Wasted Heart (17 page)

He slowly raises that handsome face of his, and I’m paralyzed, not by the beauty but by the tears that fall rapidly down his face. His eyes are dark, completely brown with the small black pupil in the center; however, I can’t help but see him, the real Rhye. I gently lift my hands to his face, taking my time to make sure he understands I’m here to help with my actions instead of words.

Rhye intently watches me but never moves. I caress his cheeks, his unshaven face rough against my hands, wiping away the wetness with my fingertips. My eyes search his, seeking answers, but I only discover excruciating pain.

“Tell me. Please,” I whisper, my heart crushing under the weight of his torment.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. I can’t stand to see him broken like this. Leaning slightly forward, I cover his face in small kisses. My lips sip away his tears, leaving no visible evidence of his emotions. I know he would hate for anyone to see them. When my lips are cast next to his, I feel his body shudder, and I don’t move a muscle when he begins to speak.

“I’m a murderer. A drug addict. I’m no good for you. I’m no good for myself. I fucking want to die so bad that it hurts to think about taking my next breath. The blackness in my head has spread to my soul. My heart. I don’t even know if I can feel anything other than hate anymore. Right this minute, it all seems impossible. Death is my reality, and it beckons me. She sings sweetly in my ear and plays the perfect strains of music in my head,” he says, slurring all of his words; however, I understand him perfectly.

Bringing my lips to his, I lightly kiss them, pulling back slightly to say, “Don’t say that. You’re not a bad person. I know. I see you.” My tears now swiftly fall, mingling with his. He tries to move away from my hands, but I don’t allow him, holding tight to each side of his face. “Look at me, Rhye. Please, just look at me.”

I watch his eyes glass over from the drugs. I’m not sure if he even knows what he is doing or saying at this moment. Again, I think to myself to get Josh, but I can’t. I know it’s not what Rhye would want. He shakes his head and, once again, tries to focus on me.

“I don’t like when you ignore me. It fucking sucks. Quit doing it,” he slurs, completely off subject.

The change of topic is fine with me. Just the thought of Rhye dying completely demolishes me on the inside, proving how much his happiness means. I laugh through my tears. “I hate ignoring you. I won’t do it anymore.”

I can’t help myself. I know it’s bad and possibly taking advantage of the situation, but I kiss him again. This time, his lips move with mine. Softly at first and then more ardent as the lust rises between us. He moves quickly to his knees, his body fitting against mine. His hands seek out every bend and curve, patiently exploring. I forget where we are and ride the tide of this heated attraction.

My body is more in tune with his than any before him. It answers with every pounding heartbeat, with my runaway pulse, and the rise and fall of my heavy breathing. His moan feathers against my lips, igniting a molten lava of need rushing through my body, burning down any reservations that I may have had. I feel him trying to lead me to the floor, wanting to cover my body with his.

“I need you,” he whispers against my mouth. “I fucking need you so bad. Please, let me have you. I’ll be better than all the others before me.”

I start to say, “There has been n…,” when I hear someone behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Josh demands, his voice almost a roar.

I slowly pull back, noticing Rhye staring over my shoulder. Turning my head, I look at an enraged Josh. Rhye goes and makes the situation worse by starting to laugh, completely acting as mad as the hatter. Anger, not at him but at myself, now replaces the lust. Allowing this to happen when he is completely inebriated is unacceptable. He falls back against the wall, unabashedly messed up.

“Are you kidding me, Rhye? The one night I go to sleep trusting you to keep curfew? I wake up, needing a glass of water, only to see your bedroom door wide open, which I know you wouldn’t leave, to find you missing. I just happen to think maybe you got locked out and open the door to find you, not only with Syn but apparently high.”

Rhye continues to chuckle, finally finding his words, “Josh, man. I fucking did not take any drugs. No, I fucking drank it all, and I was going to apologize about curfew. I went to the retirement strip joint and got fucked up but not fucked. Not my scene, if you know what I mean. There was ping pong pussy balls and old cherry pie,” he mumbles, not making any sense.

