of a sudden. But, as Crystal drops back down on the bed, I stand up and walk over to the other one. I sit on the side, looking over at him. My eyes roam over his body, landing on the perfectly pressed dress pants he's wearing. They are sleek and black, clearly made of a high-end fabric. He is also wearing polished black shoes. The white dress shirt he's wearing is hanging open, revealing the well-defined body that hides underneath. I picture him pulling on a suit jacket and a tie before heading on stage tonight. I thought he was going for the rock star look for this tour, but he seems to be adding a dash of elegance to his wardrobe. I can't say I mind. He looks smashing. It's obvious that he's already been dressed for the show. His assistant told us that he'd been to wardrobe already, but he was taking off to meet us at the airport. We checked into the hotel because it was under his name. Soon, he'll have to head back to the venue, where we will meet him later on. Right now, he's tapping the bed beside him. His eyes are suggesting I lay down with him. But, I'm afraid if I do, I won't want to get back up and he has a show in an hour.

Chapter 23

Tour Bus

The tour bus itself is more spacious than either of us were prepared for. The drivers seat is luxurious, with big arms that fold up. It's designed for lengthy driving and adjustable for quick naps. There's a sliding paper door that separates the driver from the rest of the bus. On the other side of that door is a lounge. There's a couch on both sides of the bus, opposite to one another. There's no table in between, because that would limit the walk space. Instead, there's a table on both ends of the couches. The tables are built into the bus, but the driver, Clifford, explains that there is a fold out table underneath one of the couches that spans the length of the walk space. It just stays folded up when it's not in use.

“The last band to rent the bus decided to make a few improvements. They wanted it to be more livable.” Clifford adds. Just past the couches is where the bunks would start. Instead, there are four closed off areas, two on each side. They are the width of a bunk, but a bit longer and there's nothing above them. Past the four beds is a closet.

“Perfect for storing suitcases, while the merchandise and equipment can just go under the bus.” He continues. Across from the closet is the bathroom. It's small, but able to flush. It will require maintenance every couple of days, but Clifford tells us not to worry about that.

“It's my job to make sure everything functions.” He assures. Crystal throws her suitcase down on the first bed to the left. She wants to be directly behind the door for whatever reason. I put my suitcase on the bed opposite of hers, putting myself behind Clifford. The other two beds are going to be largely unused, but there weren't any other buses available. Most bands would choose flying. He seems happy with his choice as he boards the bus behind us. The color scheme is dark gray, with the couches being a swirl pattern with lighter shades. The curtains are also a gray color that match the ones around the bus. He drops down on one of the couches, since his suitcase is already in the closet. His team will meet us at the venues, since most of them are going to be flying ahead. No one else wants to be confined to a tour bus, the way these two seem to.

“Welcome to your home for the next six weeks.” Clifford welcomes, heading back to the drivers seat. I sit down in the lounge, across from Frankie. We watch as Crystal lays down in her chosen bunk. She seems to rest for only a minute before getting up and trying the bunk further down. Then she moves on to the next bunk, making the same face. Then finally, she's testing out the one I picked.

“These are all terrible.” She complains, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest. She's got a pout on her glossed lips.

“What exactly did you expect?” I ask her. She puts on a pout and looks around, finally rising from the beds. She walks over to the couch and drops down beside him.

“Memory foam.” She states, sounding sure of herself. I laugh, looking over at them. He nods.

“I'll get you some tomorrow.” He assures her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, letting her eyes flutter closed. He looks over at me as Clifford starts the bus.

“Buckle up ladies, we're off.” He calls towards us. I wave, since I'm the only one he can see.

“Where to now?” I question, leaning back against the couch. He looks lost in thought, biting the side of his lip. He moves his fingers around, like he's making arrows on a map that only he can see.

“Arizona, then New Mexico.” He pauses.

“There's two shows in Texas.” He adds. I raise my eyebrow.

“Why?” I question, letting my arms fall to the couch. He shrugs.

“Big state I guess. I didn't pick the dates.” He assures, shaking his head lightly. He moves carefully, trying not to disturb Crystal. She has already fallen asleep against his shoulder.

“I'm not sure where after that. I'll have to get my assistant to print out

a list of the dates.” He offers. I nod, looking over my shoulder at the window. I watch the white lines on the road, passing us by. It reminds me of the many other times I've done this exact activity. When I was living with Luke, I got a little drunk one night. The next morning, I felt like death had hit me with a truck and I was walking around a zombie. I was dizzy and felt like throwing up all the food I hadn't eaten. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as I sat on the floor. Then he started rambling about lines in the road. He painted the visual of the lines going faster and faster until I threw up on myself. He just laughed, feeling accomplished. He wasn't being cruel, but he was reminding me it was my own fault.

“You seem, distant.” He observes. I pull my eyes from the road and let them land on him.

“I'm just thinking.” I mumble. I don't need to tell him what I'm thinking about. He knows. The white lines on the road are painting arrows away from Hunter.

Chapter 24

Seashell Collection

There's a cramping in the back of my leg. I think I forgot what it was like to sleep on a tour bus. Crystal was right that the mattresses were uncomfortable. She said the memory foam helped, but I was too stubborn at first. By the time we reached Florida, I caved and added the foam to my bed too. It's funny, I remembered touring with such a fondness. I think it was about making memories, more than actually traveling. This time, it's lacked the luster it had every other time. Or maybe my mind is just lost. There are reminders everywhere, from the road signs to the hotels. Crystal and I bought a work-out video yesterday. It's not that we need to feel fit or even because we're bored. The video is designed to help work-out leg muscles, which are the ones cramping. She wants to stretch her muscles, I don't want to feel so stiff every morning. I might be less stiff if it weren't for the Koala that finds his way into my bunk. I tried to tell him there wasn't enough room for both of us, but he didn't seem to care. He seems afraid that if he's not clinging to me, I'll bolt for the door. That's an illogical fear, since the door is moving. I'm not going to tuck and roll with my stuff in the middle of the night. He's got me thinking in terms of being ridiculous now, mostly because he is ridiculous. He suggested we could find a massage parlor every couple of days, to help ease the pain. But I hardly trust the local massage parlors, let alone ones in cities I haven't been to in years. So, Crystal suggested the video. We bought a small, battery-powered television for the bus and a generator for the DVD player.

