Wasted Heart (9 page)

I look around, happy the bar isn’t filling up with people and no one notices who I am. I continue to lose myself listening to these guys. Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be about? Getting lost in the music? Isn’t that what I loved about creating it? Knowing that someone could escape listening to something I crafted? I lean back against the bar, bottle in hand and taking a swig every so often. I nod my head in time with the beat, one with the band, with the crowd.

“Hey, you.”

I turn towards the sultry female voice to my right. A tight little blonde stands there with barely anything covering her. Her big tits push up and out of the small tank she has on, and I’m not sure if that scrap of blue jean material can be considered a skirt, but it works for me. Her enlarged, painted red lips purse up, letting me guess what she is probably good at. The chin-length, bleached blonde hair falls across her heavily made up face as her tongue caresses her top lip. She’ll do.

“I know you, right?” she says, winking at me.

Yeah, she knows exactly who I am. In this case, my dick knows her too. Well, her kind anyway.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I say, slightly slurring my words.

Smiling those fake ass lips my way, she purrs, “This way.”

She reaches for my hand, and I stumble after her. Letting her guide me to the back of the bar, she opens a door, pulling me into a small room with a mirror, sink, and toilet. Pushing me up against the wall, she tries to kiss me, which I don’t allow. I can’t be sure if I’m the only dick she’s sucked tonight. Hell no am I letting her touch my lips with that big fish mouth of hers.

I turn my head, reaching up to grasp her hair and tugging her to her knees. She yanks my shirt up to kiss the top of my stomach while unzipping my jeans, pulling them down just enough to free me. My dick doesn’t have one goddamn problem that he might not be the first in her mouth. I harden to the point of pain, and the small kisses she places along the rigid line don’t do a damn thing to help.

“Suck me off,” I command, still gripping her hair and guiding her head to do as I say.

The feel of her overly wet mouth sucking me down and her tongue licking the underside plain out does it for me. I’m curious as to how fast she can get me off. I clocked one chick at two minutes before. This isn’t going to come close, but her experience is working for her, along with those tiny moans. She doesn’t slow down as she increases the grip of her mouth, suctioning like a leach on my dick. The sight of those tits bouncing up and down, along with the introduction of hand action on my balls, gets me closer.

Every second of the tension today gathers in my abdomen, building higher and higher, until…

“Fuck!” I moan seconds before shooting my cum directly in her mouth. We have a winner! This one is a swallower. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back, emptying myself. I feel the relief all the way to the balls of my feet, lifting myself on them. I stand still for minutes, feeling her lap up every single drop.

Done with the skank, I pull back, stumbling over to the sink. I turn the warm water on and directly run my penis under it. I hear her clear her throat behind me as I pat dry with a paper towel, taking extra care in its sensitive situation. Glancing into the mirror, I see her licking her lips and smiling.

“I’m a huge fan, Rhye,” she says, reaching into her pocket and evidently reapplying some type of lip gloss.

I don’t feel the need to answer. This chick knows the score.

“I’m here most nights if you need any more of that,” she comments before turning to walk out of the bathroom.

I shake my head and pull my jeans up to close up shop. The chirping of my phone, letting me know I have a message, surprises me for a second. Pulling it out of my pocket, I realize I don’t know the number, but the message infuriates me.

This is Josh…friendly reminder….You have thirty minutes before curfew. #Iwillreportyourass

Fucker ends it with a hashtag?! I turn and kick the small aluminum trash can which crashes with a loud bang against the concrete wall. Storming out of the bathroom before someone comes to check on the noise, I hold my head down and look for the exit. This time, I can’t help but notice that the bar is filled to capacity with wall to wall people. When did that happen? I don’t look either way as I walk out, trying not to be noticed. Fortunately, I’m able to escape without any problems.

The night air is crisp and clean as I stumble back to the apartment. My mind is not exactly free of my thoughts but not overrun by them either. The booze helps, but I can still feel everything on the edges, just waiting. I make it back to the apartment within five minutes, in plenty of time for fucking curfew. I stroll through the front door, noting Josh sitting on one of the barstools.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, clearly fishing.

“Yes, Mother. I did,” I reply in my best Norman Bates imitation, not planning on stopping to chat.

“Anything that’s going to show up on the drug test Friday?” he asks.

I stop, pop my neck muscles, then turn to look at him. “Not unless you’ve got one that tests for Jack Daniels. Alcohol isn’t illegal.” Stupid motherfucker.

“It’s not, but I hope you’re not too dumb to realize that it could inhibit your ability to make the right choices. I’m not your enemy, Rhye. I don’t want to be.”

“No, you’re just my fucking warden, and you sure as shit ain’t my friend, so by default, that makes you enemy number one.”

He stands, stretching his arms out in front of him while shaking his head. “Are you honestly going to waste this opportunity? Man, you’ve got more God-given talent in your pinkie finger than most people could ever dream of having. People would kill to be you, but here you are, squandering it all away. For what, Rhye? You think you’re going to find what you are looking for in the nod or at the bottom of the bottle? You’re not. You’ll give it all away for nothing.”

The all-consuming rage that sleeps lightly under my skin awakens and bursts forward. I step directly in his face, ready to take him down. “You don’t know jack shit about me. Where I’ve been. What I’ve done.” The anger speeds my heart rate, my breathing turns rapid. I ball my fist up at my sides, ready for him.

“You’re right. I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen and done, but Rhye, if you can’t change them, you have to let them go. They will take you down, not caring who you take down with them. What do you think happens if you end it? You think that rights all the wrongs? It doesn’t. You have to find some type of closure that you can live with and then let all that shit bothering you go. Just let it go, man,” he says, not backing away.

