Metal Urge (30 page)

Thom waited until the other members of Metal Urge had gathered their luggage from the baggage claim area and were quickly whisked away in a sleek, stretch limousine before searching for Deanna on the crowded sidewalk outside of the airport.  He spotted her waving from the open door of a black taxicab.  She hurried over and grabbed his luggage while he picked up a small carry-on and his guitar case.  They didn’t embrace or kiss, instead they sat as far apart as the seat would allow, staring out of the cab's windows as the drab cityscape streaked by.  If it was this bad now, what repercussions did he face when he told her about his thwarted betrayal with the Texas beauty?  Sighing heavily, Thom pushed up his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, weary from the ten hour flight, dreading what was bound to happen after his guilt-ridden confession about the young brunette.  To his surprise, Deanna clasped his hand but didn’t look at him.  She held his hand in her slightly chilled grip, caressing the thin band of platinum on his ring finger with her thumb until the cab parked in front of their flat.

“Let me get the door,” she said, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

Thom nodded and waited for her to unlock and push the heavy door open.  She carried in his luggage, taking it straight to the ground floor bedroom where he immediately observed that all of her belongings had been removed.  Saying nothing, he laid his guitar case down, removed his jacket, and stood by the door murmuring that he was jet-lagged and tired.  Deanna started to speak, but thought better of it and left, hearing the door slam and lock behind her.  Thom lay on the bed, head pounding, wondering just what that hand-holding stunt was about.  He had taken it as a sign of hope but after looking around at the barren spaces left by his wife’s missing personal items, he couldn’t fathom what her motive had been.  The thought of losing Deanna hurt so much it brought hot, stinging tears to his eyes.  He knew there wasn't one bloody thing he could do about it as he dialed his father's phone number with trembling fingers.  Unable to staunch the flow of bitter tears, he laid the handset back in its cradle and wept silently into his shaking hands.

Slipping on her coat, Deanna hastily scrawled a note and left it on the countertop next to the coffee pot as she had always done when leaving messages for Thom.  She picked up her heavy school books and left quietly, wanting to get out of the flat and away from him.  What a sad and awful thing to crave distance and separation when she hadn’t seen Thom in over two months.  Part of her missed him terribly, hence the need to hold his hand; the other part wished he’d never come back.  She had tried so hard to get past their horrendous arguments, but she couldn't block out all of the painful, hateful things they had shouted, cried, and accused.  It was as though they had the burning desire to stand idly by as their marriage and their lives were destroyed by red hot flames fueled by hopeless pain and anger. 

She entered the school library and found a table far from the other students who were flipping through their textbooks and scribbling on notepads.  Studying was the furthest thing from her mind: she needed space---she craved space---away from Thom and their miserable failure of a marriage until she could figure out what to do.  She could tell by the look on his face that he was crushed when he discovered she had moved all of her belongings out of his bedroom.  It had to be done before he came home.  His presence would only serve to cloud
her judgment as he soothed her fears and concerns away with his loving blue eyes and the expertise of his nimble guitarist’s hands.

Deanna pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Pride,” a voice said in her mind.  “You are such a prideful girl.”  Her mother’s voice rang loud and clear deep inside her aching skull.  “You loved and respected Thom until you let your silly pride get in the way.  Pride is the devil’s favorite vice, Deanna.  Go home and make peace with your husband!”  Swallowing hard, Deanna looked around.  Maybe her hormones really were pushing her over the edge into madness.  Exhausted, she shuffled out of the library towards the inevitable showdown with Thom: a confrontation that would render them both casualties of their foolish pride.

****

Unable to move, Deanna stared at Thom’s face which juddered and blurred, making her feel dizzy.

“Are you alright?”  He moved towards her, but she threw out her hands to ward him off.

“Please, my love.  I am so sorry.  I made a terrible mistake with that girl.  You know I love you.  We'd been arguing, and I felt so alone...”