Kathleen is the aerobics instructor in the video. When Crystal clicked the television on yesterday, she turned it off again immediately. I hadn't seen her yet, so I didn't understand. I turned the television back on and I had to face the reality. Crystal offered to throw it out the window when we hit the road again. I told her I was against littering, so she suggested we leave it underneath the bus. That way, we would hear the DVD cracking as we drove over it. I told her it was fine, leaving the television on. I have nothing against Kathleen. I never did. It's not her fault she fell in love with the wrong guy. I feel more sorry for her than I am angry. But, I don't mind following her instructions. Of course, the more I watched the tape, the more I thought of Hunter. The way Kathleen could move set my brain into overload about all the ways she might move when they're alone together. Hell, with the way she can bend her legs, she might be able to do those things in public too. No one would even know. She's flexible in a way I didn't even know was possible. For a minute, I laughed about how lucky Hunter was to have her. She must be all kinds of fun when there aren't tears streaming down her face. Maybe, she's fun then, too. But Hunter isn't lucky, regardless of how great Kathleen might be. Because he won't see it.

This morning, Crystal is overly excited and practically diving off the tour bus. She's got her suitcase in hand as she runs towards the entrance of the hotel we're staying at in Florida. I'm following behind her, hesitating at the door. But his hand lands on my shoulder and we walk into the lobby. We sign in and head to the hotel room he has booked. The only reason we're not getting back on the road after the show is because there's a Halloween party tonight. He got the invitation a while ago and he is obligated to attend. Crystal was thrilled to find out we were going to a party. I didn't particularly care. As soon as I saw the hotel we were staying at, I felt a sinking in my stomach. I stayed in this hotel with Hunter a few years back. We're even on the same floor as we were back then. I can't stop my mind from racing. I think about this hotel room we once shared. I think about the temporary hide-away. I hear Hunter's voice ringing through my ear as we head into the room: Let's stay here.

He asked me to stay the morning we were supposed to leave that hotel. He was coming out of the shower and dripping wet. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and the biggest smile I've ever seen on his face. He looked more alive than I had seen him in months. I was staring out the window of the hotel room, but my attention directed itself to him. I didn't answer, but he kept going.

“We can make a new life for ourselves, right here.” I just nodded, beginning to laugh. I knew he was being ridiculous and it wasn't like him at all. But somehow, it looked good on him anyway. I knew he didn't believe himself, either. But there was something about the way he spoke that had me clinging on every word he said. There was a conviction to his voice. A purity. He wanted to stay in that room. He wanted to maintain the balance we had found in solitude.

“Why would we do that?” I asked him in return. He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at me. I dropped down, letting my head rest in his lap. Although he was still wearing the towel and the water was soaking through to my hair. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, smiling widely.

“Why wouldn't we?” He challenged. I wanted to argue him with a reason it wouldn't work, but I couldn't find one. It was ridiculous, but maybe, it was ridiculous enough to work.

“We can get a cat, a dog, even a goldfish. We can start over.” He rambled on, standing back up. I rolled over onto my stomach, watching as he walked back to the bathroom. He pulled the towel off, throwing it onto the floor. I let my eyes roam his naked backside.

“How exactly would we get these pets in your ideal world?” I asked, watching him pull on his briefs. When he came back into the room, there was a look of awe in his eyes. I thought about seeing that look every day for the rest of my life.

“We'll catch them.” He answered, diving onto the bed. I laughed, looking over at the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. There was nothing for miles but water and sand.

“From where?” I asked, letting the laughter grow. He motioned out the door with his arms wide open.

“Anywhere.” He answered, brightly.

“There's nothing for miles, Hunter. Unless you're planning to catch a cat fish.” I argued, looking around. I realized he was completely zoned out at that point. He was lost in his own world. I stood up, walking towards the doors and followed his eyes to look at the ocean. There's nothing quite as calming as watching the light blue water grazing over the pale sands, pulling pieces out to shore and leaving relics of its' journey prior. Seashells and seaweed litter the sands. If you could ever consider such relics as litter. He turned to face me, letting his lips find mine. When he pulled back, he repeated:

“Let's just, stay.” In my mind, we strolled that beach. He collected seashells for a nonexistent collection of mine. I put them together on strings and made him a necklace he'll wear for years to come. I can already see that weekend with such a fondness, like it only happened yesterday.

In reality, I didn't answer him. We left that hotel at check out. We went back to the place we once called home. We left together, but came back alone. I wonder what would have happened if we had just stayed. Or if we had actually strolled that beach instead of locking ourselves in the hotel room. I couldn't give into his idea. It's ridiculous to drop everything you know and start over.

The irony isn't lost on me that I did the exact same thing for someone else. That's a reality I have to face as I drop down on this hotel bed in Florida. Crystal has immediately started rambling about the costume she's going to wear tonight. She packed for Halloween, because she thought ahead. I barely packed for a weekend, but I hardly change my clothes anyways. I have a favorite shirt, and favorite pants. That's enough for me. I didn't need much more to come on this tour, or to live for that matter.

“What are you wearing?” She asks, looking over at him. He's digging through his suitcase, then tosses a picture in her direction. She looks at it, then hands it over to me. I laugh, louder than I meant to.

“Sinatra? That's hardly a costume for you.” I correct. He shrugs, taking the picture back. He folds it and puts it back in his suitcase.

“I thought you'd be dressing up. For real.” Crystal whines, crossing her arms over her chest. He looks over.

“I am! I mean, what are you wearing?” He counters. She bites the side of her lip, then looks at me.

“I had a plan, but, now I'm thinking,” She pauses and I can see the wicked grin creeping up on her. I shake my head.

“No. I'm not wearing a couples costume. I don't do costumes, least of all with other people.” I dismiss. She laughs.

“It wouldn't be a couples costume. It would be fun to dress up together.” She encourages. He laughs.

“I don't think she wants to go out at all.” He reminds her, motioning towards me. I can see that Crystal looks disappointed, but I nod to confirm his assumption. I take a deep breath.

