Tracks (Rock Bottom) (24 page)

I laugh
, but I still feel a pang of guilt whenever he talks about Scott. “Oh, stop.”

I walk over to the piano and le
an on the glossy, black top. Jeremy looks down at his fingers. The music slows and he begins to play a soft, sweet classical tune.

With his eyes closed
again, he begins to rock slowly to the music. I watch his fingers flow over the keys, amazed. They move gracefully, almost dancing to the waltz he plays. His right leg tenses and relaxes as he presses his foot on the pedals beneath him. His chest muscles harden and soften through his shirt as he pounds the keys.

I don’t reco
gnize the piece. “Who is this?”

Jeremy opens his eyes. They are a pale blue. He
looks up at me, almost bashfully. “Me.”

My mouth drops open.
“You?”

Jeremy nods slightly, the light moving through his hair.
“I wrote it when I was three. I performed it at five for the Queen. This room reminds me of it.” He continues to play the intricate symphony.

I’m feeling extremely stupid and
inconsequential. I shake my head. “What?” Jeremy asks me, finishing his song with a last, minor tone.

“You’re
just amazing.” And brilliant. And beautiful. And kind. And completely too good for me.

He stands from the bench and walks around the piano to
wards me. He reaches out grabs my hand, softly rubbing the back of my palm with his thumb. “Can I show you the bedroom?”

I smile
timidly at him. The light from the windows hits his face, accenting his beautiful skin and glowing eyes. It’s quiet except for the loud beating of my heart in my ears. Immersed in my ogling, I forget to answer.

He laughs under his breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He picks me
up into his arms and I giggle.

He walks me into a
massive bedroom, also with a beautiful crystal and gold chandelier hanging in the middle. I briefly notice a writing desk to the left side of me. The far wall has a fireplace with two ornate blue chairs in front of it, a coffee table in between them. Jeremy throws me down on the huge King-sized bed on the right of the room. I grab onto the white, flowered printed sheets to steady myself.

He throws off his white shirt and stands in front of the bed. Slowly, he leans over me and undoes the button of my shorts. He pulls them down over my legs
, taking my underwear with them. He pulls my wedges off my feet as the shorts reach my ankles and throws everything onto the floor. I peel my shirt and bra off from over my head as he undresses me and lie completely naked in front of him.

Jeremy
kneels on the bed in front of me and between my legs, naked except for his black pants. He leans over me and my body tenses. But instead of touching me, he reaches for a beer can already placed on the nightstand beside the bed. He straightens back up again, and I look at him like he’s just lost his mind.

He laughs as he pulls the can away. “I’ve come up with an idea that will allow me to drink around you without getting
you upset.”

“Oh?” I say, breathlessly.
I doubt it.

He extends his arm out over my chest and tilts the beer can slightly over
me. The cold beer hits the skin between my breasts and rolls down along my body. I don’t expect the liquid to be so cold, and I gasp in shock. He leans over me and runs his tongue along the liquid. I moan.

He pours more cold liquid
on my lower body. It falls over my lower abdomen and drips down between my legs. Jeremy slowly trails his tongue down, following the beer until he reaches my groin and continues.

‘Ok,’
I admit to myself, tensing. ‘This
is
acceptable drinking.’

            
 
I begin to wake up sometime later-feeling groggy and still tired from the latest Jeremy whole body experience-and roll over to stroke his perfect skin. I can tell by the light hitting my face through the windows that the sun is low in the sky, indicating it’s probably late in the afternoon. I feel around with my eyes closed for his warm body, but after searching and not finding him, I open my eyes to discover he’s not in the bed.

I sit up and look around the room but don’t see him.
I look at the floor, noticing his pants are no longer thrown beside the bed. I pull on my shorts and shirt and walk barefoot out to the sitting area.

After entering the
silent room, my eyes shoot around, looking for him. It takes me a moment, but I eventually find Jeremy sitting at the black piano, his head on the keys. He looks almost as if he’d fallen asleep there, but from the way his hands are dangling from his side and the way his face is placed on the keys- I know it’s too much of an uncomfortable position for anyone to sleep. Panic hits me immediately, and I run over to him. When I reach him, I’m slightly relieved to see him breathing. It’s slow and too shallow, but still breathing all the same. I shake him. He doesn’t immediately respond, so I shake harder. “Jeremy?!” I yell, my voice trembling with alarm. His head lolls to the side and makes the piano play lightly.

“
Mmmmm?” he mumbles. He doesn’t open his eyes.

I back away from him.
I’m shocked at the sight of him. His face is a gray color, his lips chapped and dry. His beautiful features appear almost a bit swollen.

Realization of what must be going on comes over me. Still in a daze, I
turn towards the kitchen and walk slowly into it. I see a trash can sitting on the cold tile and peer over the side to look at the contents, seeing it almost full with empty beer cans and a few empty bottles of other spirits. He had only arrived yesterday, a little over 24 hours ago.

I stand in the kitchen for a moment, absorbing this.
All hope of him not having a problem is now officially abolished. What do I do now? I have no idea how to handle this. Should I call someone? Somehow I fear that would cause a media frenzy. Is it normal for him to pass out like this? What if he stops breathing? How would I know what to do?

I have a flashback to my mother, lying cold on the kitchen floor.
Feeling helpless, useless, and unable to help her.

I cross my arms over m
y chest, trying to stop the panic from consuming me. I’m terrified, and my heavy breathing is a sign I’m going into a panic attack.

