Dissonance (7 page)

“That was Logan being… immature. Just ignore him,” Eli sighed.

At my confused look, Alex chimed in. “He’s probably going to fuck one of the girls that hang around him like flies on shit. It’s pathetic.” She locked eyes with me, wearing a pointed expression that said:
this has
nothing
to do with you.

A sick feeling filled my stomach. I was not sure what was worse, the thought that Logan had wanted to get away from me, or the image of him mindlessly fucking some woman. I could still feel where his hands had rested on me, his warm breath against my bare neck. It was a stupid thing for me to think, even momentarily, that he could be a good thing for me; that we could be anything to each other but roommates. I was a mess and he could have any girl he wanted.
Why would he choose me?

I spent the rest of the night on auto-pilot. In this self-preservation mindset, I could interact with Eli and Alex, drink, dance, whatever was expected of me. What I could not do was feel my disappointment, my shame, anything at all. By the time we left the club, I was so calmed and removed that I felt sure that I could face Logan without giving him the satisfaction of seeing how he affected me. I could make him think I was completely indifferent.

I refused Eli’s repeated offerings to walk me up to my apartment, promising that I would text him once I was safe inside so that he could drive away. If he had walked me up, I might have completely ignored the blonde walking down hall. I might have missed her slightly mussed appearance, her overly-short skirt and her spiky platform heels. But I was alone, so I noted every detail.

When I reached the door, I hit send on the pre-typed message to Eli, and riffled though my bag to find my keys, making a mental note to get a key ring to put them on. In my hunt, my purse to knocked against the door rather harshly.

Suddenly, the door jerked back, and Logan’s voice reached me. “Forget some–”

He froze immediately when he saw me in the doorway. For a heartbeat, I was lost. He was shirtless, standing in the doorway, confusion consuming his face. Then, it hit me. He was expecting
her
. The blonde. He thought that she had left something behind and turned around, returning to our apartment, where she’d been fucking my now half-naked roommate just before I returned.

I felt dizzy, like the room had started spinning around me. I could feel my blood boiling and pulsing violently through my body. Logan had regained himself and put on a welcoming expression, like nothing had happened. He stepped aside and I moved into the apartment, trying not to look at him, for fear of losing my composure.

“How was the rest of your night?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit awkward, like he was tip-toeing around a live bomb.

Of course, he had no idea how angry – no, furious – I was at the moment, unjustified as my reaction may have been. My voice betrayed my mood, “Fine.”

He took a deep breath, “Charlotte, I know you’re self-conscious about your scar, but I wouldn’t judge you for it. I hate that you have had to suffer like that, but I am not going to throw meaningless pity at you. You are still the same in my eyes.”

His sincerity burned through me. It was exactly what I had wanted to hear. But that was before the woman in the hall. In light of that, I just wasn’t in a place to accept his words, to accept anything from him. I’d let myself start to think things I knew I should not have, and all I wanted now was to put up a wall to keep him as far away from me as possible. He had options, plenty of them, and they would all be better choices than me.

“Please, talk to me,” Logan implored.

“She left pretty early,” I remarked, faking casualty – poorly, I might add. “Got your fill quickly?”

When I glanced at him, it was clear he was shocked at my brash statement. “Charlotte…”

“Never mind,” I muttered and I started to retreat from the room. Why I had even said anything was beyond me.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

“I am going to get the hell out of this dress and go to bed,” I replied impatiently. I just needed to get away. All that emotional distance I’d been utilizing at the bar disintegrated in his presence. He got to me, no two ways about it.

“How much did you have to drink? I’ve got aspirin if you need it.”

“I’m fine, I didn’t have much after you left.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am capable of drinking, I’ve had plenty of practice.” I resumed my retreat, deciding a shower was in order. I wanted to wash away the whole crazy night.

I spent most of my shower leaning my head against the cool tile wall to stave off a headache that had nothing to do with the alcohol in my veins. It was my own fault, I knew. Eli had told me that Logan had a messy love life, and yet I started imagining adding him onto my own problems. As if that was even remotely a good idea. I barely even knew him, and yet I let myself get pulled in by his amazing looks and subtle charm. How many women had he roped in that way?

The jealousy I felt toward that nameless blonde surprised me. I had never been the type to envy the attention other women got. I hated attention on me. But Logan’s attention, it appealed to me in a way I did not understand, even though I knew how foolish that was. Logan didn’t seem to be the type looking to settle in with one woman, and I was not looking to settle in with anyone, at all. That was not in my plans. I just needed to get all this craziness out of my head.

By the time I was clean and changed, I was more relaxed. Maybe Logan would just dismiss my behavior because I’d been drinking. The last thing I needed was for him to realize how out of control I had let this stupid attraction to him get, even if it had just been for one evening.