“Look, I'm just not in the mood to dress up and parade around, like everything is fine. I feel like I'm barely holding myself together right now.” I remind her. She nods slowly, but her smile is still there.

“I promise you'll have a good time.” She insists, motioning out the window behind her. I don't believe her at all.

Two hours later, we're at a costume store in Florida. I try to get out of the costume idea, but there's something about the way her eyes light up that I just can't refuse. She ends up buying two costumes before we head back to the hotel. She's decided we're going to be mermaids. Ladies of the ocean. Her costume is pink and orange, while mine is green and blue. The scales on both costumes are gradient, with more sequins than necessary. The fin hangs at the back, like the trail of a wedding dress, while the legs are actually open in the front. Both outfits have seashell bikini tops.

I guess I got my seashell collection in the end. It just couldn't be with him.

Chapter 25

Improvements

“Jesse!” I yell, running across the dressing room. He's wearing a smile almost as bright as the reflection in his thick-rimmed glasses. The lights of the stage are casting a glare from the lenses, but it doesn't slow him down any. His arms are open wide when I get to him. I wrap mine around his back, smiling to greet him.

“Hey, long time no see.” He greets, stepping back with his hands on my shoulders. He's looking me up and down, like he's analyzing everything that's changed. His deep brown eyes are sparkling as he looks over the outfit I'm in. Crystal picked this evenings' attire. I'm wearing black dress pants with a built-in belt adorned with crystals. The shirt is long sleeved, but the sleeves flare out at the ends creating what looks like wings. My normally wild hair has been pulled into a bun. There's a crystal headband on top of the mess, with a few bobby pins holding it all together. She insisted I wear make up, decorating my face like a show girl. There's thick black eye-liner and a blended gray eye shadow with sparkles in it. I can tell Jesse is taken back by the attire. It's probably the most classy he's ever seen me dress.

“What's the occasion?” He asks, now letting his arms fold over his chest. Unlike me, Jesse is always dressed classy. He's wearing a black, three-piece suit with polished black shoes. His short brown hair is gelled back, drawing attention to his face. I'd be flattered if I thought he dressed this way to impress me. But I know this is his typical attire. He's a big deal in New York, so he has to look the part.

“I haven't the slightest clue. My partner in crime dressed me tonight. Insisted on this attire.” I answer, looking around for the guilty. She's no where to be found though, so I shrug. He nods, now looking long enough it can be considered a stare.

“I'm glad you came out tonight. I know it was short notice.” I thank, motioning around the room. He nods, leaning against the back of the couch in the dressing room.

“I wouldn't miss it.” He assures. Looking over my shoulder. I notice we're being approached, turning around to greet the pair. Jesse stands up, holding his hand out.

“Jesse, this is Frankie and Crystal.” I introduce, motioning to them. Jesse nods as Frankie shakes his hand. He's wearing a suit as well. Black dress pants and polished shoes. He's wearing the same black

t-shirt he wears every night as well. But over his shirt, he's wearing a silver suit jacket that sparkles in the light. I notice that his outfit matches the one Crystal put me in.

“It's nice to meet you.” Jesse greets. Frankie raises his eyebrow.

“Marci?” He asks, resting his arms on his chest. Jesse nods, slightly raising his eyebrow.

“I'm a big fan of your work.” Frankie announces, which seems to please Jesse. Even though he has dark skin, I can see the hint of red crawling on his cheeks. He shakes his head, looking towards Crystal. She ignores his hand and throws her arms around his neck. He seems startled, but returns her hug.

“Any friends of hers are friends of ours.” She greets, motioning from me to Jesse. He smiles, looking over at me. Frankie steps forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders.

“You look dazzling.” He compliments, looking me up and down. I nod, motioning to Crystal.

“Her doing.” I dismiss, still unsure of the outfit myself. Frankie looks over at Crystal and smiles.

“She does a great job.” He adds. Crystal smiles and takes a bow.

“It's my pleasure.” She insists.

“Well, I have to get back to work. The show can't go on without me, after all.” Frankie announces, looking around.

“Of course.” We all dismiss.

“Jesse, I'd love to work with you sometime. If you're free.” He adds, making eye contact. Jesse nods.

“I'm never free, but I think I can make an exception.” He jokes. Frankie looks down at the ground. I push his shoulder, motioning to the stage. He lifts one of my hands to his lips and softly kisses it.

“I will catch you later, beautiful.” He assures, smiling widely. I nod again, looking over at Jesse. He's flashing an award-winning smile, like he couldn't be more proud. Frankie jogs back to the stage, briefly looking over his shoulder and smiling in our direction. Crystal follows, skipping along behind him.

“I see you've certainly made improvements.” Jesse jokes, looking over at me. I shrug, letting my eyes wander the dressing room. It's awful, with bright orange couches and mirrors everywhere. I trust New York to try and be trendy when it comes to venues. But I expected it would be more modern. I feel like we've landed in the 70's. There should be a lava lamp on the table in the corner.

“I guess.” I dismiss, my eyes landing on the stage. It's only about 20 minutes before the show is about to start. Crystal is going on stage with him tonight as one of the back-up dancers. He hasn't used performance techniques in a long time, but Crystal convinced him to let her choreograph something. She called a dance troupe she knew in New York and they came in a few hours ago.

“You're still hung up.” He observes, putting his hand on my shoulder. I look over, trying to hide the obvious dismay in my eyes. But I know he can see through my attempts, so I nod.

“It's been over three weeks.” I mumble. He nods.

“It's hard, but, you know it had to be done. It was a long time coming, right? I think Sam would be happy to know you've moved on.” He offers. I shake my head.

“He made it perfectly clear that I was to lose his number. He'll never speak to me again.” I argue. Jesse shakes his head.

