The rest of the day and night pass
in a haze. I wake up a few times to go
to the bathroom and get something to eat.
On each occasion, I notice signs that Anthony has been up and about, but
when I check on him, he’s sleeping in bed.
We finally run into one another at
dawn, when the caravan is nearing the outskirts of Chicago. I rise from the couch and head to the
bathroom just as Anthony is exiting, a towel wrapped low around his hips.
“Hey babe,” he greets in a hoarse
voice and holds a hand out to me. When I
take it, he pulls me close.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my
cheek against his warm bare chest.
“The real question is, ‘Are you okay?’”
“Yeah. I mean, I can’t seem to get rid of this
damned headache, but that’s it. Why do
you ask?” There’s no way I’m going to
bring up the subject of his drunken mid-sex declaration.
He sighs. “Most of yesterday is a blur to me, but I do
remember being pretty rough with you.
Are you…hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” No reason to mention the bite on my shoulder
or the redness on my hips. It’s not the
first time we’ve marked each other.
He squeezes me tightly. “That’s a relief. I was so worried. I thought about waking you to ask, but you
seemed really out of it.”
I pull back to look at his
face. “You never told me how you’re
doing. Is there anything you want to,
um, talk about?”
“No.” His body tenses, and I can see him struggle
to keep his expression neutral. “I appreciate
your offer, but you know how I feel about whining over the past. The only thing is does is suck you down and
hold you back.”
“But maybe if you—“
“Bella, I know that you’re trying
to help, but please let this go. I don’t
want to get mad, but it’s going to happen if you push the issue.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He draws me in for another hug and
presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Thank you. And don’t worry.
Everything’s good.”
I try to do as he says, but everything
is clearly not good with him—he
barely utters a word to me for the rest of the morning. Mumbling something about talking to the sound
crew manager, he heads out to rehearsal early.
I think he just wants to be alone, which makes me feel guilty for
encroaching on his personal space.
As I get ready for the day, I
think back over Anthony’s words and behavior.
Nothing in them makes me think that, even if he intended to say those
three little words, he remembers doing so. I note the relief I feel after
coming to this conclusion but don’t dwell on it.
My head’s too full of other concerns.
I decide to check on Em and see
how he’s doing before catching a shuttle to the arena. There’s no answer at his trailer door, and he
doesn’t reply to my text or answer his phone.
I hope he’s just asleep or ignoring me instead of drowning his troubles
in alcohol like his brother tried to do.
My unease heightens when he
doesn’t show for rehearsal. It’s the
first time since I’ve been traveling with the band that he hasn’t
attended. I send him another text asking
him to let me know that he’s okay.
Meanwhile, Anthony is in rare form
during the set list run-through. Every
little thing sets him off, and several microphones are broken as a result. His band mates take it in relatively good
stride; it’s obvious that they’re cutting him slack because of the situation.
By the time the concert begins, I
feel like I’m going to explode with all the helpless frustration inside me. Anthony started drinking again about an hour
before the guys were due on stage, and I still don’t know where Em is. Anthony merely shrugged and knocked back the
rest of his tequila when I asked if he had any idea where his brother might be.
With all the alcohol in his
system, I’m worried that Anthony might have trouble during the performance, but
the opposite occurs—I’ve never seen him so raw and inside the music. His body is merely a conduit for the inherent
energy within the notes. He strips down
every song to its core and exposes undiluted emotion, then consumes it and turns
himself inside out to share his soul with the audience.
At intermission, Rosalie and I
glance at each other to discover identically damp eyes. We know we’ve just experienced something
incredible.
I don’t go to find him during the
break. There’s no doubt in my mind that
he doesn’t want company right now.
Instead, I try not to think about the lack of response from Em as I
close my eyes and relive the past 90 minutes of music. My meditation is disturbed a few times by
fans of Anthony who either want photos or information. I arrange my face into a pleasant expression
for the pictures and politely rebuff the gossipmongers.
The second half isn’t as
incendiary as the first, but Anthony still gives a heart-rending effort. Tumultuous applause thunders through the
arena, and the band returns for three encores.
The enthusiasm level is almost as high after the third as it was before
the first, but the return of the house lights signals the end of the show.
Back in the green room, the
atmosphere is buzzing with electricity.
Everyone is riding the high brought on by the night’s performance. Alcohol flows freely—even Seth is sucking
down a beer. Tyler and Jake are playing
High-Low with a deck of cards and sharing a pitcher, while Jasper looks on with
a Guinness in his hand. Anthony gestures
with his lowball glass as he talks to Laurent and Rosalie.
“Babe!” Anthony calls out when he
sees me enter the room. “Are you ready
to head out? We’re tearing up this town
tonight.”
He pulls me into his body and
attacks my mouth with a searing kiss. I
can taste the scotch on his tongue.
I lean back to search his face,
and he gives me a sultry smirk, his eyes hooded from drinking. He’s not trashed yet, but I have no doubt
he’ll reach that milestone at some point in the evening.
Irina bursts through the door
wearing something unusual for her—a smile.
Even more shocking, her omnipresent Bluetooth earpiece and phone are
nowhere in sight.
“Wow, gentlemen, that was
amazing. Just…in-fucking-credible,” she
gushes.
We all laugh at her display of
enthusiasm.
“I’ve got nothing else to say
tonight except ‘get ready for me to drink your lightweight asses under the
table.’”