I climbed into bed, more world weary than tired. My hair was still damp, so I braided it back. Settling into the soft bedding, I made a silent prayer to the gods of slightly drunk twenty-somethings to spare me of my usual alcohol-induced insomnia and let me end this day at last.

Of course, those particular gods had quite a bit to do on a Saturday night.

At around 4:30AM, I woke from a less than peaceful sleep with a dry mouth and a killer headache. Hitting the bottle after Charlotte locked herself away probably wasn’t the best idea. I grabbed a couple aspirin and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was not until entering the living room that I heard the quiet strains of my piano floating through the room.

Charlotte was there, clad in an oversized t-shirt and short shorts, illuminated by the small lamp behind her. A bubble of light encompassed her and the keys, making it look almost as though she was radiating the glow onto the space around her. It made her look like an angel to my fuzzy alcohol-laden mind. The music she was playing was mournful, and I was struck by fear that perhaps I was the cause.

I was not exactly sure what had gone wrong between us earlier. I would not even begin to deny the attraction between us, but something about her desperation to get away from me had me thinking her discomfort was due to more than just my guest from earlier. Not that that hadn’t been an issue, too. I could tell the minute she realized that Aly had just left me, and the mix of anger and dejection in her gaze had me feeling like absolute shit. Still, that consuming need she had to escape me was what was bothering me hours later.

Maybe it had to do with her scar, maybe she didn’t trust me, but I feared it was more than that. Something about her body language spoke of shame, the sort of shame a beautiful, intelligent woman like Charlotte should never know. It was that expression that worried me.

She stopped playing and reached up for a pencil resting on her ear, scribbling on the music in front of her. I spoke before I knew what I was doing. “Taking notes?”

My voice in the semi-darkness made her jump slightly, but her eyes instantly dropped again. “You could say that.”

There was clear tension in her voice. I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or the sheets of music in front of her, though I suspected it may have been both.

I approached her, glad that she did not suddenly decide to head back to bed in order to get away from me, again. Her fleeing fucking sucked. I wanted her to be comfortable with me. I didn’t notice that the music before her was all penned in her own hand until I stood right next to her. She was composing. The last few bars had been rather unceremoniously scribbled out.

“Writer’s block?”

She stared down at the keys. “Nothing sounds right; it won’t tell me where to go next.”

“May I?” She nodded, and moved over on the bench so that I could sit next to her. The bench was too small for us to share without touching. Her skin had a slight chill to it from being exposed to the cool air of the room while she’d been at the piano. He braided hair was pulled to the side closer to me, and it still smelled like flowers. The sweet aroma was even stronger now since she had showered again. I tried desperately to figure out what sort of flower it was, but all I could conclude was that it was completely entrancing.

I looked up at the music, trying to pull my focus away from her. It was written much neater than my own drafts usually looked, making it easier to play. The tune was beautifully constructed, the lines arcing and flowing naturally, despite the morose tonality. Glancing through the corner of my eye, I saw that Charlotte’s eyes were closed, her complete focus on the sound of her music at my fingertips.

It was jarring how impressive this girl was. I had never known a woman that made me feel so intimidated, or that I was so drawn to. It was impossible to keep myself away from her, but I knew that I had to. The music she wrote and the scar on her wrist were just indications of a misery she tried to hide. If nothing else, I could keep myself the hell away from her. Despite the desperate desire I felt to just be close to her, I knew I had to deny myself.

The measures ran out, and I was forced to stop. “It is beautiful, but it sounds like a requiem.”

“I suppose it kind of is,” she replied, more to herself than to me.

“For your mother?”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile. “No. She would want something happy, something to celebrate her life. She would hate for something like this to be written for her.”

If not her mother, then who? Or what? What could she feel so compelled to mourn?

Charlotte sighed deeply. “Oh well, it will write itself eventually.”

I loved how she talked about music as though it had its own consciousness. As though she was simply a vessel through which it flowed. I had never known someone else who thought of music in an animate way like that. Tim, my drummer, even had the balls to question my masculinity when I tried to explain it to the guys on a weed-fueled rant. As if I hadn’t proven my preference for women – to a foolish degree – over the years.

She stood gracefully, looking a little worn down. Turning her head to me, she said in a small, sweet voice, “Goodnight, Logan.”

For probably twenty minutes, I just sat at the piano blankly staring at the sheets she’d left behind. Looking at the curves of her writing, but not taking in a thing. Partially, that was because I had a hard on from the sight of Charlotte walking across the room in those shorts, but also because I was thinking about the amazing soul inside of that far too alluring body. So far, she was on a fast track to checking off every box on my list of qualities of the perfect woman, with the obvious exception of the fact that she was off limits. She was obviously gorgeous, but miraculously far from conceited. In fact, I thought she needed way more confidence, though that was a hell of a lot better than the manipulative women I’d gotten used to. She understood music in the same deeply emotional way that I did, she had a sense of humor, and a beautiful laugh, which I’d heard over dinner.