“You know Sam. He gets hurt easily. I think, he just couldn't see you give more of yourself to someone who would never appreciate you.” He continues. I nod, then shake my head. I don't want to think about everything I lost and everything I left behind. Samuel was one of those things. We had been friends for years. He helped me out when nothing made sense in my life. We even lived together briefly in 2014, until he helped me find my own place. I had just moved back to California after Luke, and I was in a rough place. But of course, I ran into Hunter in August. By December, I told Sam I was moving back in with Hunter. We got into a fight about all the chances I gave him to hurt me. We patched things up, but, he told me he didn't want to talk to me again. He wished me luck and said he hoped for my sake that it was going to be different this time. But it wasn't. I couldn't bring myself to face him now. I shake my head.

“Let's head over to the stage.” I suggest, changing the subject.

Chapter 26

Bright Lights

By now I should know that nothing they do is unplanned. Even when it seems like Frankie is making it up as he goes along, he had the ideas already. The reason Crystal dressed me up in New York was because she knew he wanted me on stage as well. Although, I wouldn't be dancing in the background, invisible to the audience. No. I was in the middle of that stage, illuminated by the bright lights and the size of his smile as I joined him. It's been 10 days since that concert, but he's had me on stage with him every night to sing a particular song. He might have never known I knew how to sing. I never told him I took vocal lessons when I was a kid. I never told him I wanted to be a singer when I was young. But, Crystal overheard me singing in the hotel room in Georgia. I thought she had left to go shopping, but, she had to come back to grab her purse. Then, she told Frankie, who said he could make me a star. I argued that I had moved past that dream.

I'm not ungrateful for this chance, though. I am happy to have a change of scenery. I'm happy to have supportive friends and a love that genuinely wants me around. I also know how much it means to Frankie to have the two of us on this tour with him. He's taken every chance to introduce me to everyone. I think, just because he can. His relationship with Blake was under the radar, but it wasn't by choice. Frankie would have been comfortable with coming out, but Blake was afraid of the reaction his family might have. He was still in the closet about his sexuality. It happens to some people. They are so afraid of what other people will think of them that they can't be honest with themselves. Of course, I don't blame Blake. It's different to announce a gay relationship. Blake could have been faced with a backlash that might have included violence and humiliation. I doubt that I face the same repercussions. I wouldn't know what it felt like to be in his shoes. He was in love, but forced to keep his mouth shut about it. So, Frankie hasn't had the chance to parade his relationship around in public. I gave him that chance, simply by being me. Although, I am just as afraid of all the attention as Blake was.

I think his band probably hates us now. We've been a handful on this tour. We got thrown out of the bar the night of the Halloween party because two guys were fighting over Crystal. Then in Georgia, the same thing happened. Luckily for us, he only has a touring band. Unlike Hunter, he doesn't have to consider their opinions. It's not a democracy, it's a dictatorship and he is the ruler. If they don't like what he's doing, they can leave. There's a line the length of the Great Wall for talented musicians who want to play alongside him. They don't care about his little sister or his girlfriend. They'll put up with the drama and chaos if it means association with such a famous musician.

There are now dozens of people clamoring around to get my attention. A news reporter wants my autograph for her daughter. An assistant wants my photograph for his son. But, my attention isn't there to be given. Right now, my mind is in a pristine hotel room that overlooks the ocean with a seashell filled shore and him. I know it's because I miss him. I only told Crystal in passing that he was on my mind. She said it was alright if I called him. She said it wouldn't make me weak. But, she told me I had to know I was calling him for the right reason. Did I miss him? Or did I miss what I thought we had? She said I can't go backwards into my comfort zone because it's dangerous. It was hard not to carry Jesse's words across the state line. I know that he's right. My pawn shop heart traded up. But I can't bring myself to see it that way.

We haven't even talked about our relationship. I have no idea where he sees this going, or where he expects me to see it. I don't know what the plan is once the tour is over either. I find I don't know anything when it comes to Frankie. I think he does that intentionally. He's all about the impact, which is exactly why this Illinois interview has been such a shock.

Crystal and I came along to show our support. We were standing behind the cameras with the over-eager crew running around us like animals at the zoo. The interview was typical, with the reporter asking about the album that had just come out. She asked a few questions about the writing process and what his future plans were when it came to the music. Then, about halfway through the interview, she asked about his love life. By now, everyone knew I was the new love interest. Since he has never had a public love interest, this sparked an obscene amount of curiosity. The gossip websites all posted pictures of the New York concert and me on stage. Some of them even caught the shocked look on Jesse's face as he stood off to the side. When the interviewer asks him about his love, he looks over to where Crystal and I are standing. Before I even know what is happening, there's someone ushering me onto the stage. There's another chair being added beside him and I sit down in it. I find myself looking over at Crystal, who just waves and smiles widely. The bright lights above my head are too hot and I feel like the room is caving in on me. He reaches over and takes my hand in his. I look over at him and feel myself beginning to smile.

“So, is this the girlfriend?” The interviewer asks, motioning towards me. I find my eyes looking at her, then back at Frankie. He smiles in my direction, then nods to answer the question.

“Yes, she is.” He agrees verbally. There are people who wouldn't see him nod, and he wants everyone to know.

“How long have you two been together?” She goes on to ask. Frankie shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“It's hard to keep track of something that feels eternal.” He answers, gaining an “aww” sound from everyone in the audience. I keep my mouth closed, but put on a fake smile.

“And how did the two of you meet?” She asks, trying to get the story. He's been asked once or twice by reporters backstage. But, he said he was waiting for the right time.

“We met a few years ago, after a show.” He starts, looking over at me. I nod, still smiling, and look towards the cameras. Frankie begins telling his story of a night I don't remember at all. Meanwhile, the interviewer is hanging on to every word he's saying. So is the audience. I can see Crystal making faces too.

“We met after a show in California a few years ago. I was a roadie for the band at the time. It was just after mine fell apart.” He pauses, gaining a nod from the interviewer. I look at her name tag to see it says Karen on a gold pin, thanking her for 15 years at the station.

“I recall reading about that.” She agrees. He nods.

“It wasn't a big tour, not a well-known band. They were just hitting 5 cities in California, before heading back to the East coast, where the band was from.” He pauses again, to make sure everyone is following along with his story. I am trying to follow, but I don't remember that night at all.

“I was loading the drum set into the back of the run-down van the band was traveling in. She was standing outside, looking around. I thought she was lost, so I went to offer her help.” Another pause. A few audience members are clapping. He looks over at me and winks. I smile, looking back down.

