Love Exactly (11 page)

I sat staring at the blinking cursor, waiting for words to come that wouldn’t. It had been so easy to write the slush about the album I was assigned for the week, but now when I sat down to write about something that mattered, I couldn’t. In truth I didn’t want to write, but I was trying to force it out of me. I looked down at the iPhone and let my finger drag across the screen, but there was nothing there. No text messages. No voicemail. It had only been a week, and I didn’t know why I was freaking out now. Evan sometimes went two weeks without so much as a text, but not being able to share the good news about being able to write about something I was interested in sucked. It was now that I started to see how hard this could be, and as I waited for him to call my imagination began to work overtime. I tried not to think of all the beautiful women all over the world that would throw themselves at him if they had the chance. It wasn’t that I was confident in myself; it was the fact that being a writer gave me a vivid imagination. It was a comfort at times, but this week it was anything but. I raked my hands through my tangled hair and stood to go to the French doors. The full moon was shining in, casting shadows over my Ibanez. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before walking over to it and taking it in my hands. I let my imagination take over as I reached over to Evan’s pick sitting on my bedside table. I was in control of my mind. I had to be. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into the cool, hard strings. I could hear his voice clearly in my head.

“A-D-D-B-C-D-A…”

I let my fingers find their place as the pick struck the strings and sound echoed in the room. I played the whole song with his voice echoing in my mind and when I opened my eyes my mom was standing in the doorway, her thin frame barely taking up half of the doorway as she braced herself against the wood. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open in shock.

“I didn’t know that you played, hell, I didn’t even know you had a guitar.”

I shrugged and got up to put it back on its stand. “That’s what happens when you’re dating a musician I suppose.”

She stepped into the room and then stopped, blinking at me before saying, “What?”

“I’ve been dating a musician for a few months now,” I answered, my hand still resting on the head of the guitar. I smiled at the realization Dad had kept his promise.

“I didn’t know they made acoustic guitars in purple,” she managed to stutter out. She was looking all over the room for something to give her a clue as to who I was dating. She found a picture and cocked her head before shaking it no. I wasn’t sure what she was saying no to inside her head. I wondered if she really knew who the guy in the picture was, or if that was what she doubted. She rubbed her forehead with her hand before plopping down on my bed and looking up at me.

She bit the inside of her lip and her brow furrowed. The worry made her look her age.

“You look like you’ve lost weight,” she finally said.

I tightened my jaw in defense as I tried to come up with some explanation for whatever weight loss she was seeing. She huffed as she stood and headed for my kitchen. She reached the fridge and yanked the door open with a bit too much force. “There’s nothing in here.”

“Mom!”

I knew the road she was heading down, and it wasn’t one I had ever wanted to travel along, even when it had been true.

“This boy isn’t—” she began but stopped as I threw my hands up to silence her.

“You think I’d let that happen again?” I snapped at her, crossing my arms over my chest.

She frowned and looked down before letting her eyes meet mine. The intensity was there, and it made tears prick at my eyes. I didn’t want her to say it.

“I didn’t think you would the last time.”

There they were. The words that cut slivers of guilt out of my soul, ones that had been mismatched when it had shattered the last time.

“Not this again!” I shouted, making her step back in defense. I lowered my voice as I continued, “I’m fine Mom, fine. I promise. If it makes you feel better I’ll eat dinner with you every night until you feel I’m okay.”

Her chest rose as she let out a sigh. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

I rolled my eyes, sick to my stomach as she glanced down at the floor in silence. I knew she wasn’t done.

“You never told me—us, what happened?” she finally asked, her brown eyes searched mine for an answer I would never be able to give.

“I’m not going there today. I’m not going there ever,” I managed to say.

She heaved another sigh and headed to the door up to her house. She turned with one hand on the doorknob. “You still like feta and spinach on your pizza?”

I nodded at her and watched as she smiled before going up the stairs, the door shutting behind her. When I heard it click I crumbled to my knees, pulling them to my chest. In my head the dark shadows were creeping in, pinning me down so my breathing was beginning to panic. The imagination that had saved me only minutes before was now punishing me; pushing in on me and crippling me. As the faded memories washed over me I fought at them, kicking them away as the tears began to rush down my cheeks.

“You stupid—” Eric’s voice was as crisp as the first day I heard it, but it was cut off by Evan’s voice singing.

In an instant I was rushing into my bedroom, stumbling over my stilettos to get to my phone.

“Hello?” I gasped through a fresh set of tears.

“Emma?” Evan’s voice came over the line. “I’m putting you on face-talk.”

He knew something was wrong. He wanted to see my face.