Catcalls and whoops followed her
declaration as everyone prepares to head out.
Looks like the whole gang is partying tonight, even Jasper and
Seth. Everyone except…
“Have you heard from Em?” I ask
Anthony as we climb into dark SUV with tinted windows.
“Christ, babe!” he huffs. “He’s a big boy and can handle himself.” Anthony glances at my worried features and
shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll text
him. ‘Bro,’” he says aloud as he types.
“’We’re going to the Underground. Bella
wants you to come have fun.’ Send. There, how’s that?”
“Uh, great. Thanks,” I mutter.
Apparently, going to the
Underground was a spur-of-the-moment decision, so we wait outside as management
makes preparations to receive the large group of celebrities. The club is packed with bodies, and we are
led around the perimeter to an L-shaped couch arrangement in the back. As usual, excited chatter and flashes from
phones follow in our wake. Since this
establishment is on the smaller side compared to some, I wonder if the people
who were undoubtedly booted from this couch a few minutes ago are pissed that
we were given their spot.
After about twenty minutes, Tyler
convinces Seth to join him on the dance floor in order to pick up some
girls. I flash Seth a thumbs up in
support, though I’m sure he’ll have no problem finding dance partners. Jake and Bartender Chick also go out on the
floor, where they immediately start tongue wrestling. Irina’s hanging out at the bar with her
assistant manager, Eli. Rosalie and
Laurent are engaged in an intense-looking conversation at the far end of the
couch, while Jasper seems content to relax in his seat beside Anthony.
The latter has slowed down his
alcohol consumption, and I’m glad for it.
Drowning his grief may give him temporary respite, but when the pain
does come back, it’ll be that much more difficult to handle.
“Rosie, mon amour. What are you saying? You cannot be serious.” Laurent’s voice raises loud enough for us to
hear the sheer panic in it over the club noises.
“Shh! You’re making a scene,” Rosalie hisses as her
eyes flash to me, Anthony, and Jasper.
“But I love you! I want to marry you! How can you say that we need some time
apart?”
“Let’s talk about this somewhere
else,” she growls and pulls him off the sofa.
They disappear into the throng of people in front of us.
“What’s that all about?” Jasper
muses aloud.
“Sounds like the beginning of a
difficult week for us,” Anthony jokes, looking to me for confirmation.
I shrug, not sure if Rosalie had
talked to me in confidence. Anthony and
Jasper speculate on Laurent’s fate for a few minutes until Anthony’s phone
rings.
“What?” he shouts into the phone,
plugging a finger in one ear. “Em, is
that you? You’re where? No shit!
Let me send someone out.”
He ends the call and dials a
number off a business card lying in front of him. “Hello, is this Cindy? Yes, that’s right. Well, my brother just arrived, and he needs
an escort to our table. He’s outside at
the main entrance with one of your guys named Peter. Thanks a lot, Cindy, I appreciate it.”
“Em is here?” Jaspers asks, incredulous.
Anthony shakes his head in
wonder. “So he says. I’m still going to have to see it to believe
it.”
Em’s presence is confirmed five
minutes later when a smartly-dressed woman leads him to where we’re
sitting. He looks rough—his oversized
tee shirt is rumpled, his hair is more disheveled than usual, and he seems to
be stumbling a little. When he draws
closer to us, I note that his eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn. My heart breaks at the sight.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” Anthony
laughs. “I never thought this day would
come. What’s the occasion?”
Em fixes narrowed eyes on me. “I’m here to have fun.”
I recoil at the venom in his
tone. Is he mad at me?
Anthony raises his glass in
approval. “It’s about damned time. What am I buying you to drink, little bro?”
“Your choice. Just makes sure there’s a lot of it.”
My dismayed sigh is drowned out by
Anthony’s elated cheer. He has several
shot glasses and a bottle of Casa Dragones tequila brought over. He’s in the midst of pouring when two broadly
smiling girls stop in front of us.
“Hi! Sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if
we could get a photo,” says the taller of the pair. She’s got dark brown, almost black hair and
is wearing an extremely low-cut blouse that leaves little to the
imagination. Her friend is a strawberry
blonde, and while her shirt is more conservative, her skirt is so tight that I
can tell she doesn’t have on any underwear.
Of course, I’m not judging either girl’s wardrobe. There are a few similarly slutty pieces in my
own suitcase.
Anthony dips his head graciously,
and I offer to take the picture. Jasper
scoots down the couch to make room for them between himself and Anthony, and Em
stands up to get out of the frame.
“Hell no!” Anthony exclaims. “I’m sure these beautiful ladies would love
to have my brother in the picture,
too.” He gives them a devastating smile
that makes them putty in his hands. I
bite my lip to keep from chuckling.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” sighs the
tall one. She hasn’t even glanced Em’s
way yet.
He tries to protest. “I don’t think that—“
“You wanted some fun, right, Em?”
Anthony challenges, his eyes flashing with mischief.
After a moment of indecision, Em
caves and goes to sit in the space the girls make between them.
“What are your names?” Jasper asks
politely as I prepare my shot.
“I’m Emily, and this is
Erin.” The taller one is obviously the
more outgoing girl.
“You’re kidding!” Anthony laughs
heartily. “Two names that start with ‘e.' Em, I think it’s fate.”
“Look here and smile,” I call out
before snapping the photo.