“She wasn't lost though, just waiting for her brother. He happened to be the guitarist in the band. We got to talking while we waited. It was short-lived, but I knew even then.” He pauses again. The audience breaks into hollering and cheering. Karen nods, smiling widely as she watches us. I tune out the rest of the conversation, but I briefly hear him talk about the love songs he wrote for me. He says the songs weren't exclusively about anyone, but there were hidden messages in every one, even when it seems like they are random.

“My own confessional.” He adds, pausing again. My mind goes back to the white van outside of that venue in California. I don't recall because that's not exactly how it happened. The crowd eats up the story as the interview ends. Karen jokes that everyone wants to find what we have, and she hopes they do. Then she wishes us the best in our future and the audience cheers again. But he's not telling the story the way it actually happened. He's leaving out a few important details.

He was a roadie, that much is true. But it wasn't for a small band that would break up shortly after. It wasn't on a 5-show tour, either. He was a roadie for Hunter's band back in the fall of 2010. It was after the no-girlfriend rule, but since it was a local show, I went out to show my support. Hunter wasn't happy to see me and he was acting dismissive and distant. The entire band hated me because I did get upset when they announced the no-girlfriend rule. So, I felt out of place at that show. I ended up talking to Frankie off-stage, mostly about music and the tour life. He asked if I knew the band, I mentioned being familiar with Hunter. But, I never told him I was dating Hunter and he didn't find out until years later. Our conversation ended up referencing Hunter's current relationship. Frankie seemed curious about his preferences and how he handled his emotions. I noted that Hunter seemed distant and Frankie told me he was fighting with his significant other. He didn't mean to share that information. But, he did. That night changed the course of our relationship. That was when I started to realize Hunter had been unfaithful. That's when I decided to go with Danny to Australia. That's when Hunter decided I was unfaithful to him.

In hindsight, we were trying to get information from each other. We were too blind to see what was so obviously in front of our eyes. We were both dating Hunter and he lied to both of us.

For a split second, I think about Hunter watching this interview. But, I doubt he'd be watching an Illinois news station. I doubt he'd be keeping track of our whereabouts, either. After all, him and Kathleen have probably moved on with their new life together. If he did see it, I wonder if it would answer the questions he has. Hunter didn't know about that night. Or, he hadn't. If by some luck he watched this television appearance, I believe with all my heart he figured it out. Frankie might have changed the details, but none of that mattered. The two of us sitting together on television is enough to assume a million things from the past. Those are the details that will give away the darkest of secrets.

Then I shake my head, walking hand-in-hand with Frankie to where Crystal is standing and clapping. I know that reality has been distorted for far too long. No one would remember that night the same way, anyway. For Frankie, he fell in love with a pretty girl and her broken smile. For Hunter, it shook up a reality that he couldn't hide forever and his lives would collide. For me? It took 5 years to admit we ended that night on a rainy street in California.

Chapter 27

A Different Kind Of Running

I've been on enough tours to know what they are all about. There are always fights, and hearts get broken. There's a bunch of drugs and alcohol and there's always a party to attend. The bus is restrictive and smells bad. The hotel rooms all feel clinical. I've been through all of that before. I've been the hand that keeps the show moving forward.

But I've never been in the spotlight before this tour. I've never been a part of the magic.

Now, we're out on that stage every night. Crystal is writing music with Frankie, harmonizing in dressing rooms and belting out duets on stage. They've started to talk about the next album and they're both asking my opinion when they do. I'm expected to make an appearance in the television interviews now. One photographer even asked me to join Frankie in a photo shoot. I said no, but Frankie insisted it was a good idea. I can never say no to that gorgeous smile. So Crystal sat me down, dressed me up, and sent me out. Frankie has made me a part of his life in every way possible. I don't even think he's trying too hard. It feels like he's making up for lost time.

We have to run from the venue to the tour bus now. We have to wait for security guards to bring us to the hotel. We're not invisible anymore and it's a different kind of running.

Crystal didn't end up using personalities and reinventing herself for every show. After she choreographed the routine in New York, Frankie asked her to keep performing. She was thrilled, but it meant she'd have to stay in her own skin. Although she was encouraged to wear different costumes and create a different environment each night. There was no more Paige. No Jennifer or Amy. All the identities she had created were laid to rest. She stayed Crystal, a beautiful back-up dancer from California. She got to keep her entirely made-up history though. It's not like anyone could know the truth about her family life and where she was born. She changed her name when she ran away from home. She had invented a new identity when she first got to New York. No one could trace any further back. But, they asked. They always ask her about her history and where she grew up. She avoids answering most of the time and when she does answer, she changes her story. After a few drinks, she might tell someone at a bar a bit about herself. That's bound to end up on the internet. Either way, she can't keep running. Metaphorically, because physically it seems to be all we do.

But when we crossed the boarder into Canada yesterday, Crystal insisted we adopt new personalities. She had one story in particular that she was dying to use.

“It would be a shame to waste.” She insists, looking over at me sweetly. I shake my head, looking at the outfit she's made me wear. I'm not going out on stage tonight, so I'm dressed to fit with Crystal's story. It's a short dress with gold accents and a Celtic cross down the front. She's done my make up with gold accents to match. She bought me a necklace with the same Celtic cross and a gold crown that had green gemstones in it. This persona, she said, was an Heiress in an Irish kingdom. During the concert in Vancouver, she paraded me around. She made everything about me and let herself become invisible. I think she just wanted a break from the constant attention we had both been receiving. She introduced me to all of the stage hands. When one of them gave her attitude, she insisted I could have his life ruined with one phone call to my royal family. His tune changed instantly and he practically bowed. She told stories of the castle I spent my childhood in. She said I had butlers, servants and everything I ever needed was done for me. She described the rolling hills, miles and miles of green stretching further than the eyes could see. She recalled there was nothing to do in my hometown except look at the clouds as they swiftly crossed the sky. She said I could only dream of a life different from my own, but had no real knowledge of the rest of the world.