“No,” I managed to say as I wiped my face with my free hand.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you want me to see your face?” he pushed.

“I’m naked.”

“Even better,” he replied, but there was no laughter in his voice.

I heard the phone beep in my ear and knew he had put it through. I sat down on the bed and hit the accept button, turning the phone so he could see me. When he did his forehead wrinkled and caused his brow to shadow his fatigued eyes. I smiled at him shirtless as he lay in his bed. I could see an alarm clock in the background next to a picture of us; it showed the time was 2:30 AM.

“What happened?” he asked, his jaw clenching as his eyes took in what was no doubt mascara stains, smeared by my hands.

“My mom brought up,” I took a deep breath before saying the name, “Eric.”

“Why would she do that?” he asked, and I noticed the purple halos that framed his tired eyes.

“She thinks I lost weight…she was thinking that maybe—”

“That I?”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes. “Maybe I should meet them.”

I shrugged. “Maybe or maybe they should trust I wouldn’t let that happen again.”

“Emma, I’m sure they don’t blame you for anything that’s happened.”

“That’s not the point,” I huffed as I wiped the remaining tear away.

“You do look like you lost some weight,” Evan observed as he leaned closer to the phone.

“And you look like hell froze over,” I commented, and I motioned to his eyes. “It looks like you haven’t been sleeping much.”

He heaved a sigh. “I haven’t been. We’ve been ridiculously busy, which reminds me—I’m sorry I haven’t called or texted. We did our last stop for the US tour and started recording the single for the next album the next day. They held my god damned phone hostage until they realized what it was doing to me.”

“That’s really not fair,” I muttered to myself as I flopped back onto the bed.

“To either of us, but I’ve done the same thing to them. Payback is a bitch. We’ve all agreed to never do that to each other again. It makes everything ten times more stressful,” he explained with a yawn.

“You’re exhausted, you should go to bed,” I suggested, even though it was the last thing I wanted him to do.

“No, you need to talk and you haven’t explained why you look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I don’t know I have…I just don’t eat when I’m stressed.”

Evan leaned forward. “You need to eat, and why have you been stressed?”

I shrugged and he sighed. I knew he could tell exactly why without me saying it. There was no use in me hiding it from him.

“I’ll let them know that their complete asses,” he teased with a crooked grin that made me smile. “That’s what I called in to see… God, I miss you.”

I leaned in and kissed the screen. “Did you get my text message about my job?”

“Yeah, when I have a little more time I can teach you some stuff so you know what to listen for in a good CD.”

I rolled my eyes at him with a smile. “Oh, yes God of music. Guess what I did? I played
Shattered Mirrors
today, all by myself.”

“Can I hear?” he asked.

I nodded as I got up, grabbed the guitar and propped the phone up against my light on the nightstand. “Can you see me?”

Evan nodded as he cradled his head against his forearm.

I began to play the song, concentrating on the strings and when I was finished I looked up at the screen to see Evan sleeping. I put the guitar back on the stand, shut off the light and crawled into bed just as he began to snore. I watched him until my eyes felt heavy and then hit the end button.

The incident with Eric was still fresh in my memory—the frightened look in his eyes as Evan threatened to pummel his face in filled me with a sick glee that I hated. It wasn’t like me to enjoy someone in pain, but watching the purple form around his eye where Evan’s fist had fit perfectly had done something to me. I wondered if that was the power Eric had always felt over me. The difference was clear, though. He acted that way without provocation. I’d just been a teenager, smitten with the cool kid, or the person I had thought was the cool kid. I tried to shake away the thoughts as they began to creep in—memories I thought I had concealed so well, yet the darkness settled in, and the room disappeared. Everything dimmed and I was surrounded by black. I’d never imagined that a color, or lack thereof, could have a feeling to it, but the toxic sludge dragged me down into it. The words began to echo in my ears. My responding voice was weak, flat, hollow; it wasn’t mine but then… it was.

I heard myself ask, “Why are you doing this?”

I felt the hard push to my right shoulder, the jabbing pain as the bruise began to form, and I knew a clot of muscle was injured with it; a bruise with a physical presence.

“You need to learn how to defend yourself,” his voice assured me, demeaning and arrogant.
I knew I did. I needed to protect myself against him, but I hadn’t then. I’d listened as he gave me the scathing review of how weak and stupid I was. I let him grind me into the dirt.

The words had always been worse. They were the thing that lasted long after the bruises healed. If I was going to be honest, I didn’t remember the bruises all that much but my parents did. That scarred them the most. I needed a hero then—or so I thought, but what I really needed was to be the hero myself. My eyes opened to see the cursor still teasing me with its nonchalant blinking. I was struck by the thought Evan wasn’t trying to be my hero; he was trying to convince me I was the hero.