“What did you mean?” Emily asks,
putting her phone back into her tiny purse.
Anthony knocks back two shots in
succession, then leans back against the couch and pulls me onto his lap. “Oh, nothing, really. It’s just that our parents had a thing with
that particular letter. Both their names
began with ‘e,’ and they thought it would be a brilliant idea to keep the
tradition going with their kids.”
I lean to the side and glance at
him. His voice is just a little too
bright, too upbeat. It almost sounds
like there’s an edge of hysteria in it. Jasper must hear something similar, because
his face becomes thoughtful as he regards his friend.
Erin looks at Anthony in
confusion. “Your name doesn’t start with
an ‘e,’” she says.
Emily groans in
embarrassment. “Oh my god, Erin. Everyone
knows that ‘Anthony’ is his middle name.”
“You bet,” Anthony confirms and
smirks at his brother. “Of course, we
don’t go by our first names because—fuck—this isn’t the 1880s, right? We shouldn’t be hanging on to the past.”
Em flushes a dark red, and his
hands tighten into fists. I’m concerned
that things are going to escalate between the brothers, so I suggest we all do
a round of shots.
The expensive tequila is
incredibly smooth as it slides down my throat, and I’m eager to have
another. Anthony declares that we’ll
finish off the rest and then hit the dance floor. In a surprisingly fast move,
Em grabs the bottle to pour the shots for everyone. I notice that he serves himself a double each
time.
“So, girls, who’s going to be the
lucky one to show my brother a good time?” says Anthony, his words starting to
slur a little. “He’s been saving himself
for just the right one, and I have a feeling tonight might be his night.”
Emily and Erin share a glance and
giggle. “Do you think there could be two that are right for you?” Emily
purrs, sliding a hand down Em’s chest.
I know I must look like a fish out
of water—my mouth is gaping open, and my eyes are bugging out. Em shifts uneasily under Emily’s touch, and
I’m about to say something to stop her advance when he turns a burning glare on
either Anthony or me, or possibly both of us.
I shrink back from his glower, but Anthony’s smirk gets bigger.
Em stares us down, pulls out a
flask—what the hell?—from the waistband of his jeans, and takes a healthy
swig.
“Let’s go dance,” he mumbles and
tugs the girls toward the dance floor.
“It’s about fucking time!” Anthony
hoots as he slides me off his lap. “Come
on, babe. I don’t want to miss a second
of this.”
Em has to push his way through the
crowd to reach the dance area, but the sea of bodies instantly parts to let
Anthony through. Anthony’s rubbing his
hands up and down my body while we walk, but I barely feel it. I’m too busy gawking at Em as he wraps his
arms around Emily from behind and begins to move against her. Erin presses into his back and latches her
hands onto his hips.
I turn around to face
Anthony. “I don’t think this is a good
idea. Em’s clearly drunk and not
thinking straight.”
He takes a step into me and bends
down to my ear. “It’s a perfect
idea—exactly what he needs. Now forget
about him, and think about this.” He grinds against me, and I feel his hard
dick slide over my hipbone.
“Anthony, look.” I gesture toward Em, who is taking another
drink from his flask as the girls rub all over him. “We can’t let this go too far. I don’t know if he’s had sex before or not,
but I do know he’ll regret doing anything
with those two. This isn’t who he is.”
“What are you talking about?”
Anthony says, clearly getting irritated.
“You think you know my own brother better than I do? What’s best for him?”
I step back out of his arms. “I’m not saying that. I just…he’s a good friend, and I feel like he’s
acting this way for the wrong reasons.
If I was about to make a drunken mistake, I hope my friends would try to
stop me.”
Anthony shakes his head, swaying
in place just a bit. “I’m sorry to be
blunt, but you’re wrong. Trust me, I’m a
guy, and there’s nothing better than a good fuck to get your mind off shit you
want to forget. And that’s exactly what
he wants, or else he wouldn’t be here acting like that.”
I follow his gaze back to Em, who
is barely visible between the two girls wrapped around him. One of his hands is on Erin’s ass, and the
other is curled around Emily’s breast.
His head looks heavy on his shoulders, and his eyes are half-closed. Emily turns her head to say something to him
and then leads him off the dance floor, Erin hot on their heels.
“Where are they taking him?” I
mutter, beginning to go after them.
Anthony grasps my wrist to stop me.
“Babe, please let it go. I’ve been trying to get him to loosen up for
years. He needs this.”
I can tell that, despite the
obvious effects of the alcohol in his system, he sincerely believes what he’s
saying. My heart, head, and conscience
are all at war.
“Can we just go make sure that
they’re not stealing his money or something?” I rub my temples as my head starts
to throb. “Maybe set him up in a hotel
room so we know he won’t end up passed out in an alley?”
I’m not sure if the sense in my
suggestion registers in his mind or if he just doesn’t feel like arguing any
more. He rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want, Bella. I’m going back to hang with Jasper. When you feel like paying more attention to
me than to my brother, come join us.”
I watch him teeter away and then
hurry in the direction I think the girls went.
Em isn’t anywhere in sight, so I ask any club personnel I pass if
they’ve seen him. I get lucky near the
club entrance.
“Yeah, the sloppy drunk with the
two hot chicks? They went outside to
catch a cab,” says one of the hosts. He
chuckles. “I wouldn’t want to be in a
tight space with him, though. He’ll
probably redecorate it with the contents of his stomach.”