“I was bored and restless. I didn't even know how to drive the carriage into town.” I add to her captive audience. They nod and Crystal keeps telling her story.

“We met at the track one day after a race.” She adds. I nod, putting my arm around her shoulders.

“We only had a brief conversation, but I wanted to know more about the life she spoke of.” I finish.

“You wanted to know more. Period.” She adds and we both laugh. I can see why she'd want to use this particular background story. I wonder why she didn't call herself an Heiress. She has the personality for it, I don't. I can't focus on the crowds that surround us tonight. My mind is elsewhere.

There's only a week left before the final show in California. I can't say I'm not thrilled to be going home. I will be pleased to have a brief break and sleep in an actual bed. At the same time, I'm not thrilled to be going home. Whitney called me to say she ran into Hunter, that he's planning to attend the concert in California. A part of me wants him to storm back stage and demand we work things out. He used to be bold like that. Back before his insecurities let him ruin a handful of relationships. But I know he's long given up initiative. I don't think I'm ready to see him yet. I want to show him that I've moved on, that my life is so much better without him in it. But, I think I'm only convincing myself of that. I don't think I've moved on, I've just kept running.

Chapter 28

Home

I didn't sleep last night at all. I couldn't. My brain has started to think about him excessively, now that the miles between us are getting smaller and smaller. The time frame is shrinking, counting down to that final performance. We're on the road, traveling from Nevada to California. Crystal is reading a poetry book she bought the other day. It's the works of Edgar Allan Poe and she's reading passages out loud to herself. She's laying in her bunk, and Frankie is asleep in ours. I've decided to sit by myself in the lounge, looking out the window. The poem Crystal is reading is called “Annabel Lee”. It's a tragic piece about love and loss. He's talking about losing someone he loved, who meant the world to him. I can relate. Of course, Hunter isn't dead. But, it certainly feels like he might be. The way everyone dances around his name, treats him like a stain. The only thing that leaves a lingering stain like that is death. But we're colliding as the bus passes the state line. I can feel the air getting thicker and my lungs are struggling to inhale. I can feel his presence all around me, like Poe could feel Annabel Lee. I can smell his musk, though I know it's my mind playing tricks on me. The only smell right now is the desert sand. I look out the window at the moon that's shining down, illuminating the metallic siding of the bus. I can see his smile on the surface, but shake my head to push him from my mind. He has been haunting me this entire tour. No matter how many miles I traveled, I carried him with me. I could not get away from him. But, maybe it was by choice. Maybe I didn't want to get away from him and it's as simple as that.

We spent yesterday parading around Nevada, mostly sight-seeing. I let Crystal and Frankie take pictures and point out different attractions. But I knew the tour off by heart. I also knew the stops they didn't. That high school we went to, the diner he worked at, the house he grew up in. Even the graveyard where his last living relative was laid to rest. A graveyard he'd never visit, that I only went to once. These are the sights in Nevada that mean something to me. Had he a normal family, we might have driven here once a month for a family dinner. Sundays might have been a pot roast and potatoes. His mother might have baked cookies and he might have had to sign stuff for his siblings and their friends at school. None of that happened. Neither of us were meant for a life like that. I was happy with it being just the two of us. It's a shame that he wasn't.

But I didn't say anything about our past visits. I knew Crystal would give me this look like I needed to let go. I think Frankie would feel bad, or awkward and out of place. He couldn't help that the day off came in Nevada. I couldn't help that Hunter was raised there. It only stood as a reminder that no matter how far I went, I could never leave him behind.

The radio interview yesterday morning asked about our plans for the future. Do we have plans to settle down? Are we moving in together once we get back to California? That stuff. I didn't have any answers, but Frankie's automated sometimes. He tells the cameras that we're moving to Illinois when the tour is over. It's the first I heard of it, the first Crystal heard of it. He went on to say that he already has a Realtor securing a nice place for us there. He wants away from the attention and the stigma surrounded by California. It's no place to fall in love.

“Illinois is for lovers.” He joked. That is him being ridiculous again. Illinois is for punks, not lovers. But, it's all the same to me. I want to leave California behind with everything else that never worked for me. We were just not meant to be. But Illinois will always have a “home” vibe to us. That's where we met the second time, at a venue with Radioactive Men. That's where we would have lived, had I said yes when he asked me to leave Hunter. It only makes sense that we'd settle down where it all began. Crystal has missed the East Coast, too. Of course, she would have chose New York as home. But, Frankie says it's too hectic. Crystal agreed to move to Illinois so her light could still shine. You can't see the stars in New York over all the bright lights and skyscrapers. It's easy to be invisible in New York, because everyone believes they are just as important. No one bats an eyelash at a celebrity, so anonymity is possible. I would have chosen New York, too.

Later in the evening, Frankie showed us the pictures the Realtor had sent him. The house is beautiful. Big and designed with an open concept. It's got four bedrooms, which is excessive. But, Frankie wants a music room as well. It's the same size as his house in California, which he informed us had already been sold. Apparently, he had been planning the move since the beginning of the tour. He already had his personal belongings packed and ready to go. He decided to leave most of his furniture behind, and start over. He was going to go to the house while we were in town. He wanted to make sure all of his stuff had been sent home. His word, not mine.

Chapter 29

Words

I call Kathleen from the venue when we arrive. We make small talk about the weather here, the constant rain in December. She asks about my plans for Christmas. I tell her I'll be packing because we're moving to Illinois. Then I ask her if my stuff is still at Hunter's, if she got a chance to pack it up. She tells me that she did, but, it's at her place because she's no longer speaking to Hunter. She goes on to tell me that she caught him in bed with someone else. She admits she wasn't surprised, but had been hopeful that he had changed. We share a laugh over the phone about how some things never do. Then she goes on to tell me she's already met someone else. She thinks he might be the one, and she's going to meet his family for Christmas. She's a hopeless romantic, always was. She had no idea what she was getting into when she started dating Hunter. The lyrics to his music may sound deep, but it's too deep for any human being to reach. Game over, man. Game over.

