Reborn (7 page)

Despite
the new rules—well, the old rules we’re going to start enforcing—Tanya, Carly
and our sisters flock to her like butterflies to a flower when the meeting is
over. I can’t blame them. Farrah just bubbles over with love, rainbows and
unicorns for everyone.

Everyone
except me.

“Don’t
you look pretty,” Farrah is telling Carly later that evening as I’m coming down
the stairs. She’s sprawled on one of the olive-colored couches with the latest
issue of Marie Claire on her lap. “Have fun tonight!”

“Thanks!”
Carly says on her way out the door.

“Where
are you off to?” Farrah’s suspicious tone brings me to a stop a few inches from
the door.

“A
concert,” I tell her, my hand poised on the doorknob.

“Another
one? Whose?”

I
finally turn to face her. “My friend Jimmy has a band.”

“Cute.
Well, have fun. And remember—two o’clock.” She taps her watch-less wrist twice.

“How
could I forget?” I mumble and shut the door firmly behind me before she can get
another word in.

Chapter 8

When
Anna and I finally get to the concert, the crowd
of students is already
thick around the stage set up on the lawn outside of the student union at
Shadesburg University, a state school sprawled in the middle of the city.
Search and Destroy is last in a line-up of four bands playing their concert to
kick off the fall semester.

We
weave our way through the crowd, trying to get as close as possible to the
stage. I see flashes of light out of the corners of my eyes as friends take
pictures of each other with their phones, and the air is filling with a sweet-scented
smoke. Above us the sun sends splashes of orange and pink across the slowly
darkening sky. A pleasant breeze grazes my skin and ruffles the skirt of my red
sundress. We decide on a spot behind a group of guys and girls all wearing the
same lime green shirt with “The Green League” stamped in white lettering on the
back. On stage a guy wearing brown corduroys, a white t-shirt and an orange
beanie is tuning his acoustic guitar. The strumming fades when the student body
president walks out onto the stage to say a few words.

“So,
what were you talking to Jasper about the other night?” Anna asks, drawing my
attention away from the speech. No one can hear it anyway because his mike
isn’t working.

“He
wanted to go someplace after the concert and talk, but I said maybe some other
ti—”

“—there
we go,” Mr. President’s voice cuts me off when the microphone kicks in. “As I
was saying, we’ve got a great concert for you tonight—”

“I
think that was a wise decision!” Anna says in my ear.

“I
need to talk to him at
some
point,” I insist.

“You
really don’t. That guy rubs me the wrong way. I think you should just let it
go.” Anna looks back at the stage, shielding her eyes from the setting sun with
her hand.

“You’re
right,” I tell her, a spasm of guilt shooting through my gut. She doesn’t know
the whole story, at least not yet, so of course she doesn’t understand.

“First
up, we have S.U.’s very own brother-sister duo Dreamscape,” the president is
saying. A few cheers go up in the crowd. He walks off as a girl sits down on
the stool in the center of the stage, reaching out to lower the microphone. Her
brother takes up his guitar again.

After
the folk sounds of Dreamscape, I suffer through another thirty minutes of Black
Orchid. They’re followed by an all-girl punk rock band called Blood Rouge. When
it’s Search and Destroy’s turn, Jimmy doesn’t make a grand entrance like he did
at The End. He takes the stage with the rest of the band as they open with a
familiar song. His band mates are in jeans and t-shirts except for the
keyboardist, whose black sequined vest flashes underneath the stage lights.
Jimmy slinks, barefoot, back and forth across the stage as he bellows into the
microphone, writhing and twisting to a hollering and screaming audience. Their
set is energetic and boisterous, although it doesn’t sweep me up as much as
last time. By the time they start their last song Jimmy’s face and chest
glisten with sweat. He wipes his hair off his forehead and smiles as the
audience continues to cheer and whistle.

“Thanks,
you guys have been great tonight!” he shouts. “We’ve got one more song to do
before we go. One my buddy Peter back here wrote—” He cocks his head back at
the keyboardist. “—I know he’s hard to miss,” he adds, and everyone laughs,
including Peter. “It’s called ‘Pain.’”

