The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (37 page)

“But they do and I warned you about what would happen. This is 2013.
Nothing
is private anymore.”

“What are you going to say on the show about this? I never cheated, ever. I don’t want to be portrayed like some slutty girl who’s only good for one thing.” I’m yelling now. It’s like the curtain dropped out on me while I was still getting dressed.

“It will be tasteful. We have some stuff between you and Kolton and we’re going to edit it together before the song.” I slam my hand on the table and lean in toward her.

“You just remember that we are people with feelings. Remember that even though I don’t have parents to be embarrassed by me, I have a little sister to raise.” With that, my jaw tightens and I stand up. “And, when this show’s over, you’ll have to remember what you’ve done to us—

Using us like we’re some reality show for your own ratings.”

“That’s not what we’re doing. It’s damage control.”

“We tried to stay apart, Joyce. We did. But there’s something there we can’t fight.”

“You just had a couple more weeks, Mia. Just two more weeks.” She shakes her head and picks her glasses up from the table, walks out, and leaves me alone with my nerves. With my sore muscles and outed secrets. With my doubts about me and Kolton. He wouldn’t do this to me, would he?

Just two more weeks. But there’s no telling whether Kolton and I can walk through the coals one more time.

Stay

I
go home that day. I refuse to practice the song with Kolton—what if he confirms that he really did tell the media where we were? I just need to focus on the show. Finish it out, and then talk to him once we’re out of the pressure this show creates.

I don’t show up to the promo shoots this week. They can just use stuff from previous weeks for all I care. I’m edgy. Hurt.

I don’t answer his phone calls. I don’t read his texts. Not because I hate him, but because I’m raw like an exposed nerve, and shutting down is the best way to not feel it all.

Joyce threatens me via a legal document with a lawsuit if I don’t show up at the studio to record my version of the song. After I talk it all over with Gina DeYoung, she agrees I
did
sign away my rights to decide how I’m portrayed. But she promises to talk to Joyce about how to make this work for all of us.

My stipulation for showing up to record is that Kolton not be allowed in the studio while I’m there. And when he’s not waiting for me inside the studio, I think he really did enjoy the chase, and nothing more.

At night I burn for him; every inch of my skin begs for his touch, his lips, his warmth, his words vibrating in my ear, his breath pulsating along my skin just before he’d lick and kiss my body. The sounds we made echoe inside my brain. I feel him. I need him. This isn’t his fault, right? Did he sell us out? Did he do it to claim me? Or is he a victim, too? My brain hurts from thinking about it too much.

I don’t watch TV or read the crap that’s being posted. I know most of it won’t be true.

At night I lock my door, just in case he tries to come in, like he did before, and confront me. I’d melt into him. I’d throw myself at him and beg him to love me.

It’s safer this way. I feel him every time I move, my muscles still sore from our marathon night of sex, now heard about ‘round the world.

I can still smell his unique scent whenever my clothes are off. But I don’t cry. I let it burn inside like a rumbling volcano.

That’s all I can do. That’s all I can control about my life. My reaction to it is all I have. Just be strong, buck up.
Survive.

That’s all I know how to do.

*     *     *

I close my eyes and let them dress me. It’s a long deep-red gown, with pointy boots peeking out from the hem. Red of course, like Scarlett when Rhett knows she’d kissed Ashley and sends her to the party and makes her add more rouge.

The anger, embarrassment, all of it, bubbles inside me like molten lava.

When I look in the mirror, I let it burn. I’m glad this thing in front of me doesn’t even look like me. Layers of cloth and make-up hide me. The real me. The one I let out in screams of equal desire when I thought we were alone.

I feel dirty, scarred. Like an open wound with clay stuck to the surface.

“That’s anything but boring,” I hear Blaire say. I say nothing back. I hold it in, because what I want to say is more along the lines of,
fuck off
. “He didn’t sell the pictures, Mia,” she says.

“How do you know?”

“If you read the articles, you’d know. The only reason you’re walking around here so pissed off, blowing off the show, is because you don’t know what he’s said about you.”

I perk up and turn toward her, “What did he say?”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to know,” she says and walks away.

Out on the stage, I hear Chuck Faraday announcing our edited bit, meant to announce our love story to the world. He says, “Kolton and Mia have been much talked about during this season. Here’s what’s really going on between them behind the scenes.”

“Stage right,” Amy, the PA says, so I walk out trying to stay resolute and keep my head up high as I climb up the stairs. There, I find Kolton already standing in front of the mic. On either side of the stage, the monitors are playing different scenes with Kolton and me. Chuck Faraday is the voice-over narrating our journey on
The Stage
. There’s still nothing about our relationship. Just behind-the-scenes interactions set with a soundtrack of my singing “Burn” by Ellie Goulding.

