The Fire Walker (18 page)

I let my hand trail up his leg and my fingers curled into his shirt, brushing against the bare skin of his hip. My body was shifting itself forward, drawn to him like a magnet, desperate for something. Anything. Finally drawing on some confidence, I looked up and almost gasped when I saw how close we were. His eyes were taking me in, lingering on my lips. I was too afraid to move, too afraid that any sudden movements would scare him away like a wild animal.

Our noses brushed together, his breath tickling against my skin. He smelt like beer, blood and antiseptic mixed with the spicy cologne he usually wore. The cologne that would always remind me of him.

Kiss me
, I urged silently,
kiss me
.

Taking a chance, I brushed my lips against his, my whole body prickling with anticipation. At the last second, I felt him tense.

"Don't," he whispered and I jerked back, breaking contact.

God, he just woke this thing inside of me that couldn't be sated. I wanted to latch on and never let go. I wanted to feel his lips on mine again. I understood how he'd felt now and it made what I did all the more painful. He didn't want me anymore. I'd royally screwed it up.
Forever
.

"Dee?" I whispered, looking at my hands because I was too much of a coward to look him in the eye. Fingers took the wipe from my hand and tossed it in the plastic bag from earlier. When the silence stretched on and he didn't reply, I just said what was on my mind. "I am sorry, you know. For everything."

The only sound that broke the silence was the thrumming of my heart in my ears. Surely he could hear it? I didn't know what else I could do to show him. What else I could say.

When he got up and closed himself in the bathroom, I let the tears I'd been holding in fall.

I woke to a hand on my shoulder.

As soon as I shifted in the chair, I knew my back was stuffed. My head ached, but that was from the multiple punches I'd copped the night before.

"You should have slept in the bed," Jessie said thinly. "I wouldn't have minded."

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, and rubbed some feeling back into my neck. Last night she'd taken care of me and cleaned my wounds like a fucking sexy nurse. It would’ve been so easy to lean over and kiss her, to loose myself again, but I couldn't. I just couldn't find it in myself to let it go.

Seeing that guy trying to pressure himself on her, that had broken something inside me I never thought lived in there. Jealousy.

"I was..." I began, but didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Was what?"

"Too fast in saying all that stuff to you before."

"Oh." She edged away slightly, her eyes downcast. I knew what she wanted, but me? I still wasn't sure.

"It was probably for the best that you ditched me." I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"Dee…"

"I'm sorry you came all this way."

"Shut up," she hissed.

"It's the truth." As the words fell from my lips, I wasn't so sure that that statement was as truthful as I wanted it to be.

"Are you trying to punish me?"

My head dropped into my hands and my fingernails bit into the skin of my scalp.

"How long is this going to go on, Dee?" Her voice was clipped. She was majorly pissed off with me.

I got up and started to shove my stuff in my bag, just scooping my clothes from the night before and screwing them up in balls. Anything to get gone from this place.

"What are you doing?" Jessie asked. She hadn't moved from where she stood by the chair, arms wrapped around her.

"We're going," I said.

"Then let me drive."

"No. I'm fine. My head doesn't hurt anymore." Total lie.

"If you don't want me to drive, then at least stay here another night. You'll wear yourself out."

I should have felt at least a little warm that she was worried about me, but I just wanted this whole thing to be over. It was too complicated and confusing for a simple guy like me.

"Dee, you were punched in the head repeatedly, kicked in the stomach and you slept in a chair all night. If you're not going to let me drive, then we're not going anywhere."

I grabbed the keys off the table and walked towards the door. "Fine. Then you can stay, I'm going." I opened the door, but her hand was there, slamming it closed again.

"You're such a stubborn asshole," she hissed.

I let my head bash against the back of the door and dropped my bag.

"Have a shower. I'll go get some breakfast for us. Okay?" She pulled me back from the door and I didn't have it in me to argue anymore. She pushed past me and went outside, giving me a pointed look as she closed the door. Damn it. Of course she knew I wouldn't leave without her, so that meant I was stuck here until she got back.

With a groan, I pulled my bag along the floor and back into the main part of the room. I didn't want a shower, but I knew it'd help my aching muscles better than sitting in a car for six hours straight.

Pulling everything out my bag, my hands connected with my notebook that had been buried and forgotten at the bottom for the past two weeks. It was full of words and scribbles, torn and dog-eared pages. Full of songs and lyrics and pieces of my soul. Pulling it out, I ran my fingers along the cover. I'd given Zoe one back when we'd started the band as a way to help her air her feelings a little. She'd been so closed back then, living in a world of denial, that I thought it would do her some kind of good.

