Summer's Hidden Melody - Chapter 5

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.”

---------------------

A/N:  The next chapter is vital.