Did he just say “retirement strip club”? I should be pissed, but it just sounds wrong on so many levels.

“She attacked me in the hallway,” he slurs, pointing at me.

“What? I did not,” I gasp, feeling a little guilty. “
Maybe I did
,” I think to myself, blushing.

“Get up. Both of you,” Josh says, seething. Feeling a little hurt and embarrassed, I stand, only to watch Rhye struggle to do the same.

“Goddamn my ankle,” he complains loudly, walking forward with a slight limp.

I turn to follow Josh when I feel Rhye grasp my wrist from behind me, pulling me backwards to him. I look up into his glossy gaze.

“I didn’t mind it. I want you too,” he tries to whisper, but it comes out very loud. He leans down to kiss my mouth once more, but it lasts only a second before Josh’s groan interrupts us.

“Really, I’m not playing. Syn, this is serious. I need you go back to your apartment.” His voice brokers no argument.

I’ve made a choice, and there is no going back. I turn to face him with Rhye still holding my wrist from behind. “No,” I answer, hating every minute of having to defy Josh, my friend.

“Syn, if you truly care about him then go back to your own apartment. Let me do my job and handle this.”

“Listen to him, Josh. Call me crazy, but I believe him. He says he didn’t take anything. Maybe he’s just overly drunk,” I plead, begging him with my eyes.

“I know the signs, Syn. It’s my job. I’m equipped to spot the difference,” Josh states, looking down at me.

“Oh no, I admit to being fucked up,” Rhye says behind me. I turn my head to stare up at him.
What?
“But, I did not take any drugs. Somebody slipped me something. Fucking ‘X,’ I would guess. Trust me, I don’t touch that shit. It does nothing but bad shit to me. It’s so fucking dark in my head right now. That’s not my kind of high headspace. Fuck no,” he finishes, looking tired and about to pass out.

Looking back at Josh, I reply, “See. You can’t hold this against him.”

“First off, Rhye, you’ve broken curfew. That alone would get you fired from the record label. Second, I don’t believe you. I’m sorry. You’ve been resistant to me. Why should I believe you now?”

“Fuck you, man. I’ve…,” Rhye starts to say before completely passing out.

Thank God, I turned to watch him and saw him wobbling on his feet. I barely had time to catch his lanky frame in my arms, and if it weren’t for Josh, we both would have fallen.

“Damn it!” Josh yells, supporting most of Rhye’s weight. “Help me get him in to his bed.”

We both struggle to get him in and through the apartment. Once we have him on his bed, Josh checks his pulse and respiration to make sure he is not overdosing, and then I take off his shoes to make him comfortable. Standing silent in his bedroom, I turn to see Josh’s disappointed eyes on me, and I look back to stare at Rhye.

“What are you doing, Syn? Is he worth your future? Your music career? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with nights like this one? This, moments like now, I can promise you.”

“You really don’t believe him?” I ask, hating that my voice sounds questioning.

“No,” he answers with one word.

Looking down at him sleeping, he looks so young and peaceful. A pang of longing lodges in my chest at the thought of lying next to him and holding him in my arms throughout the night. I have to believe him. Otherwise, what am I fighting for?

Without glancing at Josh, I answer, “He is worthy of my future. My music career means nothing if he’s not somehow involved in it, and if more nights like this are to come, then bring them on. Just know this, I will fight with everything inside of me to make sure they are few and far between if he loves me.”

“Everything that happened tonight, in that hallway, will be a distant memory for him tomorrow, if he even remembers anything. Drugs corrupt words and misconstrue actions. They make addicts automatic liars. And if he does remember, what happens tomorrow when he wakes up hating the thought that he shared anything personal with you? You will be blamed, and once again, ignored,” he says miserably.

