Tracks (Rock Bottom) (20 page)

I walk over to him, and he crosses his arms and looks at the floor. I put my hand on his arm and try to get him to look at me. “Drop it,”
he says, trying to be forceful.

“Why don’t you ever seem drunk?” I say,
stunned at his basic validation of my accusation. An alcoholic? The things just keep piling up with him…

He looks up at me. “I’m not talking about it with you, ok
ay? This is why I think maybe it’s better if we just part. And you don’t even know the half of it…” he starts, his eyes cold.

I feel
the panic begin in my body. “No, no! Okay. Just promise me you’ll try and get some help?” I say, stroking his cheek.

Dylan, you coward.

He scoffs. “Okay, Dylan. I’ll get some help for my imaginary problem.” He turns and almost shakes me off of him, grabbing two cups from my cabinet and pouring coffee into both. I see scratch marks down the side of his chest, and I blush. His facial hair is very dark and full today, and I like the look on him.

He hands me a cup of coffee, and I sip it and smile gratefully, trying to calm his mood.
He sips his coffee and I see his pouty lips smile around the cup. He puts his free arm around me.

“I have to stop at the record store before I catch my plane. You want to come?” he kisses my forehea
d.

I smile.
“Of course. What do you have to do there?”

He sips his coffee. “I have to pick up a check from the own
er so I can send it to my mom.”

I look at him, confused, over my coffee cup. Jeremy sighs. “Hal’s my d
ad. You know, ‘Hal’s Records’.”

My mouth drops open
. He raises his eye brows for a minute and takes a sip from his cup.

“Oh, and
the owner is making payments?”

Jeremy nods.
“The new owner is my uncle. My mom and my uncle don’t really get along. My uncle thinks it’s her fault my dad committed suicide and stuff like that. So I pick up the checks and deposit them for my mom. It’s all really fucked up.”

“Sounds it,” I say, taking the coffee up from his hand and putting both of them in the sink.

I hear the doorbell ring before I turn back to him. I give him a confused look.

“That’s probably Rich,” Jerem
y said sadly, grabbing my hand.

I stand up straight and my heart beats like a hummingbird.
“Already? Why? When’s your plane?”

He squeezes my hand. “12:00.”

I take my phone out of my jeans pocket and look at the clock. 10:30. I sigh.

Jeremy leads me to the front door, opening it a crack to let Rich in. Rich walks in and hands him a pair of black jeans and a blood red silk shirt. He releases my hand and bends down to put on his pants. Rich pat
s me on the shoulder.

I smile at him and sigh again. Jeremy throws his shirt on as I put on my wedge sandals. After Jeremy is fully dressed, he grabs me by the hand and leads me through the door. Rich follows behind us
and shuts the door behind him. I lock the door and turn again, walking hand in hand with Jeremy down the stairs. I barely notice the reporters across the street, clicking their cameras, and the girls screaming for him. As long as they are at a comfortable distance from me, I can more or less ignore them.

Rich opens th
e back car door for Jeremy and me, and I slide in, allowing room for Jeremy to sit next to me. The three of us are very silent. Rich gets in the front seat and puts the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. Jeremy sits with his arm around me. I nestle into his body.

We stop what seems like only a short time later in the parking lot behind the record store. Jeremy kisses me quickly and opens the door. “Wait here,” he says, climbing out of the car. He runs into the back door and I see it shut. Rich and I remain in the car in silence, and then Jeremy appears again, running back into the car. He slides in and shuts the door, putting his arm around me again.

“That was fast,” I say, whispering. I like the silence in the car.

“He left the
check in the back room for me.”

I look up into Jeremy’s eyes. They are grey today, not unlike the color of his guitar. His eyes are clear and white. His hair shines in the light from the window, almost looking white, but in the shade it turns dirty blonde again. He peers down at me with a closed-mouth smile. “You’re beautiful, baby,” he whispers.

I place my hand on his chest. I look out the window, not recognizing where we are. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“To a private air field.
I have a plane waiting there,” he says quietly. I turn my attention back to him, and he leans down and kisses me. We kiss for the next few minutes, and then the car stops. I break away from him and notice a large building out of my window.

Jeremy turns and looks out of the window, and then turns his head back to me.
His face is pale. “This is me.”

Rich puts the car in park and pops the trunk. He opens the door and exits, shutting it behin
d him as he walks to the trunk.

I take a shaky breath in. “Ok
ay.”

“We’ll say goo
dbye here.”

I feel panic in my chest. A lump forms in my throat. I thought I had at least a few minutes to prepare inside the airport.
I try to compose myself.

“Good
bye,” I say, my voice cracking.

He laughs. I furrow my
eyebrows at him. “Is that all you got?” he says, amused. He smile is sparkling white.

“Aren’t you upset?” I ask, a little hurt, ev
en while blinded by his beauty.

He shakes his head. “I know I’ll see you again soon. I know you’re mine. I know Rich will keep you safe.
”

I sigh. “You really do
n’t have to leave him with me.”

He puts his finger to my lips. I shut up immediately. R
ich knocks twice on the window, a signal to hurry it up. I clutch at his shirt. I know if he leaves, I’ll probably never see him again. He’ll forget me. Why wouldn’t he?

I try to hold onto last night, and the way he protected me from the reporter. That’s the real Jeremy. That’s how much he cares for me.

He takes his arm from around me and grabs my hands. He lifts them up to his pink mouth and kisses them. “Bye, baby. I’ll call you tonight. I’m going to Cleveland first for two days. Okay?”