“
You
know how to hurt me,

You
reach inside me, grab my heart

Squeeze,
squeeze…

I
watch my blood run through your fingers…
”

He
chants these vivid, angst-ridden lyrics over a sinister, muffled drum beat and
clashing piano chords. At one point he crouches down to pick something up at
the edge of the stage—an empty, amber-colored beer bottle. He breaks it on the
floor and flourishes one of the jagged pieces in the air.

“
Someone,
stop this pain,

Stop,
stop, stop my pain
—”
he howls, drawing the shard of glass across his chest. A red line trails along
behind it.

I
gag into my hands, and I have to look away. This is why I’ll never be able to
go to medical school. Anna grimaces and, although I can’t exactly hear her, I
think she’s saying something like, “What the
hell
is he doing?”

Around
us the crowd is thunderous with admiration. I reluctantly look back at the
stage. Not even wincing, Jimmy digs it into his skin a second time until
there’s a bloody “X” on his chest.

“
My
blood runs cold
,” Jimmy concludes with a loud whisper into the microphone.
As an over-the-top drum solo ends the song, everyone around us is clapping and
screaming.

“I
can’t believe he did that!” I clutch my own chest protectively with my hand.
Anna is already striding through the dissolving crowd, her head bent down over
her cell phone.

“He’s
such an idiot!” When she looks up at me, I can tell she’s holding back tears.
“Come on, we have to find them. He’s going to have to go to the hospital.” I
nod solemnly, and once the crowd thins out we finally reach the stage. Although
I recognize some of the members from the other bands packing up backstage,
Jimmy and Search and Destroy are nowhere to be found. Anna’s phone buzzes in
her hand.

“It’s
Peter.” Her lips move slightly as she reads the text to herself, her brow
furrowed in concentration and confusion. “They left in a hurry to get to some
party. Apparently Jim’s ‘fine.’” She rolls her eyes. “Look, Peter gave me the
address—I’m going to head over there.”

“I
want to come with you. If that’s okay.”

“Of
course it is. Thanks.”

“Has
he ever done this before?” I ask her once we’re racing down Jefferson Boulevard
in her yellow truck.

“Never
at any of his shows I’ve seen.” Anna puts on her turn signal and waits for a
bus to pass us before switching lanes so she can turn left. “They’ve joked
around before about him cutting himself on stage, but I didn’t take it
seriously. I guess I should have.”

We
get off the highway and make a few more turns that take us to a side street in
a suburb I don’t know the name of. Anna parks and immediately jumps out of the
car, slamming the door and stalking up to a pale gray house across the street.
Music thumps from inside, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. As we
approach, a tall lanky guy comes out onto the porch.

“Banana-fana
fo-fanna,” I hear him singing once we’re within earshot. I wouldn’t have
recognized Peter right away if it weren’t for his sequined vest. “Fee-Fi-mo
manna, Anna!” He engulfs her in a sideways hug, but she shrugs away from him.

“Cut
it out, Peter. Where’s Jimmy?” She shoves him out of the way so she can get to
the door.

“Relax,
love. I told you, he’s fine! Trust me!” Instead of going after her, he spins
around and sticks out his hand to me. “Hello, I’m Peter.” With his ruffled
blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes and infectious grin, he’s cute in a boyish,
mischievous way, but the British accent gives him a sexy edge.

“Siobhan,”
I tell him. He puts his hand on my back and ushers me inside the house. The
living room bursts with people dancing and reeks of alcohol, cigarettes and
sweat. Anna hasn’t made it very far and looks helplessly around the crowded
downstairs.

“Seriously,
don’t bother him, Anna!” Peter insists. He puts his arm about her shoulders
again, and this time she sinks into him, defeated. “You need a drink. Siobhan,
come meet the rest of the band!”

We
take refuge in the kitchen, and Peter mixes Anna a gin and tonic. The other
members of Search and Destroy, except for their lead singer, are playing cards
at the kitchen table.

“Everyone,
this is Siobhan,” Peter says, pushing me in front of him. “Siobhan, everyone.”

“Hi,
it’s nice to meet you all.” I flash them a bright smile, which is met by three
deadpan stares and snarling lips, as though they’re wondering why Peter let the
perky blonde in.

“I’ll
look around for Jimmy,” I say, turning back to Anna and Peter. “Just stay here
and relax. I’m sure everything’s fine.” I look at Peter, and he silently points
at the ceiling. I nod briefly to let him know I understand.

