“My burdens are draining more so than they are heavy.” I sigh, hating the direction this conversation is going.
“I get that. If you’d open up to me, I might be able to help. I know you’re holding something back, babe. I just can’t put my finger on it. I hope you’ll tell me sometime soon.” His lips find my forehead, and I hold back the words I want to blurt out with everything I have. He doesn’t need to know, I tell myself, it will only cause more harm than good, I remind myself.
“I’m pretty open right now,” I laugh, squeezing my thighs around his hips.
“Not what I mean.” He says, pulling out of me slowly. His body pulls away from mine as he moves to the end of the bed.
He stands with his back to me at the end of the bed, and I stare at the intricate designs. The roses in the center of his back, the hand grenade with the clip sitting next to it, and the band name sprawled across his shoulders in old English text. I’m lost in a memory of a night not long ago when his back was the only part of him that I could see, the only way I knew it was him. The leather pants were unbuttoned and sitting lower on his hips, his dark hair laying against his back as he stared down. The lines of coke sitting on the small table next to him were a reminder that some people never change. The running, the door opening, the guilt all hit me like a freight train.
“Bristol!” He yells, snapping his fingers in front of my face. The sound breaks the memory like a movie reel running out of film. “Where the hell did you go just now? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I did,” I whisper, my voice haunted by the memory that keeps me up at night.
Chapter 23 Rhyit
New Mexico. Another date. Another call sheet. Another strange day with Bristol.
After our hate fuck, she’s been distant. I don’t know if it was the pillow talk or whatever happened to her after I got up from the bed, but she’s placed an iceberg between us the size of Antarctica. I don’t know what she’s going through, and it pisses me off that she won’t tell me. I don’t like secrets that don’t involve me. I don’t like to be the odd man out, and I don’t like that she’s taken to Boston to be her confidant.
Last night, they sat at the small table in the bus for over an hour, they’re voices hushed assuming I was asleep. I wasn’t. I prayed in that moment for supersonic hearing, especially after I heard a strangled sob leave Bristol. I wanted so badly to jump down from my bunk, grab her, hold her in my arms, and let her fall the fuck apart. But I didn’t, I stayed put as I listened to Boston try to calm her down. The only words I could make out were fault and carry.
Whose fault? And what are they carrying? When they finally came to the bunks, I heard them hug. The sound of rustling clothes, the only noise in the bus. I heard her thank him for being there for her, and I wanted to punch the fucking wall, grab an eight ball, and say fuck you very much. But I didn’t.
“What’s going on with Bristol?” I ask Boston as we stand in line at the small coffee shack at the amphitheater.
“She’s going through some shit.” He replies, not looking at me. He keeps his stare steady on the people in front of us.
“I know that, numbnuts. Care to share so we’re all on the same page?” I spit, my level of annoyance with the situation growing every second.
“I’m sure she’d tell you if she wanted you to know.” He replies, and I want to pull my fucking hair out.
“I’ll ask her.” I say, attempting to keep my voice calm.
“Good luck. That girl’s Fort Knox.” He laughs, turning around to face me. “Maybe you should stop worrying about getting into her pants and start noticing when and why she becomes distant. You want to get back together with her, right?” He asks. I nod, that’s all I want at this point. I want her to trust me, I want to get back to where we were before I signed the song away, and she walked away.
“She left because of me.” I confess, needing to at least get that secret out of the way.
“I know,” he nods, his eyes holding mine, “pretty fucked up if you ask me.”
“I had no choice, Larkin wanted it and-“ I start but stop, why am I giving excuses? She called me a coward, and while the word pissed me off, she’s right. I cater to Larkin like he’s the one who’s going to be sucking my dick, but in reality, I’m sucking his, and the thought pisses me off even more. “I gave it to him. I wanted to make a good impression. It was selfish as fuck, and the juice was not worth the squeeze.”
“You did have a choice though, you just chose wrong. Tell her that.” He says as we step forward in line.
“I’ve tried.” I say but immediately regret it. “I’ve tried to tell her how much people love the song, how it’s become a ballad for people.”
“That’s not what she wants to hear, dumbass. She doesn’t want to hear how much the world loves her song, she wants to hear how sorry you are, and how if you ever get her trust back, you’ll never break it again. Jesus, I’m not even in a relationship, and I feel like I’m more invested than you. Take her on a date, tell her the fucking truth, and then wear her thighs as ear muffs. It’s simple, man.”
A date. I haven’t been on a date in years, the women I meet aren’t interested in a nice wine and a candlelit dinner, they want a quick fuck and their bra signed. I don’t even know if I know how to date anymore. The last date I went on was with Bristol, and it ended terribly. It was supposed to be a memorable night, the night I asked her to be my wife, to marry me and live out happily ever after, but instead, it ended with a suitcase and a contract being ripped up.
“I could totally take her on a date.” I nod to myself more than Boston as he steps up to order the coffees.
“We have an extra night in Austin, plan something for her there.” He smiles as he pays for our coffees, the girl behind the counter looks like she might faint as she takes the money from his hand. Her eyes jump comically from Boston to me. “Keep the change, gorgeous.” Boston flirts, he gives her a wink, and I stifle my laugh. He’s too much sometimes, but I love him for it. The girl blushes so hard her forehead is red. I shoot her a smile, and the poor girl almost hyperventilates.
“I’m Rhyit, and this is Boston.” I say as we wait for the cups to be filled.
“I-“ she starts but stops, “I know who you are.”
“Aww you’ve got one up on us then, what’s your name, sweetness?” Boston asks, leaning forward on the Formica counter.