In the Absence of You (22 page)

Loss causes me to wave her to me. She trips a little but doesn’t fall as she hurries over. I shake my head at her, watching her move. Then she’s in my arms, and I hug her tight, my consolation prize, my lovely, lovely girl that I need to let go. Honesty is a good thing, they say, but it’s hard to be honest when it hurts everyone involved.

We’ve got nine days left of the tour. That’s where our relationship ends. She suggested it. I agreed to it. I kiss her deep, extracting closeness and feelings from her that I cannot match.

She moans against my mouth. “I’ve missed you,” she murmurs. “My plague, my love fire.”

“I was gone for thirty minutes,” I murmur back, kissing more and ignoring her strange words because they can’t be good. “Not so long.”

“I still missed you.”

“We have time for a shower,” I say. What else can I do? What I can’t provide in emotions, I’ll give her in spades with my body. I’ll love her body with mine. It’s good for us to do this. I’ll give her reassurance. She’ll give me respite.

“Okay, yes…” Her desperation isn’t only in her gaze anymore when she finishes, “Anything.”

I wait until after the shower. After the show. After the meet-n-greet. Then I keep waiting, because I can’t not have her with me in the bunk.

After breakfast at a small, off-path diner, we have a moment to ourselves outside. And I finally say what I’ve needed to say since the day I agreed to her proposition.

“Aishe. You’re hurting, and I feel like shit.” I bring my hand up to touch her cheek, and she leans into it, fluttering her lids closed against my touch. Why does she have to be so lovely? Such a perfect girl. I hook my arms around her and feel her tears against my cheek even before I say what I need to get out. If I don’t speak up now, I won’t.

“I’m okay,” she starts, but I
shush
her.

“No, you’re not. I can’t do this to you anymore.
Us
needs to stop.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she whispers, her pain mixing with my own. I know how she feels.

“Yes, it does. I’m messing with your head, with my own head. I shouldn’t have accepted this arrangement. It was unfair of me. You’re such a beautiful person, and I don’t want you to lose more sleep over me.

“You’re the closest I’ve ever been to feeling peace after Zoe, but it’s not enough. I’m a total prick, but I want to finally make things right for you.” I sigh before I continue. Saying the part that will break her the most.

“I want you to move out of our bus and back on the crew bus.”

A sob erupts from her, and I can’t help but kiss her. Fuck. Why? She kisses me back, not wanting to let up.

“Emil, please,” she hiccoughs. “Give me the eight days we have left.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “This is the only way I can keep from finding your bunk at night. Baby. I’m sorry for all the pain.”

AISHE

I
’m in a middle bunk on the crew bus
with my cousin beneath me toward the floor. I’m broken into tiny pieces. This is the plague at full force—I know it is—and I’ve done this to myself.

On the first morning, Shandor gets up before me, ties a fresh bandanna over his forehead, and pulls my curtain wider so he can see me too. “Hey. I’ll make us espressos, real Italian. And we’ll get to town early today—you want to do some shopping?” My cousin hates shopping.

“I don’t need anything,” I say.

The rest of the crew stirs in their beds, but Shandor is always awake first. Even as a teenager, he was an early bird. It works for the two of us when we’re out there in the world. It works for us now, because we get fifteen minutes to ourselves in the kitchen.

Those yellow eyes of his study me with measured compassion. He deposits the coffee cup in my hand and leans against the counter instead of taking a seat. “I think it’s time. The three-piece girl band I told you about the other day likes what they’ve learned about us.”

“They don’t know me,” I say, drinking coffee to clog the sorrow in my throat. “I haven’t even talked with them.”

“No one knew you in Clown Irruption either before you came out. This gig was through me too, remember?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s awful to be on a different bus than Emil. I can’t imagine how it will be once the tour is over.

Seven days. I have a week.

I lower my voice. “When do they want us to start? You don’t mean to jump ship and leave Bo and everyone hanging, do you?”