“Thanks,”
Anna mumbles before taking another sip of her drink.

I
have to sidestep around limb-locked couples as I climb the stairs. When I reach
the top, I hear gentle guitar chords drifting from the bedroom to my right. The
door is wide open, and Jimmy’s alone inside, sunk into a black bean bag chair.
He stops playing when he sees me and waves me inside.

“How’s
it going?” I ask casually, closing the door a little more than halfway behind
me. He’s wearing a black t-shirt now. He sits up and readjusts himself, poised
to resume playing.

“Look,
Jim—” I start, but he holds up a hand to silence me.

“Wait.
Listen,” he says and starts playing again before I can interrupt. I grudgingly
sit down on the floor across from him. His voice, still slightly raw from the
concert, wavers above the soft guitar melody. The lyrics speak of unforgettable
memories and bittersweet reunions. They coax a smile onto my face and a blush
onto my cheeks.

“What
is that?” I wonder.

He
stops playing and lays the guitar flat on the floor beside him. “Roxy Music’s
‘2HB.’ You’ve never heard of it,” he guesses, and I give an apologetic shrug.
“Did you enjoy the show tonight? I’m glad you could make it.”

“You
guys were great. By the way, Anna’s looking for you. Maybe we should go
downstairs and show her you’re alive,” I suggest, uncrossing my legs and
hopping up from the floor.

Jimmy
gives an exaggerated sigh as he gets up. “She’s worried about me? God, I’m
fine. I’m a big boy.”

“Of
course she’s worried—she’s your sister. She should be,” I blurt in frustration.
“You
cut
yourself on stage. And it’s not just Anna who’s worried.”

“Oh,
so
you’re
worried too, now?” he says doubtfully. “You never gave a damn
before. What changed?” He tries to say it jokingly, but he ends up just
sounding petty and mean. For a moment, I just stand there, gaping at him. He
shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze.

“Please
come downstairs and show Anna that you really are okay,” I finally say and turn
on my heel to leave.

“Siobhan,
wait. I’m sorry!” I feel his hand on my upper arm as he tries to get me to
stop.

“You
should be,” I shoot back. “I didn’t come up here expecting to get yelled at for
trying to help.”

“I
am
sorry! It’s just…I’m not really sure how to act around you,” he
admits. “I mean, most of me is really excited that you’re here, and that maybe
we can be friends again. But then all of these memories come flooding back
and…” he trails off, gesturing like he’s going to catch what he wants to say in
the air.

“Yeah.
I know,” I agree, finally turning fully to face him again and meeting his
intense, hazel gaze. “In one way, it feels like ages ago, but in another, like
it was only yesterday.”

“Part
of me wants to get some closure. Tell you off,” he continues, almost as if I
haven’t said anything. “But then I just…I just wanna…” He takes a few more
steps toward me and holds my gaze steady.

I
swear I’m not usually like this. Max was my first, and for a long time it’s
just been him. My point is, is that I don’t usually hook up with more than one
guy in a week.

I
don’t know who initiates it. All I know is that a moment later, our lips and
bodies are intertwined. I run my fingers through his dark brown hair, and I can
feel his hands sliding down my waist to my hips. With ease he swings me around
and guides me to the bureau without breaking our feverish kisses. He sets me on
top of it, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He grinds the bulge in his
pants against me, and my hips thrust to meet his rhythm as he continues the
glorious motion over and over again.

Déjà
vu. My body is getting out of control, my wings rippling underneath my back.
But I let him take off my sweater anyway and slide one of my dress straps over
my shoulder as he kisses down my neck and across my collarbone. He lifts his
arms up, and I yank his t-shirt over his head.

I
remember as I trail my eager fingers up and down his naked chest. My eyes open,
and I reluctantly pull my lips away from his so that I can look at him. I see
his taut muscles, a smattering of dark brown chest hair, but his skin is
unscathed.

“It’s
completely healed,” I murmur as I trace the area where he slashed the bloody
“X” into his skin. “That’s impossible.” He’s unflinching underneath my
searching fingers and is breathing heavily. I look up into his eyes, still
simmering with desire. “Jimmy?”