I call out a “thanks” over my
shoulder as I push past people to squeeze through the single glass door. The sidewalk is crammed with people waiting
to gain entrance or merely socializing, but I don’t see Em or the girls among
them.
As I continue to scan the crowd, I
feel the sting of tears in my eyes. It
doesn’t make sense to me why I’m so worked up about what is likely a huge
overreaction on my part—perhaps it’s the culmination of a day’s worth of worry
and frustration.
Not wanting to muss my makeup, I
dab underneath my eyes and smooth down my hair.
Several deep breaths help to calm me as I prepare to go back into the
club. I’m just about to approach the
doorman when I see Emily and Erin step out from a small walking path between
the Underground building and the one beside it.
They’re both wearing disgusted looks on their faces.
“Where the fuck is my friend?” I
demand, striding angrily toward them.
Emily scowls and jerks her head
toward the walking path. “He’s back
there puking his guts out. Gross. I don’t care if he is Anthony’s brother—I’m not babysitting his wasted ass.” She marches back toward the club. Erin shrugs sheepishly and tries to keep up.
I don’t give them a second thought
as I round the building corner as fast as my heeled sandals will allow. The walkway isn’t dark, but it’s not as
brightly lit as the sidewalk. I spot Em
hunched over and kneeling on the ground about halfway down the path.
“Em!” I cry, crouching down beside
him. I’m careful to avoid the puddle of
watery vomit in front of his knees.
“What do you want, Bella?” he
coughs, his chin on his chest.
I know he’s messed up, but the
surprising vitriol in his voice still hurts.
“I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking peachy, so feel
free to go back to Anthony where you belong.”
I put a hand on his shoulder, but
he jerks away, nearly falling over in the process. I stare at him, my hand still outstretched as
the damn tears threaten to well up again.
“Why are you so mad at me? What did I do?” My voice cracks toward the end, and I wince
in shame at my weakness.
Em finally looks at me, squinting
as he tries to focus on my face. He
stares for a few seconds, then groans and crawls around the puddle to sit
against the building wall.
“I’m not mad at you. Sorry.
As for what you did…it’s complicated.”
I carefully lower myself to the
ground beside him. “Try me.”
He shakes his head, then rests it
against his drawn-up knees. “I can’t.”
“What? Why not?”
Another shake of his head and a
low moan are the only responses I get, and with that, I reach my saturation
point.
“Alright, that’s enough. Come on, get up.” I rise to my own feet and pull on his upper
arm. “Do you want me to take you back to
your trailer, or would you rather get a hotel room nearby?”
He lets me help him to his feet
and accepts my support as we make our way to the street.
“Trailer, I guess,” he mumbles. “I don’t feel so hot, though. Oh, god.”
Em seems to take a turn for the
worse and leans heavily against me. An
Underground doorman notices my struggle and helps me get Em into a cab. He’s also kind enough to give me a plastic
bag for the ride. I’m about to climb
into the vehicle when I hear Rosalie’s voice behind me.
“Where are you going, Bella? Where’s everyone else?”
I turn to face her. “Em’s had too much to drink, so I’m taking
him back to the buses. I think Anthony
and Jazz are still in our spot…no idea about Seth and Ty.” My gaze circles around her. “What happened to Laurent? Are you two…okay?”
“Ha, I’m great. As for Laurent—he didn’t take our breakup
very well. When I finally got it through
his head that we were over, he started bawling like a baby. It was ridiculous. I left him on a corner about four blocks
back.”
“Rose!” I exclaim, feeling
terrible for Laurent. “How could you
just ditch him on the street like that?”
“Hey, I tried to do this as nicely
and calmly as possible, but he had to be all dramatic about it. I wasn’t about to stand there and listen to
him beg all night for another chance.”
She shrugs, obviously considering the matter closed.
“God, you are such a bitch.” I call it as I see it, and she doesn’t
disagree.
“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t have time in my life to waste on
people who aren’t going anywhere.”
The cab driver clears his throat
loudly, and it’s the perfect catalyst for me to end the conversation. If I talk to her any longer, it’ll be me who
needs the vomit bag.
“Speaking of going somewhere, we're gonna take off. ‘Night, Rose.” I climb into the cab and try to shut the
door, but she holds onto it.
“Hey, are you coming back later,
you know, for Anthony?”
“God, Rose, I don’t know. Probably not.
I’ve got more important things to take care of right now.”
She casts me a speculative
glance. “Yeah, I can see that.” The cab door is slammed shut in my face.
“Bitch,” I repeat under my breath
as we drive away.
It’s touch and go for Em on the
ride back. Several times, he shoves his
face in the bag but manages to keep it down on each occasion. It doesn’t help that the cabbie, who keeps eyeing
Em warily, is breaking land speed records to get us to our destination as soon
as possible. Em is trying to rest
against the door frame, but the errant driving causes him to bang his head
repeatedly against the window. He’s so
out of it that he doesn’t move until I grab his shoulders and pull him toward
me. A sharp turn of the vehicle propels his body
against mine, and I end up squashed against the opposite door. Of course, it so happens that his face is
planted snugly in my chest.
“Jesus, Em, your head weighs a
ton.” I attempt to push him off but have
no leverage with my elbows pinned against the seat.
“That’s ‘cause it’s big. Like the rest of me. Really big, heh,” he mutters, drops of saliva
splattering on my skin.