Shandor straightens against the counter. It makes him tall enough to almost hit the ceiling. The announcement of Irene taking her old bunk back was made with Troll focusing on some practicality that didn’t make sense. Even so, Shandor hasn’t asked why I’m back with the crew.

“That depends on how you fare. If the plague eats you up, we’re leaving ASAP. Oh and we’re not having
that
discussion again; I’m throwing you over my shoulder if I have to.”

“Shandor, please—don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” I say, not because he’s bossy, but because music is Shandor’s life; if his reputation as a roadie got sullied, I’d never forgive myself. I’ve ignored his advice, put him in a tough position on this tour, but I can keep up my façade for the remainder of the leg. It’s the least I can do.

“We’re done here in a week. When do the girls need us?”

“Yesterday,” he smiles out. “They know how it works though. They’ll wait until Clown Irruption’s on break.”

As I pick up my toiletry bag and start toward the bathroom, he calls me back. “Is it over?” he asks. “All the way over?”

My shoulders lift in a shrug, telling him without words what I hadn’t decided until I woke up this morning: I’m not done fighting. Since I’m not on Emil’s bus anymore, it’ll be harder, but I need to seize my last chance to mend the rest of my plague-ridden life.

All things considered, I doubt I’ll be rehired for Clown Irruption’s next tour. In seven days, the chance of running into my love fire again is one in a million—heck, less. Of course I’ll fight. Because once you’ve caught it, the plague never ebbs.

Tonight’s show was
hectic, feverish, a frenzy of light and sound with its decibel peak ruled by Emil. My plague drank whiskey on stage, something I haven’t seen him do before. On “The Entertainer,” he shot himself in the heart instead of in the head, and didn’t get off the floor until Bo hiked him up by an arm.

Now I’m in the meet-n-greet watching him, white shirt unbuttoned and splattered with stage blood. Emil is so drunk I don’t understand how he’s still standing, but he slurs some convo with a few fan girls and dips them in half-hearted dance moves until they fall and he stumbles over them too.

I’m surprised he doesn’t kiss them and take them up on their offers; coincidentally, they all live in our hotel? A couple of them say they’ll have a party, a small one, very small. Supposedly, it’ll be just Emil and the two of them. Three of them at the most. Four.

He waves them off, blinking slowly with a lift of his lip that resembles a smile. Journalists write and take pictures, Cheshire-cat smirks on their faces.
The new bad boy of rock-n-roll!

The hotel’s got it wrong. I watch Troll realizing that between our blocked-off rooms two singles should have been a double. The hotel apologizes profusely. Emil volunteers loudly. I listen to Emil spell out the number on his key.

Shandor watches me from the elevator, gesturing for me to join him. I’m not on his floor. I point at the restroom, give him the thumbs-up, and wait until the door closes between us.

I tell Troy I can take Emil upstairs.

Troy shakes his head, his gaze traveling over my face for signs that I’m about to fall apart. I can be ice. I
am
ice.

“No, seriously. It’s on my way anyway.”

“How’s it on your way? He needs the east elevators. And he’s heavy. I’ll get him to bed.”

My room’s in the west tower. “I know how heavy he is,” I say. “I’ve handled him before.” As I stare back at Troy, convincing him, I’m struck by his eyelashes. They’re the thickest and longest I’ve ever seen, and they curve upward in the craziest way, hitting his eyebrows. “I’ll come with,” he murmurs.

“No,” I quip out too quickly.

Troy blinks while Emil rummages inside his overnight bag, lost to those around him.
Plague. Love.

There’s so much unspoken understanding in Troy’s eyes. “Okay then. Call me if you need help.”

Troy follows us to the elevators. He watches, hands in his pockets, as Emil leans against the wall and hums a song I don’t recognize. “Get a good night’s sleep,” Troy says gruffly as the doors close.

“Yup. Not a worry,” Emil cracks, drunken-loud. He sees me then, when he realizes it’s just us in the cab going up. “What’re you doing ’ere?”

“Getting you to your room.”