There's a brief silence before she starts gushing about seeing me and Crystal on television. Last week, Crystal and I were on a television show in Twin Falls the day after the concert. They wanted to interview the two of us, since we had both been seen on the stage the night before. It isn't common that a back-up dancer is interviewed, but she started singing on stage with him too. They asked about our musical influences and about any training we may have had. Then went on to ask if we'd be making appearances on the new album. We didn't have an answer for that. He did, though. He has an answer for everything, saying he was working out the details with the producer. From the other end of the phone, Kathleen has started to sound like an average fan girl. I try and cut her short, telling her I have to get ready for the show tonight. She tells me she'd be here, but has her own performance first thing in the morning. I give her the number for the house in Illinois, compliments of the new home I've yet to see. I tell her that we're leaving in a week and she says she'll be at Crystal's on Tuesday. She hangs up, but not before adding a congratulations on my new life.

I shake my head, dropping the phone back on the table in the boardroom. They let me go upstairs to make the phone call. I'm famous by association and I can do whatever I want. I take my time heading back to the dressing room, mulling over the move in my head. I hope that Kathleen got everything, because I know Hunter won't want to see me again. Although, I have no attachments to my possessions, so I can just buy everything new. I open the door to the dressing room and freeze. I instantly make eye contact with the floor when I notice who is sitting on the couch.

I don't know if I should be happy or terrified. Part of me is reacting in both ways. I'm torn down the middle of excitement and freaking out. I am definitely leaning towards freaking out. I do my best to contain it on the outside as I move to sit on the couch across from him. I look over to the door, and he sighs.

“I asked for,” He pauses, trying to direct my attention to him. I look over, trying to give him as much as I can.

“I asked for a few minutes alone. No one is coming.” He finishes, looking back to the floor. I sigh.

“Why would you do that? I don't understand.” I question, crossing my arms over my chest. He's quiet.

“I just want to talk.” He assures, looking up from his hands. I nod, leaning back against the couch.

“I heard about what happened with Kathleen. I'd say I'm sorry, but, it was bound to happen.” I offer, trying to make small talk. He nods.

“I think I sabotaged it. Not intentionally, but, subconsciously, you know?” He mumbles. I nod.

“Yeah, you're good at that.” I know it's bitter, but the words find their own way out. I don't have to sugar-coat reality for him. He was always better bitter. He nods, knowing that he can't exactly argue me.

“I don't think I deserve to be happy, you know? And that girl, she deserves someone who knows how to put her first.” He continues and he has my complete attention.

“You do too. I could have never given you what you wanted. I was never a good enough person to deserve your love.” He pauses again, shaking his head. I would think it was manipulative, if it weren't for the fact that I know him. I know he genuinely believes it. For the first time since sitting down, I realize how small he looks right now. His facial hair is grown in, but rugged. He's got black bags under his eyes, which show every time he wrinkles his face to fake a smile.

“You look rough, Hunter. I mean, I've seen worse, but not on you.” I observe, leaning forward. He looks up, nodding.

“I know. I've let myself go these days.” He jokes, but he's not laughing and neither am I. There's another silence.

“The security guard was going to throw me out.” He adds, shaking his head. I raise my eyebrow.

“Why?” I ask, for the sake of conversation. He shrugs again.

“I'm known for making a scene these days. He didn't want me breaking anything, I guess.” He answers, trying to smile.

“How is that even possible?” I question, lightly laughing. He shrugs again, like nothing has changed. But I can tell, sitting across from him, that everything has. It feels like we're old friends, catching up, but there's a tension that shouldn't be there. It's awkward and uncomfortable. I can tell him all about my accomplishments. I can tell him all about the rush of singing in front of an audience or the warmth of having someone who actually cares. But I don't want to hurt him and I'm sure he already knows it all. He's seen the pictures of us online. He's watched some of the interviews on television.

“I went to the show in Nevada you know.” He announces, looking down at the ground. I nod slowly.

“Why didn't you come say hi?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“Didn't think you'd want to see me.” He dismisses, still avoiding eye contact. We're both quiet, but the silence doesn't last. He came to talk, not stare at the floor. Although, they seem to be pretty good friends.

He goes on to tell me about the mistakes he made during our relationship. That, he realizes what he did wrong now.

“I took advantage of your support and patience. Well, let's face it, I took advantage of you.” He jokes, but I can't bring myself to be pleased. I agree, wholeheartedly, but I don't want to say it out loud. I don't think that will help either of us to move on. He continues.

“You've inspired me to make a change. To throw a little more chaos into the mix. I want to work on myself, on all the things I've been neglecting over the years. I know what's important now.” He pauses, looking up at me. I feel butterflies creating a tornado in my stomach.

“I know it's just words. It won't make up for the years you spent living in my shadow. But, I'd like to see you be a part of my future.” He finishes. I bite the side of my lip, unsure of how to answer him. He's right. The words can't make up for what has happened between us. There aren't enough. The right ones don't exist. I don't know if I can be in his future because I can't let go of the past. A knocking on the dressing room door ends our conversation right there. I can't be happier because the room has felt like it was closing in since I sat down. I look from the door to Hunter.

“I've got a show to do.” I start, standing up and dusting my outfit off. We got to the venue late as it was because our sight-seeing in Nevada took a little too much time. Or it was because Clifford pulled over on the ride home to make us try this cafe on the highway. He stands up and reaches for my hand.

“Please consider it.” He begs. I look around the room, spotting a piece of paper. I quickly write down the same number I just gave Kathleen and put the piece of paper in his hand.

“Maybe I can come grab my stuff before we leave. We can talk then.” I offer, but he only laughs.

“Kathleen took that.” He informs me. I guess I have an advantage over him. I knew that already. He obviously doesn't know that I chose to keep in touch with Kathleen. That's nice. I wouldn't want him to think I was taking sides, though I am definitely taking hers. It's not even that I think she's a great and honest person. It's just that I know Hunter. I know his Universe is like a black hole and it becomes all consuming. You lose sight of yourself in his shine. I just feel bad she got sucked into his disaster, that's all.

