Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles) (23 page)

I keep pacing back and forth, wearing a path in my carpet. The side of me that walks away from the door is the darkness, the idea that I’m not allowed to do this, that doing this is wrong. The side of me that walks toward the door is the side of me that needs this, wants this, craves this, no matter what the cost.
 

“You’re only going to spend the night with him, what’s the big fucking deal?”
 

The text messages between us play in my mind, the messages that I’ve read at least a thousand times…

Calvin to Eric: I want to push you up against the wall.

That message took some strength to send. Admitting to myself, without the actual ability to act on my feelings, took a lot of fight with the demons to let it out. But once it was out, I didn’t feel the sludge overcome me.
 

Eric to Calvin: I’m ready when you are.

That was his simple response. Egging me on, reminding me that I am in charge of this bandwagon, that what happens now is solely on me. A responsibility that is starting to seem more like a burden because sometimes I just want to let it all go. Wipe out the nonsense that is in my brain, the nonsense that I know is exactly that – bullshit nonsense.
 

We talked about so much via text, so many different things, like what it feels like when the panic takes over. I was able to better explain it to him because I could find the right words, edit what didn’t work and I think he finally understood it. I think I finally understood it better too. I think I finally realized what it is that I can do to overcome the sludge, but I haven’t been able to test the theory.
 

Walking away from the door…damn it. Just grab your shit and fucking go. Load it up, take it with you, go to his house and…I shiver, but this time it’s not in fear, but in excitement. All worry about what it is that will happen starts to slide away.
 

Eric to Calvin: No matter what happens, no matter how often it happens, I’m never going away.

I actually took a screenshot of that text. I had to. It was the conviction that I needed to hear or read in order to drive this ship forward. I turn, staring down at my pile. His text repeats in my head, over and over and over again.
 

“Is it time to put that to the test?” I ask myself.

I take the three steps toward my gear and reach for it. I freeze.
 

“What if he doesn’t want you there?” Impossible, I try and tell myself. We’ve said it every day for the last five days, we miss each other, but we both stayed away. Taking care of the things we needed to manage before returning back to the bus.
 

Every time my phone chimed with a text, I’d get this giddy school boy grin on my face knowing that my, I swallow, boyfriend was texting me.
Is that what he is? Did we ever actually declare that?

Instead of fear washing over me completely, I can feel the fluttering of excitement at the idea of being Eric Richardson’s boyfriend.

I tremble and try again to grab my bags. Only this time to pull back wondering,
what if he’s on his way over here right now, what if he’s doing the same thing?
Pacing back and forth, trying to decide whether to come here or stay there…

“I can’t do this…I can’t do this…I can’t do this…” The mantra keeps playing in my head each time I step on the gas.
 

“You fucking managed to pack your car, you dragged all that shit downstairs, locked up your condo, and got in your fucking car, you can do this.”
 

Thank fuck there isn’t anyone in this car. They’d think I lost my damn mind. I have lost my fucking mind, this is stupid, he’s not going to want me there. Regardless of my inner musings and external beatings, I keep moving forward toward his house. I can’t find the strength to turn the damn car around. I have to see him, I need to see him, maybe I can just go in, chat, talk to him, see him then go back home. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I just want to see him. Need is a better word.
 

With each passing mile, stoplight and stop sign, I draw closer to his place, closer to his apartment. Closer to seeing him, touching him, kissing him. I shiver. That’s what I need.
 

By the time I’m pulling into his parking lot, the demon is winning, wanting me to turn around, telling me that I have no business being here. That I need to just go back home, but I park my car. I can see his car and that makes the demon even more excited, telling me that he doesn’t want to see me or he’d be gone. But he’s not, he’s here.
 

“Just go inside, say hi, maybe you can go to dinner with him. Just spend some time just the two of you before we get back on the road with everyone.” I swallow the rising bile. Fighting the inner panic threatening to overcome me and force me to drive back home.
 

I manage to get myself out of the car. Then I start pacing again. Jesus, you look like a fucking idiot out here. Thank god his apartment faces away from the lot.
 

Just grab your guitars and go upstairs.
 

I grab the door handle, the driver’s door.
 

Go home.

Stay.

Go.

Stay.

Go…

I meant every damn word of what I said to Calvin that afternoon. If it would abolish his demons, I would let him go. I wouldn’t hesitate to do that. I made that intention as clear as I could. Then we went to dinner with Talon, Addison, Kyle, Beck, Mills, Casey, Rusty and Tori. A team that I would learn during dinner, would be ours forever. I was totally okay with that.
 