“
Hit him. HIT! HIM!”
my demons chant, but something else inside of me halts my actions. FUCK! Does he ever just shut up? Knocking my shoulder hard into his, I walk by with force, causing him to stumble and daring him to say something. Any sound he makes and I’ll turn around and mess him up. Damn the consequences. I’ll do it if he remotely breathes in my direction. He gets the hint and doesn’t say anything else as I head back to my bedroom.

Locking the door, I turn to brace myself against the wall. I hang my head and try to control my breathing, my buzz obliterated. How do you let go of the kind of the things I live with? That I’ve seen with my own two eyes? Two guys are dead, directly from decisions I made. A girl, once my girl, has no idea that the reason she lost him was because of me. ME! She has no clue that I set it all in motion, the very thing that would cause her to try and end her own life.

Jay. Fuck me. Years have passed, but knowing that she chose someone else still tears my shit up. Not going there. It doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing fucking matters anymore. I push away from the wall and head into my bathroom to take a hot shower, hoping the water will at least lessen my body’s aches. Knowing it will never wash away my sins.

The sound of my alarm clock blares loudly, waking me from the restless sleep that I fought hard all night. I sling my hand over to pound the snooze button. Every sleepless hour completely wasted thinking about him. Groaning, I grab my pillow to cover my head, trying not to remember all the stupid thoughts that went through my crazy head.

Yesterday, Rhye ran from the studio so fast it made my head spin. I understood the need for escape. What I don’t understand is how I could take half the night worrying about where he was or who he was with. That doesn’t make any sense to me. It shouldn’t matter. I need it not to matter.

I growl, sitting up and tossing my pillow across the room. It’s only day two. Day. Two. How am I supposed to function knowing I just spent the night worrying about a guy I don’t know and have no business worrying over? Who cares if he is a tortured soul that I feel like I could be the one to help? You can’t change people. Ever.

Stepping out of bed, I walk straight into the shower, hoping to clear my head. Undressing, I sling my clothes on top of the sink and turn the water on. I contort my body out of the way of the cold water spray until the correct temperature doesn’t freeze me to death. I pour a small amount of shampoo in my hand as I lean back to wet my hair and massage it in.

He is so intense. His presence overwhelms me, calling forth something so deep within that I wonder if it’s normal. It’s not like I have someone I can call to confirm any of this. I didn’t have any girl friends in school because I worked so much. Mostly, I had guy friends, but none that I would call now. I thought I was in love with Tag. I mean, I had reservations, which now make me question just how
in love
with him I really was, but still.

Is this it? That mystical occurrence that poets gush over and songwriters rhapsodize about? I know it’s lust, at least for me. Not for Rhye, or so he says. Butthole. Cute butthole, but it’s still the same thing. Why feel the way I do if it all means nothing?

Finishing rinsing my hair, I shut the water off and reach for a towel to dry my wet body. Looking at the clock, I realize just how late I’m running. I rush to get ready, haphazardly throwing on my clothes. I have no time to blow my hair out. Shrugging my shoulders, I grab a rubber band and pull it on top of my head, leaving it to dry curly on its own.

By the time I reach the studio, I’m almost an half an hour late, but only Julie is there.

“I guess we’re the only ones, ducky. Ryan and Mel have some meeting this morning. Mel said he told Rhye not to come in until this evening so you and I can work alone,” she says, smiling as I walk in.

Setting my guitar case down, I flop down into a chair. “Sorry. I’m usually on time. Rough night.”

“Ahhh,” she says, the sound betraying a deeper meaning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, turning to look innocently at her.

“You fancy him.”

“Who?” I answer innocently. Play dumb, Syn. Play dumb.

“You bloody well know who,” she says, her cockney accent more pronounced today.

I shrug, deciding not to say anything else incriminating.

Staring into my eyes, she sighs before saying, “He will hurt you. He won’t mean to. It’s just in his nature. Guard your heart.”

There is no use in denying it. We both let her words settle within the quietness in the room. My heart hurts at what she is saying, but my head agrees one hundred and ten percent. I know, more than anyone, that love hurts and those that we love have the massive power to destroy us. I loved my mother, and that love caused the most internal pain. I think I loved Tag, but either way, his betrayal cut me to the core.

No, I don’t want to love Rhye.

“C’mon you. This is great material. Let’s use it for personal gain,” she says with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Start with the title, ‘Guard Your Heart’. Write around that.”

Grabbing her notebook and a pen, she starts jotting down words, and I reach for my own pad. The first sentence I write comes straight from my heart, “I see the pain coming and I can’t stop this train wreck of my heart. You won’t ever care, and I’ll be the one left at the start.”

We work the entire morning, only stopping to get a quick bite of lunch. Afterwards, Julie and I set up with our guitars, working on the melody for two of the songs I finished earlier. When the first one seems where we both want it, I start playing with some different chords for the other, singing the chorus to myself.

Glancing up, my breath catches, held prisoner within my chest. As I look into Rhye’s eyes, feelings of fear and trepidation beat at my soul, and unease causes me to stop and stare. He stands on the other side of the recording studio glass, looking directly at me. I don’t move, frozen within his gaze. What this boy does to me. My body naturally reacts to his, but it’s my emotions that I don’t understand. I want to protect him, shelter him, right every wrong; however, the most confusing aspect is not only do I want to fix him, but I want to fix myself. I want to be perfect for him, be what he needs.

Rhye looks away, seemingly unaffected by any of this or by me. I watch Mel walk up to him and say something. He’s in a black, sleeveless shirt, making it easy to study some of the designs carved onto his arms. I’ve never been attracted to tattoos, never saw the beauty or the art, but looking at Rhye’s, it’s almost like reading his story. I see an anatomical heart, gouged with knives and needles, maybe depicting his hurt, his pain. Music notes, freely flowing, clearly indicate his love for music, but then, a broken microphone maybe tells me that he’s lost his passion.