On stage, I join the man who has been parading me around. Only, he doesn't give me the microphone like he usually does. We're not singing. No. Of course not. He's down on one knee, with Crystal jumping up and down behind him. Thousands of eyes on us. The spotlight. The music stopped so the audience has gone quiet, and everyone watching this televised concert can hear my response. A million thoughts rush through my head. My eyes look up, towards Crystal, who flashes one of the brightest smiles I've ever seen across her face. And I look over at Hunter, now standing beside the stage.

I think back to when he asked me to stay in that hotel room. I think of how many times I wished I could go back and say yes. Stay. Start over. But life isn't a fairy tale. There's no reset button. There's no flashing back or forward for more than a memory. And I'm so tired of being a memory to the one person I wanted to be the spotlight for.

I let my eyes lock with the man kneeling in front of me and the past few weeks flash in a montage. Every smile, every kiss. How it's never been about the words with him. He doesn't need them, because every thought is expressed through action. Maybe that makes him impulsive. Maybe I'll have trouble keeping up with all his sudden announcements. Maybe I'll go insane. But, it's about time I surrender my comfort zone. It's about time I do something self-serving. And I say yes. Because it's about time he finally got that yes.

Chapter 30

Alternate Realities

In an alternate version of reality, I said yes to Hunter. We didn't leave the hotel the morning we were supposed to. Instead, we stayed. We took that stroll on the beach. I started a seashell collection. I smiled. I laughed. Probably for the first time in months. He held my hand and returned the laughter. We were happy. We went back to the hotel and packed up. But we never went home. Instead, we took the chance to start over. Get things right. We bought a house in Seattle, because he's always wanted to move there. Even though it always seems to rain. We got a beagle and named her Daisy. Mostly because they scatter the yard of our new home. But I call her Oopsie Daisy because she's a reminder of the mistake we almost made. Hunter has started writing music again and it's better than anything he's ever written. It turned out all he needed was a change of scenery too. Who would have guessed? He got himself a job working as a bus boy, because he doesn't feel the need to be the center of attention. But it's only part time because he's devoted himself to writing. He's even renting out studio time. He's determined to get it right this time.

We both are.

I'm not keeping my feelings bottled up anymore. I'm being abrasive whenever I have to be. When I see him look at another girl, I remind him that I won't stand for it this time. I'm not giving him any more chances. This is his last one. But he's not even looking at her, and just laughs and holds me closer. We go home together, instead of apart. We've learned the value of being in each others' company. We've learned the importance of trying again. We've learned to reinvent love and we're doing the best we can. We're not another roadside attraction that can be passed over or blown with the wind. We're a permanent installation. Finally. Because we've learned that our love matters more than anything. And we've learned to fight for each other.

In another alternate reality, I didn't say anything when the spotlight showed Frankie asking me that awful question. I looked at Crystal. I looked at Hunter. Then I dropped his hand and ran in the opposite direction. I didn't stop running until I was somewhere I didn't recognize. Maybe I still ended up in Seattle, because no one would expect me to land there. Maybe I kept going. Maybe I crossed the border and took a new identity when I got to Vancouver. Maybe I even adopted the Heiress persona that Crystal had coined for me when I was there. Canada is so welcoming and the scenery is just beautiful. Then, I got a job working as a waitress. It's under the table because I don't have legal identification to work in the country. My boss is respectful, but occasionally gets a little more hands-on than I'd like to deal with. But I do. Because I need the money to pay the rent for the bachelor apartment I've found. It just has a mattress on the ground, a fold out table and a matching chair.

But you know what? It's enough. I'm happy enough, because I got away. I ran. And what's more comforting than starting over with no expectations from anyone but myself? I've held on to the idea of meaning for too long. Whether it's the meaning of life, or love, or even myself. But I've finally accepted there is no meaning to anything. Life is meaningless. As depressing as that sounds, I feel like it's uplifting. If there's no meaning to life, then I'm not missing something. If I'm not missing anything, it means there are no expectations. With no expectations, I'm not failing anyone. I'm not failing myself.

But those are just alternate realities.

The visions dance in my head as the car hits every bump on the drive from the airport. Crystal doesn't know how to drive properly. But it came down to her or me and it's the plane crash theory all over again. I can't drive a car without feeling the overwhelming urge to turn into the other lane. A crash that spans every lane of the highway. Blood everywhere. Shortness of breath until the last one escapes. I've got a fascination with dying. We don't trust me to be in control of anything.

I'm pretty sure I asked for a lack of control. I was tired of making my own decisions, afraid I would never make them properly anyway. I gave control of the wheel to someone who seemed to have enough of himself together. I should have been careful about what I asked for, or been more specific. I got my lack-of-control, but it's not what I had in mind. Then again, I wonder what I did have in mind. I wonder exactly what I thought I wanted, because I know I haven't a clue now. That's why I hope there's no meaning to anything. I feel lost and I want to be absolved of purpose and direction. If there's no meaning, there's also no value. I can't put value on what I've never known. I can't miss what I never had.

I look at the sparkling Christmas decorations lining the street as we pass the suburban homes. We're driving through a neighborhood I recognize, yet nothing here feels familiar. It's not a homecoming for me. It's more like a reminder, because everything is. There's a banner that says Merry Christmas still up on the sidewalk. I wonder if maybe time froze here. It's certainly cold enough to be possible. If maybe, it's still early in December. Early enough to fix things. Early enough to still be in a hotel with Hunter. To say yes, start my fucking seashell collection. I don't even like seashells. I don't like romantic walks on the beach either. I'm not the romantic type. But I would have given anything to be that way if I knew it could have changed. But I know these Christmas decorations are leftovers from the holiday. We're already 5 days into the New Year. The decorations just haven't been taken down yet, left to clutter up the streets and decorate the yards.

I'm just not feeling the holiday spirit, I guess. It's hard to get into a holiday that is meant to be spent with a family I don't have. Thinking about the family I hoped to have with someone who couldn't even see a future with himself. Despite everything, that's what it boiled down to. It wasn't that Hunter couldn't see a future with me, it's that he didn't believe he had a future at all. In his mind, everything was temporary. He was never going to give himself to anyone, too afraid of the minute they'd leave him behind. I couldn't leave him behind. I wish he could have seen my devotion.

Crystal pulls the car into the driveway of our new home. If only it felt like home.