Calvin and I fell back into our normal routine of banter and fun. It was natural for us and though I couldn’t help my sneaky glances in his direction, and I certainly couldn’t ignore the electricity that hung between us, it was easier to just be us. Dex never showed up, despite messages left and whatnot. I don’t know exactly where he is, but that’s okay. He’s Dex and he does a good job at being him, wherever he is. Addison said that she’d heard from Raine and that all was well and that she would be rejoining the tour when we take off again in a few days.
 

The night flowed; Dr. V and his demons were kept at bay. I can see now why no one had any clue what was lurking under Calvin’s surface. He never lets on that there is anything happening inside his mind and maybe, in times like this, there isn’t anything going on.
 

At some point during that dinner, I decided that both he and I needed some space. We both needed a chance to calm our nerves and get things done that were pressing before we take off again for Denver. Calvin agreed.
 

I finally got around to having dinner with Jess the night after Addison’s. She was her usual cheerful, good natured self, until I broke down about Calvin. I never gave her too many details, but it was enough that she could sort of understand what was truly happening between us. She called me out on not telling her everything and while I wanted to, I couldn’t violate Calvin’s trust like that. I just kept it between us that whatever was building up between the two of us was going to take some serious time. Time I was more than willing to give him.
 

By the time Sunday rolled around, just three days before taking off again, Calvin and I were texting each other constantly. Somewhere along the way, we started this game of cat and mouse - no pun intended - about texting, talking without actually talking to each other and as each text progressed, he and I both opened up a little bit more.
 

By Tuesday, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was missing him something awful. I needed to see him, I was desperate for it, so I decided I would surprise him. I finished packing up my shit for the road. We leave tomorrow and I want to leave from his house. I want us to go together.
 

I didn’t let him in on my plans, which was okay, I was truly hoping to surprise him.
 

“Suitcases, check. Guitars, check and check, extra equipment, double check.” I’m talking to myself as I go through the pile of stuff in my living room, making sure that I have all that I need. This leg of the trip is mercifully short in comparison, but I feel like I’m packing more shit than the first time around. “Ah, crap,” I grumble as I start to head for my bedroom.

I climb out of my car after beating on the steering wheel more than a few times. Trying to convince myself to start the car and leave, fighting with myself to stay.
 

I’m staying, I have to. I have to see him. That drive is winning out more than anything. Just to see him, talk to him, kiss him. I sigh and my lips twitch into a smile. I can completely and wholeheartedly do this. I know I can.
 

I open the back door, pulling out one guitar and then the other. The rest of my stuff is in the trunk and replaceable, guitars, not so much. I sling the first one over my back and my hands are shaking as I sling the second one over. My anxiety level is rising higher with each passing second, but each minute I spend down here acting like a goddamn fool is a minute I’m wasting not with Eric. I take a deep breath, lock up my car and put my keys in my pocket.
 

I take another deep breath, staring into the driver’s seat of my car, debating once again if this is the right choice. “Fuck it,” I tell myself and I walk away from the car headed toward the entrance of his building. I have a key to his building from looking after his apartment before the tour when he went home to see his parents, and I never got around to giving it back to him. He never asked for it and I never volunteered to return it.
 

I reach the security door and go to unlock it. My hands are shaking like crazy and it takes me three tries to get the key into the lock. Finally free of the security door, I head to the elevator. For as posh as his apartment is, the common areas are under kempt. There are mailboxes that line the hallway to the right, before the stairs that lead to the second floor, then to the main stairwell for the rest of the building. It’s eight stories tall and Eric lives on the seventh floor. I may be in shape, but taking these stairs is too much. But I debate on them anyway. Thinking that it will take longer to get to him, give me more time to work up the courage to knock on his door.
 

Instead I press the up arrow for the elevator and I’ll be dammed, it’s already here. The fates are against me this day, I muse internally as I step inside and press seven. The doors seem to take an eternity to close before the elevator begins to climb the seven floors. I watch the numbers as they climb and my panic rises with each chime of the floors until finally it beeps with its arrival on seven and the doors slide open lightning fast. “Fuck,” I groan. I could just ride back down the elevator, walk back to my car, ditch the guitars in the back and drive home. I don’t move. I stand there for what feels like an eternity until the doors start to close and I spring into action, stopping them, pushing them open, new determination coursing through my veins.
 

Necessity and desire win out over fear of what possibly lies behind the door, his door.