“Shut up!”  She yelled, backing towards the stairs.  “You slept with that Texas whore just to get back at me even though I told you that kiss wasn’t my fault.”

Thom shook his head briskly, “I swear to you that I didn’t have sex with her.  We were kissing and it got a bit out of hand, but I put a stop to it before we went too far.”

In an instant her demeanor changed.  “It's not like you didn't warn me with your “I'm a musician” speech, right?  Isn't that what you're thinking?”  She straightened up and looked him in the eyes with a cold, unemotional glare.  “I need space.  We’re going to set some boundaries or I'm out of here.”

“You’re threatening to leave me?”

“Yes, if you don’t give me what I’m asking for.”

“No, Deanna,” Thom said firmly.  “We're gonna sort out whatever the bloody hell has happened to us and to our marriage.”

She stared at him impassively, forcing him to continue to try and reason with her.

“There were too many assumptions and very few facts flung about during our ridiculous arguments.  We won't survive...our marriage won't survive if we don’t sort out this bloody mess straight away.”

“So be it.”  Deanna whirled and started up the stairs.

Thom stumbled after her, begging her to stop.  She turned and looked at him like he was something slimy she had just stepped on.  “Is that all our marriage means to you?  Is that all
I
mean to you?”

The look on his face was almost too painful to bear.  Deanna turned away, fat tears rolling down her face.  “Just give me some space, please.”

He watched her slow descent up the stairs with a mixture of hurt, bewilderment, and fury until he couldn't stop himself from shouting; “You know as well as I do that this fucking mess is Nigel’s doing.  He wanted this to happen, Deanna…can’t you see that?”  Thom took a step forward, but she ran to the landing clutching at the railing with shaking hands.  “He kissed you in hopes that it would destroy our relationship.  If you turn your back on us now the bloody bastard has succeeded.  Is that what you really want?”  He could see her visibly flinch, but she didn’t turn around, instead she disappeared into her old bedroom, slamming the door behind her.  Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cupboard, he unscrewed the top drinking it down quickly, ignoring the liquid dribbling down his chin.  Carrying the dripping bottle into his bedroom he slammed the door and picked up the phone to call Jayson.  He needed a friendly voice.  Someone who was willing to listen as his decimated life crashed down around him.

****

A group of students stood outside of Deanna’s classroom, laughing and discussing test scores.  One of them called out to her as she started for the exit, “Come and have a pint with us.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to go home.  I’m clocking some extra hours at the hotel tomorrow and I need sleep.”  She waved and grinned at her classmate’s overly-dramatic show of disappointment as they groaned and clasped their hands to their hearts.  She saw the bright red double decker bus in the distance so she jogged to the bus stop, holding onto the sign post while she caught her breath.  There was no reason to be in a hurry she thought as she boarded the huge red bus.  At this time of day the tube station would be practically empty so she would have no trouble getting an underground train to Chelsea.

But something wasn’t right.

An unpleasant tingling sensation worked its way down her spine, a subtle warning that all was not well.  She didn’t get these premonitions very often---although she wasn’t keen to call them that.  However, this one was strong and disturbing.  Anxious to reach her flat, she hurried out of the idling bus and down the steps into the underground, grateful when she heard the rumble of the incoming train just as she reached the platform.

Faint strains of music could be heard when she reached the quiet street her flat was situated on.  As she drew closer, the sound intensified until it reached a deafening roar.  “My God!” she cried, and ran for the front door, dropping her keys in her haste to get it open.  The sound reverberating throughout the flat was so loud she had to drop her books and purse and cover her ears.  The reel to reel tape machine was blasting out one of Thom’s favorite songs, and he was playing along, his amp turned up as loud as it would go.  A half-empty liquor bottle lay near his bare feet, leaking its contents into the beautiful Persian rug.  His fingers flew over the strings of his Flying V, but the sound was off key, the rhythm choppy and uneven.  “Turn that down!”  Deanna shouted over the nerve wracking din.  She ran towards the tape player, tripping over a pile of empty beer cans, nearly falling flat on her face.  “Damn it, Thom!” she screamed.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  She fumbled with the dials, the relentless noise making it difficult to locate the volume knob.  She finally found it, but before she could turn it down, Thom grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back painfully.