“I’m sure it is,” I say
diplomatically. “You know, it would be great if you'd try to stop drooling on me.”
“But you’re so delicious.” He shoves his nose into my cleavage and
inhales deeply. “Mm, yummy Bella.”
I’m not sure which surprises me
more—his drunken action or the involuntary reaction between my legs. I shift uncomfortably under his weight and
try to get the situation under control.
“Whoa there, Don Juan. That’s yellow light, borderline red light
behavior. How about you help me get us
in a more appropriate position?”
“I’ve got a position for you.”
“Em, what the hell? You didn’t
turn into Mr. Lothario last time you were buzzed.”
“Shoulda drank more then.” His lips are creeping up toward the neckline
of my shirt.
“You’re a mess. Come on, up you go.” I shove with all my strength and am able to
move him off me…straight onto the floor of the cab. His head makes a dull thud when it hits.
“Shit! Are you okay?
Em?” I try to pull him back onto
the seat, but he’s all crumpled up and just too heavy for me.
“What’s going on back there? Did he throw up? I charge extra for cleaning.” The driver sounds equal parts alarmed and
angry.
“We’re good, just hangin’ out,” Em
mumbles from the floor. “Are we there
yet?”
“Actually, yes.” The cabbie steps on the brakes hard at the
makeshift checkpoint entrance to our caravan site.
He thrilled when one of the team’s
security personnel help me get Em out of the car. He doesn’t even wait for the extra tip I’m
digging out of my purse—he just speeds away.
The cooler outside air seems to
help sober Em up a bit, and he’s able to stagger back to the steps of his
trailer with moderate help from me. He
pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket and puts them in my hand. Then he leans over to throw up all over his
shoes. Twice.
I’m able to jump out of the way in
time, thank god, but Em is a watery mess.
Apparently, his hands got caught in the deluge and are dripping. The bottoms of his jeans are also wet.
“Fuck,” he groans, wiping his
hands on his thighs. “This isn’t good.” His knees start to bend as if he’s
trying to sit down, and I quickly yank him toward the steps so he doesn’t put
himself in the middle of the puddle.
“Bella? Is that you?” He squints up at me unlocking
his door. “Why are we here?”
“I’ll remind you later. First, we need to get you cleaned up. Wait on
the steps, okay? Don’t try to go
anywhere.”
I sprint inside his trailer, grab
some clothes out of a suitcase, and stop to run water over a towel from the
bathroom on my way back outside. Em is still
sitting down, doubled over with his head between his knees and making low
groaning noises.
“Alright. Let’s work on putting you to bed. We need to get out of those nasty clothes,
and I’m really hoping you can do it by yourself.”
Thanks to loose laces on his Chucks,
he’s able to kick off his shoes and socks without too much trouble. I have to help him out of his jeans, which
could have been an awkward situation if we both weren’t so grossed out by the
amount of vomit on him. When we get the
tee shirt off, he’s standing in front of me clad only in boxer briefs, which my
gaze studiously avoids.
Em uses the towel on his hands and
face. He needs my assistance again in
putting on the shirt and shorts I got for him to sleep in. Other than a copious amount of grunts and
groans, he doesn’t speak to me during the process.
I only have to give minimal
assistance when taking him up the steps and into the trailer. The earlier alcohol elimination sessions
probably had something to do with his improving condition. He makes it to the bathroom under his own
power while I grab the essential water and Tylenol combo from the
kitchenette. I also take a loaf of bread
along, which I hope to get him to eat.
He’s sitting on his mattress clutching
his head in his hands when I come back out to the main space.
“Here, take this, drink this, and
eat this,” I say, handing him the Tylenol first, then the water, and finally
the bag of bread.
“I just brushed my teeth,” he
mumbled, staring at the loaf.
“Later tonight, I think you’ll
prefer the taste of bread in your mouth over bile.”
“Yeah.” He takes out a slice and nibbles on a
corner. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” I sigh tiredly, suddenly feeling the effects
of the long, stressful day. “Do you
think you’ll be okay for the rest of the night?
Anything else you need?”
“I’ll manage.” He shakes his head dejectedly. “Bella, I’m really sorry about the way I
acted tonight. I’m pretty sure I was an
ass to you, and I don’t even want to think about the parts I don’t remember.”
Without intending to, my mind
recalls the feeling of his weight on top of me.
I close my eyes and inhale through my nose as I push the memory away.
“Oh god, was I that bad?” Em must have caught my expression and
misinterpreted it. Sort of.
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone has their shitty days, and given we’re
in Chi—…uh, I mean…” I try to come up
with a quick change of topic, but it’s too late. I see his face contorting in anguish before
he covers it with his hands again.
“Damn, I’m sorry, Em. Both for bringing it up and for what
happened.” I sit down on the mattress
and put my arms around him.
He takes deep breaths in an effort
to calm down, and I just hold him, rubbing circles on his back. After some time, his hands fall into his lap,
and he stares at the trailer floor.
“I went to their graves today.”
My rhythm falters for a moment,
but I quickly resume the pattern on his back.
The last thing I want to do is make him feel self-conscious and shut him
down.
He doesn’t speak again right away,
and I wait.
“Fourteen years, and it still
hurts just as much. I don’t know if
it’ll ever get better. I keep thinking…I
can’t get it out of my head that maybe things would’ve been different…if I
hadn’t…” He turns his head away from me
to hide the wetness in his eyes.
