But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
I strum the final notes of the song and as the music dies, I’m aware, painfully aware, of the quiet that surrounds me, a heavy blanket over the bar. I blink, opening my eyes and staring out into the room, to where I know she is.
The room comes alive like a fucking wave, a roar of noise that crests over me and drowns out Scott as he bounds onto the stage and shoves my hand up, yelling my name for the half-drunk fans who already know it.
I give a mocking half-bow because it’s expected, and he shoves be back to my drum kit, his eyes alive with excitement. I sit, dizzy suddenly. Exhausted.
I poured fucking everything into that song.
When I glance at the booth, my heart drops, the high of the song, and the crowd, and even Scotty, fading away. It’s like a punch to the gut.
She’s not there.
Chapter 16 : After
It's long nights next to you
And hearing your sighs
The sweetest music,
My favorite song the sound of your
Name whispered from the darkness.
The taste of wine and you,
and quiet noise of my pleading.
It is wild and reckless and soft
And sweet and
Always,
You.
(Rike’s poems to Peyton)
The journals are a revelation. I spend the next several days poring over them, hiding in my hotel room. Trying to forget everything that happened in the loft. Rike gives me time and space, which I appreciate. Reading the journals is like getting to know myself.
I can watch myself falling in love, living through fights. Forming a bond with a girl I would never have chosen as my best friend.
And that’s the thing. Rike isn’t who I would have chosen. Neither is Lindsay. I don’t understand where Scott fits in our weird little world but I know that he is important to Rike and therefore to me.
I always thought that I would have a quiet, traditional life, one like my parents had, even if they were miserable. I expected that, maybe because it’s what was expected of me. But this—this isn’t quiet. This isn’t traditional.
I’m a fucking artist, a girl who spends her days painting and sculpting and taking photos. Writing. And maybe I didn’t need to because my boyfriend was doing such a good job of taking care of us, but I was good at it.
And I loved it. All of it.
If there’s anything I learn from the journals, it’s that I loved the weird little life we built.
The phone next to me buzzes to life, Rike’s face brightening the screen. I stare at it for a minute, contemplating answering, before it goes silent and takes the option away. I can’t think of him without remembering everything he made me feel. The way his hands played across my body, pulling pleasure from it so fucking effortlessly.
The problem isn’t that I don’t want Rike, and everything that comes with him. Wild, beautiful chaos.
The problem is it’s all I want. I lie awake at night, crying because I know that we were happy. And I can’t remember it. I feel like I’ve been robbed, and like every moment I spend in that life is a lie—me pretending something that I want but don’t feel. Not really.
He would probably tell me I’m thinking too hard. To let go of my worry and just live. But I don’t know how. And it’s terrifying.
The phone rings again, and I frown. The number isn’t one I know.
“Hello?”
“Holy shit, I finally found you. Jesus, baby girl, you shouldn’t make it so fucking hard to get a hold of you. Where are you?”
I blink once. Twice. Finally, “Um. Who is this?”
There’s a loud laugh and then, “Oh shit. That’s right. Ok. It’s Brody, Peyton. I’m in town. Where are you?”
Chapter 17 : Before
It takes a long time for us to break away—longer than normal. Everyone is high on the fucking song.
Scott doesn’t say anything about it until we’re finally free. His gaze rakes over me. “You surprised me back there, RIke.”
“You’ve heard me work,” I say, and he laughs.
“Not on that. That was shit you haven’t bothered to share with me.”
I shrug. “It came to me this morning.”
“They loved it.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? The girl it’s for didn’t even hear it.”
He eyes me briefly and then shakes his head. Falls to silence as we walk through the dark streets back to the apartment. Something is going on with him, but I don’t know what and I’m too fucking tired to puzzle it out.
I poured my soul into that song. And to realize she wasn’t even there to hear it…I lash out suddenly, hurling the glass beer bottle I’m holding. It swings in a shining arc before it shatters against the side of a barber shop, glass and beer spraying out. Scott side-eyes me but doesn’t comment, and with the explosion of glass, some of my temper settles.
“Come on, dude,” he says, pulling me along.
“Why didn’t she listen?” I ask, and it occurs to me that I’m too drunk for maudlin shit. Or maybe that’s why I’m descending into maudlin shit. Either way. It’s a bad recipe give the way the night is shaking out.
“I dunno, man. But don’t jump to shitty conclusions. You both keep doing that and you’re going to fall apart because of them. Talk to her tomorrow. Find out why.”
“You’re such a fucking girl,” I laugh and he shrugs. Accepting it.
We’re emotionally stunted shits, but Scott isn’t stupid. He’s been through the court-ordered psych shit. He knows that communicating is the only way for either of us to build something healthy and longer than a few nights.
He just hasn’t ever cared.
I watch him while he unlocks the door to our walkup.
My badass best friend who doesn’t care about anything but strumming his guitar and picking up pussy is growing up. What the actual fuck.
He grins at me, a quick glimpse of the dude who always had my back, and the thought slips away as he pushes open the door.
Lindsay is sitting on the couch, her legs crossed under her. She isn’t wearing a bra, which is vaguely distracting.
I’ve seen the girl naked, and I can see her nipple through the tank top she’s wearing.
Then Peyton steps out of the kitchen, carrying a red plastic cup and wearing a nervous expression and bare feet.
Her eyes find mine as my mouth falls open, and I hear Linds giggle, a triumphant noise that is vaguely grating as I cross the tiny living room in two steps and yank Peyton into my arms.
Her hands are in my hair before my lips hit hers, pulling me into the kiss, and the world falls away.
She’s pressed against me, all soft curves and rumpled skirt and sharp nails digging into my scalp. She tastes so fucking sweet—sugar and sunshine as her tongue tangles with mine, fighting to control the kiss. Her nails sink down, yanking on my hair and I bite her lower lip, just enough to make her moan and sag against me.