“’Kay, just open the door to it, a’ight? Z’all I need.” He tries to give me a serious stare-down, which comes off boyish and cute.

“Of course,” I say.

He isn’t inside
me anymore, but I don’t think we’ve moved since sleep claimed us. He, because he was drunk. Me, because I can’t disturb our connection. We drifted off, arms entwined by the fingers and stretched above our heads, touching the headboard. I rock my head back now, looking at Emil. He’s snoring, cheek heavy against my chest. On the nightstand, the alarm clock displays eight a.m.

I don’t want a confrontation with Shandor, and I’d like for Troy not to look at me with worry in his eyes. Troy’s aware of where I went. Irene knows I’m not in our shared room, but to avoid rumors, I should get back before the nine o’clock wakeup call.

Just—if I leave before he wakes up, what good will this have done to us? I stroke Emil’s back, following tight tendons along his spine to the small of his back. He groans a little, such a sweet sound.

I kiss his neck. Snuggle into the side of it. “Baby, I should head to my room,” I whisper, wanting him sober and conscious before I leave. I might be a calculating bitch right now, but I have six days left to save my sanity.

His snores disappear. So does the relaxed breathing. “Aishe? Ah dammit.” Beautifully disheveled, Emil glides off to the side and lifts up on one arm to stare at me. “Please tell me we didn’t.”

“It’s okay.” I kiss his bicep, but he thuds to his back, covering his face with a hand.

“I can’t believe this. Did it take me
one
day to sleep with you again? Wow, I’m a loser.”

“Shh, no. I wanted to get you to bed. You were being noble, telling me I should leave, but then we kissed, and one thing led to another. It was good for me. It sounded like it was good for you too,” I joke.

The breath leaving Emil is too heavy. Then he stills. Peers out from under his fist. “Why didn’t you just leave, Aishe?”

“Because you didn’t want me to.”
In the end, you didn’t.

“Shit, I don’t remember. Aishe, please, do me a favor. Whatever I say when I’m drunk, don’t listen, because I don’t want us to keep doing this.”

He’s so serious, and it’s another deep stab to my heart. I’m in survival mode. I know better than to argue though. He’s got to see it himself. Maybe if I’m flirtier, less serious than I’ve been with him so far?

I cup Emil’s cheek and try to convey the tenderness I feel for him without overwhelming him with my urgency.

Six days!

“Yes, I understand. One last kiss?” I pout my lips. He’s said he loves my lips.

Emil’s gaze draws to my mouth, and I have a brief sensation of victory. Until he says, “Don’t do this to me. Just please leave. I need to shower and get ready for the road.”

I find myself sinking and sinking, saying, “I’ll turn on the shower for you. Maybe I’ll take one too before I leave?” and Emil replying, “No!”

EMIL

“I know it’s
not an excuse, goddammit! Get off my case.” I scrub my hand over my face. “Stop fucking mothering me. I hate this.”

I have no idea what happened, how Aishe got into my bed and how I ended up sleeping with her again. I was just going to stew in my own drunken misery. I had no plans for sex, least of all with someone I’m trying not to mess with.

Troy’s shaking his head. He’s involved Bo too, and now Bo’s closing the door to the back lounge so Nadia doesn’t have to overhear my stupid-ass business.

“How about this: no more single rooms, at least not when you’re too sloshed to know what you’re doing. We have two more hotel nights. Share with Troy. If she follows you again, Troy will be there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

I have no control anymore. My life’s tail-spinning. This morning, after Aishe left, I rang in another ballad to Zoe’s phone. I didn’t quite pull it off. My throat feels strange. It tickles, and I’m definitely getting on the huskier side now. We have four more shows. If my voice stops working, I don’t know what I’ll do.

When the bus hobbles out of the hotel parking lot, I flop into one of the recliners in the front lounge. Captain’s chairs are good for sleeping, and my bunk’s a fucking lonely place right now.

I’m hungover as hell. Sick to my stomach. Troll suggested a Bloody Mary, but I don’t want one. Instead I pop my earbuds in and close my eyes.