Once again, he’s quiet as he
battles secret demons inside him. I stop
moving my hand, though I keep it resting on his arm.
“You know I’m here for you, no
matter what, right? Whether you feel
like talking or not, it’s okay.”
He nods and then lets out a
shuddering breath.
“See, when I was a little kid, I
liked sleeping in weird places—under my bed, in closets, buried under a pile of
cushions in the living room. My parents
didn’t mind. In fact, it was sort of a
game for my mom and Anthony to search the house in the morning and figure out
where I was. But during…the fire…” A sob
escapes from his throat before he can muffle it. His hands curl into fists on his thighs as he
tries again.
“My mom got Anthony out right
away, but my dad couldn’t find me. She
came back in the house to help him look, but the smoke was too much…the fire
was spreading too fast…they couldn’t find me…they just couldn’t…”
His grief won’t be denied this
time, and he breaks down completely. I
pull him into me as he lets go. I can
feel his tears soaking my shirt, and it’s all I can do to keep my own at
bay. He needs me to be strong right now,
and I can’t let him down.
“I had made a bed in the tub of
the basement bathroom. The fire never
made it down there, but neither did they.
I woke up in the arms of a firefighter as he was carrying me out of the
smoking house.”
Em hunches over and grabs two handfuls
of hair. “Anthony’s never said anything,
but I know there’s a part of him that blames me for their deaths. I can see it in his eyes sometimes. He tries to hide it, but I can tell.” He scoffs bitterly. “Of course, I feel the same way.”
“Em—“ I start, but he shakes his
head.
“I know, Bella. I know that the fire caused by a faulty
electrical connection was what actually killed them. I realize that I was just a kid, shit
happens, and I shouldn’t blame myself.
But I can’t help the way I feel.
I can’t stop myself from thinking that if I had been in my bed like a
normal kid, they would have had plenty of time to get me out like they did with
Anthony.”
I clamp my lips together to keep
from speaking. He doesn’t need me saying
things that he already knows and that won’t make anything better. I just squeeze him more tightly to let him
feel how much I care.
More time passes, though I have no
idea how much. At some point, Em gets up
to go to the bathroom again. I’m pretty
sure I hear him throw up.
While he’s gone, I send a text to
Anthony letting him know I’ve gotten Em back safely. I also ask how he’s doing and if he’ll need
help getting home later.
When Em returns, the hair around
his face his damp. He avoids meeting my
worried gaze.
“I’m hungry. You want something to eat?” he asks in a
voice that’s trying hard to sound casual.
“Uh, sure. I could go for a snack.”
I follow Em into the kitchenette
and help him make grilled cheese sandwiches.
He wolfs down two them straight from the skillet. The food seems to give him a second wind. Even though it’s the middle of the night and
he had been puking drunk a half hour ago, he’s twitching with energy now.
“How do you recover so quickly?” I
ask, shaking my head in awe as we clean up.
He shrugs and smiles. “I dunno.
Iron liver?”
“Lucky for you. My hangovers are terrible.”
Em is about to say something when
my phone comes to life from a string of texts.
Anthony, 1:40 a.m. Wish you www here babes
Jaz keeps grabbing my nipez
Nipples
He gets hit u when he gets drunk
Damned autocorrect
Hornet hornet fuck horny
I groan.
“What’s up?” Em asks, nudging my
foot with his.
Instead of answering, I pass him my
phone.
“Looks like someone’s drunk
texting.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what he’s bitching about,
though. He’s just as bad as Jasper when
he gets his drink on.”
“Yeah, he is,” I say,
scowling. Anthony’s libido shoots
through the roof when he hits the alcohol hard. Usually, I’m there to help him out. I wonder what he’s going to do with all that
excess sexual energy tonight.
Em notices my expression. “Don’t worry.
The guys won’t let him do anything, uh…stupid.”
“So you’re saying that if they
weren’t there, he would be doing
something stupid?”
“No! I’m sure he wouldn’t. I mean, you told him about your dad,
right? He must know how you feel about—“
My phone chimes, and Em
automatically glances down at the screen.
Now he’s the one who’s grimacing.
“I don’t think you have much to
worry about,” he mutters, handing the phone back to me.
Anthony, 1:44 a.m. My dick is hard for you I want to lick your
sweet pussy and then fuck you til you’re sore I love your tits I want to come
on them
My cheeks burn from both
embarrassment and arousal. While I’m a
little upset with him about the way he goaded Em earlier, but I can’t help my
body’s reaction when I read the explicit words.
In fact, it sort of turns me on more knowing that Em saw them.
I don’t know what to say other
than a hastily mumbled “sorry.”
He gives me a hard stare that
makes me squirm.
“What?”
“Are you tired? Want to watch a movie?”
Actually, I’m exhausted and would
love to crawl into bed, but I also want to stay with Em.
“Okay.”
We plop down on his mattress
around a bag of microwave popcorn and watch “Just Go With It.” Our interaction is easy and comfortable as we
unwind from the day with more of Adam Sandler’s nutty antics. When Dave Matthews appears on screen, we start
up a discussion about his music and have to pause the movie due to loss of
attention. We’re arguing over the use of
electronic sound on the “Everyday” album when my phone goes off again.
Rosalie, 2:32 a.m. Bringing Anthony back early he’s
smashed. No need to wait up.