“Then that is my cross to bear. Where do you stand in this, Josh? I’ve seen that you have been truly proud of Rhye. Are you ready to turn his fate over to an uncaring record label? Better yet, I’ve heard some of his new music. What happens when they decide to keep him on and not you because they know he’s got several top ten hits coming? What then? You both lose out? Or maybe not. You go on to your next babysitting assignment because that’s what it is if you aren’t helping anyone. You can forget all about us,” I say, turning to look up at him through my sheen of tears.

He blows out a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, Syn. It’s late. Let’s both sleep on it and talk in the morning. Let me walk you back to your apartment.”

“No thanks. I’m going to stay here and make sure he’s okay through the night.”

“As your friend, if I told you that I know that’s probably not the best idea, would you listen?” he asks, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. This morning is definitely wearing on him.

“Yes, but my choice would still be to stay,” I answer, smiling sadly at him.

He nods and turns to leave, gently closing the door behind him. Walking over to the bathroom, I flip the switch and crack the door for some light. I then turn the bedroom lamp off and slip into Rhye’s bed, leaving my bathrobe on. Rolling to my side, I face him, his facial profile illuminated by the wedge of bathroom light shining down. I follow his contours with my eyes, committing them to memory. He’s breathtakingly beautiful. I stay awake for as long as I can, just watching him sleep, praying it won’t be for the last time. His even breathing is the sound of my personal lullaby.

The persistent pounding inside my head wakes me from my sleep. Even with my eyes tightly closed, there is no relief. In fact, I’m pretty fucking sure that if I were to lift my head the entire room would start spinning and I would die from the excruciating agony. Fuck me. What happened last night? I haven’t felt this horrible since…. well, I’ve never felt this horrible. To add insult to injury, I’ve got a terrible case of cotton mouth.

Blinking my eyes, I bring my hand up to wipe the sleep away and rub the bridge of my nose to ease my head tension. “Shit!” I hiss. It hurts like a motherfucker.

“I put a glass of water by your bed,” a soft voice replies.

Her. I lift my head and turn towards the only chair in my room. What is Syn doing here in nothing but her robe and fuck me hair? Did we? I groan and let my head fall back to the bed in pain. Closing my eyes, I try to remember anything about last night, but my last memory is getting thrown out of the strip club and nothing else. My stomach rolls, and the nausea builds to the point that I feel the need to wretch.

Rolling out of bed, I don’t have control of my body, and I fall to the floor hard. “Fuck!” I say, before puking everywhere. The force of the vomit splatters all over as my stomach empties itself. I heave until there is nothing left. The rancid smell of liquor and bile permeates the air.

“Here,” she says, now sitting on my bed with a wet washcloth.

I think about reaching for it, but my arms are shaking too hard as it is. Shutting my eyes, I try to find the strength to even move when I feel the cool cloth pressed against my forehead. God, sweet relief. She gently rubs it down my face, wiping away the spittle from my mouth. I open my eyes to see her staring as she cleans me up. Without saying anything, she turns to reach for the glass of water and brings it to my dry lips. I take only a small sip, letting it wash away the nasty shit in my mouth.

“Better?” she asks, looking unsure of herself.

I barely have the strength to nod, but I do. Hanging my head, I take deep breaths, willing my stomach to quit rolling. I hear her footsteps on the floor, walking away. She is probably leaving to get away from the shitty smell and this fucking mess. Far away from me. If she is smart, she will run as fast as she can. No wonder I’m always left alone, I’d leave my own ass if I could. Thoughts of just ending all of it hammer at my head
. “You can’t even stand up out of your own vomit,”
I think to myself. I’m a fucking loser. Is this all there is to this life? Forever? Fuck this shit.

At the sound of the door opening, I barely raise my head up enough to see her with a trash bag, a bottle of cleaner, and a roll of paper towels. In complete silence, she kneels down and starts cleaning up my mess. What the fuck is she doing?

“Stop,” I croak out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Glancing up from scrubbing the floor, she actually laughs and says, “It’s not my idea of a perfect date, but I’ll let you make it up to me.”