It ends with him and me on the stage the first day. On the screen, he leans in and the microphone caught what he’d whispered to me. “
Sorry you don’t know me very well. But I’d like to change that. I promise you this, you’ll learn to trust me,”
he said, walking away with a smug grin turning up the corners of his lips.

I turn to face him in the dimly lit studio. He’s begging me with his eyes.
‘It’s me,’
he’s saying. A silent plea for love and mercy.

As the piano starts and lights come on like the sun rising, I understand. Kolton saved us. He didn’t allow them to edit together some distasteful version of our journey toward falling in love; he didn’t let them cheapen us, dilute what we’ve built together by forcing us to share it with the world.

I feel my bottom lip quiver as I open my mouth and sing the lyrics. An acceptance to his dare. The dare to stay.

It’s him. Me. How I made him change and how he asked me to be with him without knowing how. But I hurt him when I pull away from him out of fear.

And all we have to do is stay. This time, we don’t have to live apart.

He pulls the mic off the stand and takes a step toward me. I don’t budge, but turn to face him.

Then he sings.

He pitied me at first for the life I have to live. He gave me things, but to help me, not to hurt. I pushed him away. But we can’t deny the feelings. They won’t go away.

All he wants is for me to stay.

I take the mic off the stand and take a step toward him.

And yes, as we harmonize together perfectly, without having practiced together once, we’re acknowledging that we both need to be saved. That we’re the missing pieces in each other’s hearts. We walk toward one another until our feet are nearly touching.

Yes, we’ve had to hide. So how do we know what we’ll be like without all this pressure?

And when I ask him to stay, he puts his hand up to my cheek. The piano pounds in our ears and the lights shine in our eyes, and the love emanates from him to me and back. I mean it. I want to stay.

As we fade to black, he’s so close to me that we’re almost kissing. Both of us are out of breath. He rubs his thumb along my jaw and leans toward me, even closer as if he’s going to say something, but he takes me by the back of the neck and tilts my chin up to face him. He leans in, a collective gasp in the audience as he kisses me on the cheek instead. Then he pulls away, but takes my hand and we walk off the stage together. The audience applauds in our absence. If it wasn’t clear before. It sure as hell is clear now.

“Aren’t the coaches supposed to critique us?”

“No,” he says, pulling my hand. “I want all that crap off your face.” He leads me toward the make-up trailer and sits me down in an open chair and locks the door.

“You didn’t let them,” I say as I start to feel some of the volcano tears coming up to the surface of my eyes.

“I told Joyce I was going to walk and take you with me. She’d have to end the show without us.”

“Kolton—” I try, but he’s found some wipes in one of the drawers and rubs it into my eyes, taking off the smoky eye, then moves to my cheeks to remove the false blush. “I’m sorry,” I say. But he ignores me and rubs, and gets more wipes and rubs some more, until my skin is breathing actual air and he’s looking down at me with some sense of recognition.

“I would never do that to you, Mia.”

“I know,” I say, taking his hand. “I’m sorry. Joyce said—”

“Joyce said something about me selling the pictures. That’s why you wouldn’t see me, talk to me. Nothing. After everything. After the promises we made about a future. We were supposed to face this head-on, together.”

“I’m still learning how to be like that. To be ‘us’ and not you and me.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong.” He kneels down and pushes himself between my legs, burying his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair for a few minutes when he starts rooting his nose into the soft spot between my legs.

“You smell so good,” he says, slowly lifting my dress up, and pushing my panties to the side.

“Not here, Kolton,” I say, but my body says the opposite.

He remains kneeling in front of me like I’m his queen, pulls my hips to the edge of the chair, and kisses a path up the inside of my thigh. When his tongue finds the folds of my sex, I let him take me to that place where we are
us
. There’s no need to say I’ll never doubt us again, especially when there’s this way to make up.

*     *     *

I survived the week, thanks only to Kolton who refused to compromise and left our relationship ambiguous to the rest of the world. Joyce agreed, apparently—although I haven’t spoken to her. Kolton said he told her that Gina had a plan to let the audience speculate, that it will get people tuned in each week to see what may happen between us, and if they can spot any clues as to whether we’re falling in love. Brilliant.

Tonight, we lost the long-haired Adonis, Don, who was on Pulse’s team, and finally said goodbye to gypsy dress, Kimber—who, as of late, had started to ignore me completely. She wasn’t even a good enough foe in the last round for them to keep her here. I feel a little bit happy. Okay, a lot happy.
Bitch.

That leaves us with Jessie on Team Danny, Blaire on Team Pulse, and me. Because the show likes to highlight the contestants’ stories, we’re all going home for a three day shoot in our home towns.

I leave tomorrow morning on a flight with Riley, Deloris, and Manny to tape the scenes like; going back home to our meek little apartment, my old high school, and then downtown Sacramento for a performance. As I’m packing my bag, my Kolton phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. That’s weird, usually he only texts me.