“Everything okay?” Em asks, his
curiosity obvious.
I read him the text, and his mouth
flattens into the thin line. I feel like
I need to explain his brother’s earlier actions.
“I don’t agree with how he pushed
you to be with those girls, but his intentions were good, you know.”
“I know.” Em’s voice is much cooler than it was
before. “But he didn’t force me into
anything.”
“You wanted…? Oh.” I
look away. His affirmation causes an
ache in my chest. I feel the prickling
beginnings of a huge realization about my feelings for Em, but I refuse to
acknowledge them. “I’m…sorry things
didn’t work out for you.”
“Yeah, me too.” His tone is flat.
I shut the door on all the
emotions and thoughts relating me to that subject. Em’s sex life is none of my business, and anyway,
he deserves to have some good one-night stands if he wants. I’m certainly not a person who can fault him
for that.
“I have to apologize, then,” I
admit. “I was trying to run interference
between you and Anthony because I thought alcohol was affecting your
judgment. I shouldn’t have gotten
involved.”
“No, it wasn’t the alcohol
screwing me up,” he spats and flicks his eyes in my direction.
His heated glare feels like an arrow through my heart.
“I’m sorry, Em,” I say
dejectedly. “Is that why you were mad at
me earlier? Is that what I did—stuck my
nose in places it didn’t belong?”
He continues to glower at me for
another few seconds, but then his shoulders hunch as the anger drains out of
him.
“Always with the idioms,” he says,
sounding an odd mix of amused and defeated.
“No, that’s not what you did, and I already said I wasn’t mad at you. I was, however, taking my problems out on
you, and that wasn’t fair. I’m the one
who’s sorry.”
“Why won’t you tell me what it is I
did to make you upset? That’s what isn’t fair.”
“Bella…I can’t. I wish…but there are so many reasons I
shouldn’t. It’s just not…right…”
I grab both of his hands and look
into his stormy eyes. That same tingle
in the back of my mind tells me it’s essential that I find out what he won’t
say.
“Please, Em. Please.”
He meets my gaze, and I see his
strong indecision. It’s obvious how much
the internal struggle is hurting him, and I can’t stand to be responsible for
any more of his pain. I sigh and turn
away.
“Never mind. It’s okay.”
But he doesn’t let go of my hands
and pulls me back when I try to stand up from the mattress.
“No, dammit, it’s not okay. Fuck.”
I look at him and see determination settling over his features. “Just…wait here.”
He gets to his feet and retrieves
his acoustic guitar. After a quick
tuning check, he returns to stand in front of me, anxiety now the dominant
expression.
“Bella, this is, um…it’s everything
I want to say…but can’t.”
He closes his eyes, his fingers
move over the strings.
I recognize the song from the
first chord that sounds. It’s the piece
I heard him play before, that beautiful, stirring melody. It’s the same, and yet…there’s a difference
that’s hard to define exactly. The song
seems more expressive, more desperate, more hopeful—just more. I feel the new
intensity resonate in my soul.
And then he sings.
His voice is soft and hesitant at
first, but there’s no denying the raw passion it contains. He brings all that he is into every verse. The notes are his, the words are his, and
each emotion shared was originally forged from his very essence, molded by his
heart, and painted by his talent.
His sings of a new love that is
ancient as eternity. A broken man who
has found his salvation. A never-ending
devotion, the willingness to make any sacrifice, an all-encompassing desire. A reason for being. A beautiful woman…his beautiful woman.
His Bella Mia.
The first time he sings the
chorus, his eyes are shut. He doesn’t
see my bowed head, clenched hands, and glistening tears. I sit frozen, incapable of thought or
movement. But when he opens his eyes and
again forms those words on his lips—looking at me, telling me, asking,
pleading—I break apart. It’s too much,
and I have to get away.
I lurch to my feet and run to the
door—escape, my only goal. In the time
it takes me to turn the knob and put my foot on the first step, his arms are around me,
holding me there.
“Bella, wait! Please don’t go. Just…let me explain.”
I don’t look at him—I can’t. It’s all so confusing. I know I shouldn’t stay, but I can’t bring
myself to pull away.
Em tightens his arms, and though I
let myself be drawn close to him, the tension in my body remains.
“God, I’m so sorry,” he cries. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have
shown you how I feel. Just please don’t let this ruin our friendship. It’s too important to me. I can’t lose you. I need you to tell me this won’t change anything.”
The desperation in his voice is
painful to hear. I want to comfort him,
but there aren’t any reassurances to give.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I
just…can’t…right now…” With my cheek to
his chest, I can feel the thundering crash of his racing heart.
“I-I know you’re with Anthony, and
I’d never want to come between that. I
can’t take back what I did, but it doesn’t have to matter. I won’t say anything again. We can forget it happened. We’ll just…stay the
same—watching movies, talking, hanging out together.”
His voice cracks as he drops to
his knees in front of me and bows his head, touching the top of it to my
stomach. “You’re the only person I’ve
ever connected with since the accident.
Just seeing you makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time. Please…I need
you in my life.”
My heart shatters at his plea, and
I place my hands on his damp cheeks. I can’t
hide from the truth any longer—I can’t deny what I’ve tried so hard to
misunderstand.
I’m beginning to fall in love with
him.