My fingers hit the keyboard with a tapping force I hadn’t felt in ages. I could be my own hero. I was my own hero.

After two weeks of relentless recording for the single Evan had convinced the others they needed a break from his tyranny. He had vented to me he had begun to feel like he was forcing it out so he could get it over with and come see me. I reminded him it wasn’t worth it, but he decided what he really needed was a break. I couldn’t have been more thrilled when the next morning he showed up at my door.

“So, who lives upstairs?” Evan asked, leaning forward on the couch and pointing to the ceiling. “They’re very quiet.”

I swallowed and looked away. “Sound proofing helps that—recording studio style.”

I saw him nodding out of the corner of my eyes as I flicked through the channels, distracted.

“No wonder the acoustics are so good.”

“Perfect for my musician boyfriend,” I teased as I leaned in to kiss him, hoping he didn’t notice I’d avoided the who part of his question.

He kissed me back and let his fingers run over my cheek. I could tell from the look in his eyes he wasn’t giving up.

“You didn’t answer who?”

I pulled away and looked at the ceiling. It was their kitchen and above that was the bedroom I’d grown up in.

“Being a freelance writer doesn’t exactly pay well…you’re so successful. I’m not. I live in an apartment in my parent’s basement.” I cringed at the words and let my head collapse into my hands.

“I got lucky; otherwise I’d be in a lot worse shape than living in my parent’s basement.”

“I do pay rent and my utilities—I swear!” I said with a little bit too much force.

Evan threw his hands up. “I’d never think otherwise.”

“I feel like such a loser,” I muttered as he pulled me into his arms.

“As long as you’re not after my money—”

I shot off the couch and turned. “No! Of course not!”

He stood laughing. “I was just teasing you.”

He reached for me, but I turned and walked into the kitchen and began doing the dishes as angry tears slid down my face into the soapy water.

Evan came into the room and wrapped his arms around my waist, putting his head into the crook of my neck.

“You have to know I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” I replied, hanging my head, “but you hit my shame on the head.”

“There’s no reason to be ashamed. You pay your own way. It’s just taking longer. Maybe if you’d write what you love?”

I turned to face him.

“You’re pushing all my buttons tonight, Evan! I just want to spend tonight with you—we have so little time together. I don’t want to argue. I know I promised I would write and I am.
 
I really am; I just don’t want to harp on it.”

He pushed his forehead to mine.

“I just want you to be happy,” he whispered, his lips hovering over mine.

“I am, no it’s not perfect, but right now when you’re here it is.”

His lips found mine, gently parting them and letting me breathe him in.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he said as his lips left mine and caressed my chin, down my neck and to my collarbone.

“You shouldn’t do this to me,” I sighed as my breathing quickened.

“What?” he asked as his hand slipped the thin cotton of my t-shirt off my shoulder and kissed my bare skin.

“Drive me insane just to leave.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

His nose nuzzled the place beneath my ear, sending a numbing sensation down my body.

“Not tonight…not ever,” I whispered, and he pulled his face to look into mine.

His eyes searched it, looking for the meaning—making sure that he understood exactly what I meant. The uncertainty in his eyes was unusual compared to what everyone else knew, but it was something I was beginning to become familiar with. He was taking his time, making sure I knew he truly cared, and I did; now I needed him to know I felt the same. I let the smile come over my lips as my hands went to the buttons of his black plaid shirt. His chest rose up against my hands as I slipped my fingers through the buttons, his breathing quickening as I slipped his shirt off over his shoulders with my lips grazing the beads tattooed around his neck.  He tipped his head back with a sigh as my hands slid down his back. The measured control he seemed to have as my lips ran over his skin slipped away the moment I lightly bit his collarbone. His hands raced down my body and he pulled my legs around his waist before his lips found mine. For a moment we stood, locked in passionate kisses before he gave in and carried me with one arm while the other kept us from tumbling into the various objects in our way to the bedroom.

When he placed my body on the bed, he hovered over me, his breathing ragged as his eyes looked over my face, his hand moving a piece of hair behind my ear. “You have to know how much I care about you,” he finally said.

“I know,” I whispered as his hands ran underneath my shirt and gently lifted it over my head.

The rush seemed to evaporate and everything turned to slow motion as soft, slow kisses, and gentle whisperings of his hands and mine led to less and less clothing, and then finally, the feeling of his warmth completely enveloped me in ecstasy.