My breathing increases. “Okay.”

I see him turn, and time passes in slow motion. He opens the door and gets out. He turns back towards me and hesitates a moment as men come up and grab his insane amount of luggage. He shuts the door and stares at me through the window. I scoot closer, trying not to look like a complete mess. Fans start to run at him, trying to claw at him as security holds them back. How do these girls even know where he’ll be?

Rich gets back in the front seat and shuts his door. Jeremy and I don’t lose eye contact until one of the guards grabs his arm and turns him, leading him inside the building as Rich speeds away.

I didn’t realize I had begun sobbing until I hear Rich from the front seat. “Sorry, Miss Dylan.”

            
 
I wake up the next morning around 11 am. I got horrible sleep last night. When I got home, Theresa was there to greet me, and she held me most of the night as I sobbed. I actually didn’t think it would hit me this hard. I clutched my phone in my hand all night, waiting for it to ring. But it never did.

I saw footage of him getting on the plane
on the news. He looked fine. He was even smiling and waving to the fans. It hurt me so bad to see that he looks normal and I’m a mess. Then I saw a few people getting onto the plane after him: men in business suits, of course, and a few select crew members. But the real breaking point for me was noticing the blue haired girl and the weasel boy getting on the plane, only a few feet behind him on the stairway. The blue hair girl touched his back on the way into the plane.

I cried harder after that.
For hours. And he never called.

I rub
my eyes, trying to rub the memory out with it. I sit up and stretch and realize that I’m not alone in the bed. I hear a low moan and look quickly to my left, seeing Theresa stirring. She opens her brown eyes.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up.

She lifts her hand and runs her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes tightly.
“Don’t. Please. I’ll lose it.”

She drops her hand and turns, putting her feet on the floor. “I’m going to make coffee. And then I’m going to check if our classes are posted online yet!” she says excitedly, obviously trying to distract me. She
walks out of the room happily.

Robotically, I check my phone, but there are no missed calls. I try to calm the disappointment in my heart. ‘You knew this could happe
n,’ my subconscious reminds me.

I get out of bed and go into the bathroom, turning on the shower. I’m scared to look at what the crying fit last night has done to my face. I’m probably swollen and red. I peel my clothes off and climb into the
bath. I let the warm water run down my body. I think about his warm smile. How he says my name.

A few minutes later, I hear the door to the bathroom open. “Dylan?” Th
eresa says. She sounds shocked.

I open the curtain a bit and stick my head out. “Huh?” I see Theresa
holding the laptop in her hand.

“I went online to check for my first semester bill, bu
t it says it was paid already…”

“Really?
It must be a mistake or something. Hold on,” I say turning off the shower. “I’m getting out.”

I hear
Theresa leave the bathroom, and I step out onto the mat and wrap myself in a towel. I throw my wet hair up in another towel, crossing the hallway to my bedroom and going straight to my drawers. It’s a sweat pants kind of day, I can tell already.

Aft
er I’m dressed in a light blue t-shirt and gray yoga pants, I walk out into the living room. I see Theresa sitting at our dining room table, still clicking around on the screen.

“Here,” I say, pulling up a chai
r next to her. “Let me log in.”

I log out of her account and into my own.
I pull up the e-bill and stare at the account balance. My classes are listed and the price for my classes, but it also says my account balance is zero.

“See?” I say, looking at her.
“Must be a problem with the site.”

Theresa looks at the screen and then back at me. “Yea, but the bill is due in less than two weeks. Maybe we
should call someone.”

I roll my eyes at her.
I stand up from the table and grab our portable phone. I have Theresa read me the number at the top of the bill for the Bursar’s office. I give the cheerful woman who answers my call my name and student ID number.

“
Uh huh, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I wanted to k
now the balance of my account.”

“You don’t owe us anything
as of right now,” the woman says, happily.

My brows furrow. That’s impossible. The
resa raises her eyebrows at me.

“How is that possible
? I didn’t pay anything…”

“It looks like you recently changed your billing address online. To a law office h
ere in Boston?” the woman asks.

“No, I didn’t do that.”

“Well, someone from that office paid your bill, sweetie. It looks like the check was written from some sort of trust.”

My mouth hits the floor. After the woman asks me if I’m still there, I snap back to life. I give her Theresa’s name and ID number
, and put Theresa on the phone.

Theresa talks to her for a few minutes and discovers her account
has also been paid from the same office. ‘Okay,’ I think. ‘That rules out my Dad.’

I sit down at the table when Theresa hangs up the phone. We stare at each other for a minute.
Theresa is the first to speak. “There’s only one person I know who could afford this,” she says, and shoots me a huge grin. “We owed over ten thousand.”

I smile at her.

“But why? He didn’t call like he said he would. And how? Did he hack into our accounts to change the billing address? I don’t understand…” Well, I guess he could have had someone do it for him. When you have enough money, I suppose nothing is impossible.

I turn back to the computer and click around some more, trying to find the address of the law office. After searching around to no avail, I decide to try to search for high-end law firms here in Boston through a search engine. I figure if the lawyers are Jeremy’s, they will be a huge, well known firm. Theresa pulls out her cell and says she’ll search as well.

When I type in the web address to the search engine, it loads a colorful page with streaming news articles under the search bar. Immediately, I notice Jeremy’s face in a picture. He’s wearing a blue shirt and light black jacket. Initially, I’m overtaken by how beautiful he is. I smile.