Before I have the chance to fully lose it,
I hear loud and uneven footsteps coming towards me, and I turn to the doorway in time to see Jeremy. He slams his body hard against the doorway to the kitchen, steadying himself.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes. I don’
t answer him, but seeing him up and talking calms my breathing instantly.

He opens his eyes and looks at me. They are bloodshot and glassy. I don’t know this person. My eyes well up with tear
s against my permission.

“Dylan,” he says, stretching out a limp hand towards my face. I see the heat rash on his arm and the snake tattoo up by his shoulder.
I let him touch my face softly.

Suddenly, his body tilts backwards and he almost falls, barely regaining his footing and lea
ning back against the doorway. When I gasp and reach out to him, he laughs.

“What in the name of God is fu
nny about that?” I say, curtly.

His smile fades. “J
ust relax, will you?” he slurs.

My eyes well up again. “You are dis
gustingly intoxicated.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do.
You act like I’m…like I’m…the only musician…or
person
for that matter…who drinks.” He wobbles back and forth.

I will my tears to not spill over my cheeks.
I won’t blubber like a teenager. I’ll fight like a woman. “This isn’t normal. And I don’t care what other musicians are like. You have a problem.”

“I have LOTS of problems,” he says, waving his hand across his face. He stumbles away from the doorway
for a moment, catching himself again and leaning back on it.

I sigh angrily while I
walk over and grab him around the waist. He leans on me, and I feel his erection grow on my hip. “Mmmm, that’s more like it,” he says, kissing my ear as we exit the kitchen.

I jerk my head away, “You ca
n just forget that.”

We walk slowly to the bedroom and I help him onto the bed.
He lies down, moaning and stretching. I sit next to him, pulling the covers up and over him. His head lies on its side facing the opposite wall. I can see his eyes change slowly, from his unfocused, faraway look to disgust. I reach out and stroke his cheek, calming him.

He turns his head towards me
, and I put my hand in my lap. His eyes are wide, filled with self-hatred and repulsion. “Dylan, I’m sorry I upset you,” he smears.

I c
lose my eyes, stroking his cheek again. I open my eyes and try to sound sincere. “It’s ok.”

He closes hi
s eyes angrily. “I can’t stop.”

My breath catches. “Jeremy, let’s not talk about this now.” I
don’t know how to handle this…

He opens his eyes and grabs my hand on his face. “
Okay. Just please don’t leave me.”

I sigh. “I’m not going to leave yo
u, Jeremy. But you need help.”

He nods. Looking up at me
, he quietly says, “I love you, Dylan.”

I stop breathing. My mouth drops open and my mind goes blank. That came way out of left field. Of all the times he could have chosen to tell me, why do it now? When I
’m mad and afraid and confused?

I feel anger form in my stomach, a slight burning. He stole this beautiful moment from me.
Alcohol
stole this moment from me.

He looks at me in anticipation. I finally speak, maybe a little more harshly than intended. “Let’s
definitely
not talk about
that
right now.”

He removes his hand from mine, and I stand. I throw my shoes on and walk towards the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. When y
ou regain your senses,” I spit.

Outside of the sitting room in the foyer, I spot my luggage. I silently praise God that I have a clean pair of clothes and roll one of my suitcases to the bathroom. I
decide maybe I should just hit up the pool for lack of anywhere else to go, so I throw on my light pink bikini and grab a beach towel, some sunglasses, and some sunblock. I grab my wallet from the suitcase and, leaving the luggage open on the bathroom floor, walk out of the hotel room and towards the elevator.

When I reach the large, rectangular pool it’s extremely crowded
, even though it’s almost evening. I pull my sunglasses down and look around for a place to sit. I find an empty blue lounge chair under a brown cabana and walk towards it. I throw my towel over the chair and lay on it, kicking my wedges off. I lay for a couple of minutes in the sun and spray sunblock on myself. I’m not much of a sunbather and am bored in minutes, so I dig around in my oversized wallet and pull out my phone.

I have two text messages, one from Theresa and one from Scott, asking me how my flight was. I decide to call Theresa instead of texting her. Of course, she was at Sean’s house, getting ready to do her shift at the bookstore. Sean had just gotten a great grade on an important exam, and they were going out later to celebrate. I l
ied and told her things were going well and that both Jeremy and I were at the pool. I know she suspects something is wrong, but she doesn’t press me about it. I’m scared I’ll start to cry if I talk about it, and I’d rather continue being mad instead of sad. Mad is easier to handle.

I text Scott back that the flight went well.
For some reason, I don’t feel like it’s appropriate to call him on a trip to see my boyfriend. I know we’re just friends, but sometimes that boundary line is shaky. Even though I’m mad and hurt, I don’t want to disrespect Jeremy like that.

I get a t
ext back immediately from Scott

Scott: Glad to hear you’re safe. How’s the warm weather?

I smile quickly. I remember how desperate he is to get back to somewhere warm. Being warm is a novelty when you live somewhere that’s always freezing. I’m not really in the mood to exchange pleasantries.

Me: Fine.

My phone dings again immediately.

Scott: You ok?

Me
: Sure.

Scott: What’s wrong?

Me: Nothing.

Scott: Did I do something?

Me: No, Scott. It’s fine.

Scott:
You’re not fighting, are you?

How is it he can pick up that something is wrong so easily? Why am I so connected to him? I roll my eyes, annoyed. Am I that obvious? I guess I’m not being my usual chatty self with him, so that probably isn’t helping.