“Don’t touch that,” he said, pulling hard on her hair.  Deanna tried to pry his fingers open which only made him pull harder.  Grinning maliciously, he let go of her hair and started to play his guitar again then stopped when the intro to a new song blared out of the speakers causing the windows to rattle.  “Oh, foxy,” Thom growled.  He struck the strings of his guitar with such force, the sound crackled and shrieked through the small amplifier, creating a blast of earsplitting feedback.

Deanna cried out and clapped her hands over her ears.

Thom laughed and picked up the liquor bottle tossing back what was left before throwing the bottle against the wall, shattering it.  “Foxy lady,” he sang.  “You're a cute little heartbreaker and a cruel little cock teaser,” he pointed at her and sneered.

While he abused the strings of his guitar, Deanna eased over to his amp and pulled the cord out, silencing the torturous noise.

“Wha’…?” Thom slurred.  Pulling the guitar strap over his head, he tossed the V on a chair and grabbed Deanna, pushing her to the floor.  “Very naughty, my girl, very naughty indeed.”  He seized a large fistful of her hair and dragged her away from the amp.  She was crying and kicking at him, begging him to let go which made him laugh and jeer drunkenly at her feeble attempts to get away.

“Please turn the music down, Thom.  Please.  Do you want the police to come?” she whimpered, digging at his hand with her nails which only served to make his grip tighten painfully.  She could feel strands of hair being pulled out of her burning scalp as he dragged her over to the tape machine.

Humming softly, he studied the knobs and switches for a moment before turning it off.  “There now, are you satisfied you prissy, uptight, little bitch?”

She thought he would let go of his excruciating grip on her hair, but he was busy undoing the button on his jeans.  “No!” she gasped as he wound her hair even tighter around his fist, jerking her face towards his crotch.  He pulled her closer, fumbling with the zipper, trying to pull it down.

“Take a good look at this,
darlin
’
,
” he snarled, shoving her face against the metal zipper.  “You’re still my wife so perform your wifely duty.”

Deanna looked up at him, lips trembling, eyes clouded with anguished tears.

“Oh God, Deanna,” Thom moaned, letting go of her hair.  A few dozen bright blonde strands had been pulled out at the roots and were tangled around his fingers.  He groaned, pulling at them in a desperate attempt to remove all traces of his appalling behavior.

She struggled to her feet and stumbled to the entryway, gathering up her keys and purse, pausing at the front door to look back as Thom sank to his knees, weeping.

“Why are we hurting each other?  He sobbed.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I love you so much, Deanna.  I just want the chance to love you.”

She closed the door against Thom's pleas for forgiveness and mournful cries begging her not to leave.  Thrusting her hands deep into her coat pockets, body completely numb, mind fighting against the horror of what had just happened inside their pretty Chelsea flat, she navigated the front steps and hurried towards the street.  Walking stiffly, head bowed, she didn’t know or care where she was going until she heard a cab rumble by.  She hailed it and dragged herself inside, crumpling against the large back seat with a muffled sob.  The long cab ride in the cold evening air did nothing to clear her mind: she was wounded and hopelessly lost until the ornate Victorian Towers of her beloved bridge beckoned her to lose herself inside the safety of their massive stone walls.

Chapter 38

“Haven’t seen much of you lately, mate.  Still troubled about takin’ the piss for your clangor with Thom?”  Nick asked, clapping Nigel on the back.

The two men had run into each other in the garage; Nigel was mentally preparing to have a face to face with Deanna at her job, and Nick was stashing a beautiful bouquet of roses for Maggi in his car.