Lying back on the bed, I flipped through the pages, reading bits and pieces of songs that I'd started, ones that I'd finished and chord progressions I'd been working on. They were all pre-Jessie Dee. Full of carefree longing and hope. I'd wanted to fall in love so badly before. I'd wanted a connection with someone like I needed air to breathe. The last two weeks had only shown me that that dream was foolish.

Resting the notebook on my chest, I closed my tired eyes, listening to the sounds of the motel. A slamming door, the sound of a television, the shower running in the next room and it wasn't long before I fell asleep.

I didn't know how long I'd been comatose, but when my eyes cracked open, it was still light out. Or that might have been the security light outside. It was hard to tell.

Jessie was sitting in the armchair, reading a magazine, a brown paper bag of food on the table beside her. She must have felt my eyes on her, because she looked up and gave me a small smile.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"What time is it?" I groaned, rolling over.

"Six thirty."

"Sorry." I don't know what good it did, sleeping all day and night, but I felt weird having slept in my clothes.

"Don't worry about it. You needed to rest."

"The food…"

"When I said I was getting breakfast, it was really lunch," she shrugged. "Just sandwiches, so yours is still good if you want it."

I sat up, resting my back against the headboard and Jessie sat next to me, taking out a sandwich from the bag. We sat together like that for a while, our legs outstretched on the mattress while I ate, another awkward silence hanging in the air between us.

When I was done, she didn't move, picking up her magazine and flipping through the pages. Looked like some kind of hipster fashion thing. I grabbed my notebook again and ignored her, opening up to a new page. Working on some of the shit that was stuck in my head seemed better than just sitting there in silence.

"What are you writing?" she asked after a while of nothing but pen scratches on paper. Her curiosity obviously got the better of her and I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad one where she was concerned.

"I'm trying to write some lyrics."

"Can I see?" Her voice was so hopeful, I shrugged and let her lean over my shoulder. It wasn't exactly ground breaking, soul bearing stuff I was writing.

"This is great," she exclaimed after a minute.

"It's a load of shit."

"Better than I could do."

I watched her out the corner of my eye as she scanned the page again, trying to decipher my messy handwriting.

"It's i before e." She pointed to the word
pieces
that I'd misspelt. "And you need a comma there."

"Who the motherfucking hell cares where I put the letter I," I cursed. "If it's a good story, then who the fuck cares."

"Just offering some advice."

"It's the imperfections that make things better. People aren't perfect. I can't spell for shit? Who the fuck cares?"

She shifted next to me and said, "I could say something about that."

Cue blood boiling. The expression on my face must have been enough, because she promptly dropped it.

Flinging the notebook back into my open bag, I slid off the bed and declared, "I'm having a shower."

I was falling in love with Dee Cosgrove.

It was the little things that got to me. The way he wrote in his notebook. The way he got annoyed when I picked on his spelling. The way he'd tried to protect me from those guys at that bar. The way he'd looked at me that first day at the recording studio. Every time he'd do something little, like chew on the end of his pen or not bother tying up the laces on his boots… it made my heart swell.

Then it was the way he talked about music. Like it filled his soul and made his heart beat. Like it was as important as oxygen for his survival. I don't think he knew how passionate he was. He was a good guy, kindhearted and funny and every hurt he took on the chin. Until I'd walked out on him.

Behind closed doors, he could be this brooding, dominant man, who just took control without warning and it turned me on. Just thinking about it made me wet. We'd seemed to have this recurring thing about grinding against walls that got me every single time.

Dee wasn't a bad guy. He didn't have a bad bone in his entire body. He was just hurting and by the way he was reacting to it, he’d probably never had his heart broken before. I was his scar, his wound.
Me
.

Last night, when we'd almost kissed, I'd thought about busting into that bathroom and talking to him. The way I saw it, I only had two options. I could just throw myself at him and force him to face me, or I could just give him the god’s honest truth.

I was going to tell him everything and when I said everything, I meant every dirty little detail. When I first moved to New York it wasn't good. I probably should say, I ran away to New York without the support of any friends or family. I just upped and left and never looked back. I should’ve looked back because when you have to live on the street, desperation claws its way to the surface. Desperation was the thing that had gotten me in a whole heap of trouble. I'd ended up broken and terrified and with no one to help me through the aftermath.

Deep down, I knew that was the reason I'd run out on Dee, not the whole professionalism angle I'd been trying to convince myself with. That was only an excuse. I thought I'd moved on and grown and dealt with it all, but obviously I was lying to myself.