I have no idea when it started or
how it happened or where it could go. Maybe it wouldn’t
amount to anything more than a deep bond of friendship. But listening to him confess his feelings
makes me confront my own. If can barely now handle
the grief caused by thoughts of us not being close, not being together in
some way...
It’s because of this understanding
that I gently tilt his head up and take a step back.
“Em, I can’t do that—it won’t
work,” I tell him, tears beginning to fall from my eyes. “Everything’s changed. I can’t stay with Anthony and remain friends
with you, not anymore. I won’t hurt him
like that—it’s the one thing in my life I promised I would never do to someone
else.”
Em stares up at me in panicked
confusion. “What do you mean? He wouldn’t be hurt. He never has to know how I feel about you,
and everything will stay the same!
That’s all I want, all I need. Bella, I—“
A crash and a loud giggle draw our
attention. We turn in the direction of
the sound, but in the dimly lighted lot, it’s difficult to identify the
cause. I’m just able to make out two
figures coming closer. They seem to be
headed toward one of the equipment trailers.
I hear the giggle again—it sounds
like Rosalie’s. As they pass under an
overhead light, I can make out her tall, curvy figure and that of a man who
seems to be having a difficult time staying upright. Anthony.
He’s heavily draped over her, and
I know how difficult it must be for her to keep him steady. I give Em a regretful, apologetic look as I
start down the steps to join them.
Rosalie’s head snaps in my
direction when she hears my footsteps.
We’re still a good distance apart, but in the direct light of the streetlamp,
her smirk is easy to see. She looks at
me for a moment more, then pushes Anthony against the lamp pole and kisses him
deeply.
I gasp in shock. I can hardly believe the blatant actions of a
person I once considered a friend. Not
only is she deliberately trying to hurt me, she’s also pushing herself on an
obviously drunk person. Anger fills me
as I squeeze my hands into fists, ready to confront her.
But then something happens to stop
me in my tracks. Anthony responds to her
kiss by grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around so that she’s the one
trapped against the light pole, and sliding his hand up her skirt.
It’s almost as if the past has
come to life again.
My mom and I coming home early
from a school event that got cancelled due to power failure—us, laughing as we
walk into the living room together; my father, naked on the couch and thrusting
into one of my mom’s friends.
Even though my stomach is churning and my legs are shaking,
I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. Anthony is sloppily groping Rosalie, sucking
on her neck, grinding into her body—even as he fights to keep his balance.
Perhaps I would have stood there
and watched in horror as he fucked her against the pole. I don’t know.
Thankfully, I don’t have to find out.
In my daze, I hadn’t taken note of the figure running by me, but it’s
impossible to miss Em as he barrels into his brother and knocks him onto the
ground. Landing on top, Em grabs
Anthony’s shirt, hauls up his chest, and slams it back down.
“What the fuck are you doing? How
could you?” Em smashes his brother into the ground again.
I’m running toward them now, worried
about how far Em might take this.
“Em?” Anthony grunts. He seems to have no idea what’s happening. “Fuck…get..off!” He tries to dislodge Em, who’s sitting firmly
on his stomach.
“You have two seconds to tell me
what the hell you were doing with Rosalie,” Em growls, having no problems
fighting off Anthony’s weak attempts.
“Rose? Where is…oh, fuck…I’m gonna…” Anthony groans and tries to roll onto his
side. When the first stream of vomit
gushes from his mouth, Em jumps off him.
I redirect my attention to Rosalie,
who is calmly watching the scene play out.
I jerk to a stop in front of her, using all of my self-control to keep my
fist from smashing into her haughty face.
“Spare me your moral diatribe,
Bella,” she sneers. “In this world, you
have to take what you want, and Anthony was all too happy to give it up. Maybe this will teach you to keep your men
satisfied.”
Her words cut me to the quick, but
only because they appear to be truth. My
anger deflates, and all I’m left with is betrayal and chagrin. I look her in the eyes and sadly shake my
head.
“Overall, it was a good time. Have a nice life, Rose.”
I turn my back on her and walk to
where Anthony is on all fours and dry heaving.
I want to be furious at him, lash
out, maybe even kick him in the sack.
But there’s absolutely nothing left inside me. I’m numb.
Em is watching me, worry etched on
his features. “Bella, I’m so fucking
sorry.”
I nod indifferently as I bend down
beside Anthony.
“That was pretty shitty of you,” I
murmur. “I wish you would have ended
things with me before it happened.”
He pushes himself back on his
heels and tries to focus on my face.
“Bella? Babe? I don’t feel so…good.” Another dry heave stops him from saying
anything else.
I pat him on the back. “Yeah, I bet you don’t. Well, there’s no point in me saying something
you’re not going to remember. Let’s get
you back to the trailer. I need to pack
up all my shit, anyway.”
“Bella, no!” Em grabs my
hand. “You can’t go…at least, not
tonight. You can stay…with me…”
“Em—“
He sees rejection in my eyes and
interrupts to continue his plea. “You
can have my trailer, and I’ll go to his place for the night. Or we’ll get you a hotel room. It’s too late at night for anything else.”
“I will go to a hotel, but I have
to get my stuff together first. You guys
are leaving in the morning, and I need to be out by then.”
“Bella, please—“
It’s my turn to cut him off. “Em, let’s start with putting Anthony to bed. We’ll go from there.”
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A/N: The next chapter is vital.
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A/N: The next chapter is vital.
