Discovering Stella (23 page)

Biting the bullet, I copied the link to ‘Please Forgive
Me’
by Bryan Adams, and typed:

I’m
sorry. I want to make it right again.

Please give me another chance.

But
don’t
freak out at the mention of love.

You
can
swap that word for
‘really,
really like’ if you want ~ Lawson

I hit send, climbed
into my
truck and then stopped, realising what that message sounded like.
Fuck! I just grovelled like a fucking lovesick fool
.
Now
proverbially sweating like a pig, I
typed
another message in
order
to cover
my
arse:

Not
that I
couldn’t
one
day
love
you, because I could ~ Lawson

Jesus fucking Christ! Now I sound like a desperate psycho
. Frantically fumbling, I
typed
what I should’ve
typed
in the first place:

Clearly,
I’m
an
idiot,
an
idiot that wants another chance.

Princess,
I’m
taking
one
whether
you
give me
it or
not.

You’re
worth
it
~ Lawson.

I stared at the delivered message
on
the screen of
my
phone
and let
out
a breath before throwing the
stupid
thing
on
the seat beside me.
One
way
or another,
I’d get through to
her.

*
 
*
 
*

Arriving
home,
I discovered Stella was working late at the
pub
with
Todd.
I
didn’t
know if that was a good
or
a bad thing.

“You
sure
you
don’t
want any?” Meg asked,
as
she dished
some
ice-cream
into
a bowl.

I dismissed
her,
preoccupied with thoughts
of
Stella and
her
refusal to respond to
my
texts.
“No
thanks,
I’m
fine.”

“Suit yourself. So
...
did
you
send
her
a song?”

“Yeah,
I did. I
sent
three.”

Meg scrunched up
her
face
as
she strained to open a jar of chocolate fudge. “What did
you
send her?”

“Here,
give
it
to
me,”
I instructed, holding
out my
hand.
She
handed me the
jar,
which I opened with ease and then handed back.
“I sent
her ’
I’m
an
Asshole’, ‘Creep’
and ‘Please Forgive
Me’.”

“Wow,
little
brother,
I’m
impressed. Good
choices.”

“Yeah,
well, she
didn’t
think
so.”
I eyed off
her
bowl of vanilla choc-chip ice-cream with chocolate fudge.
Damn, that looks good. I
haven’t
had ice-cream in years.

Meg slid the bowl across the
benchtop
and winked. “Why do
you
think she
wasn’t
impressed?”

“She
never
responded.”

“Hmm
...
maybe she
hasn’t
seen them yet.
She’s
always saying that
her
phone
battery keeps
dying.”

I spooned
some
ice-cream
into my
mouth. “Nah,
she’s
seen
them.”

“How
do
you
know?”

“It
was plugged in and charging last night. I saw
it
on
her
bed
side
table when I
went into
her
room.”

Meg raised
an
eyebrow.
“Snoop.”

“I
wasn’t
snooping,”
I defensively mumbled around a really fucking cold spoonful of ice-cream, squinting
my
eyes while shaking
my
head.

Meg’s
high-pitched laughter teased
my
ears.
“You’re
having a brain freeze,
aren’t
you?”

“Yes!”
I pressed
my
temples with
my
thumb and forefinger. “Fuck!”

“Oh
my
god! I
haven’t
seen
you
pull that face since we were kids.
You
used to devour your ice-cream. And every time, Mum would
say,
‘Lawson,
slow
down
or
you’ll freeze your brain
cells’.”
Meg’s
laughter died off to a sad sigh,
but
then she regrouped and tried to lighten the mood.
“I
guess Mum was right.
You
appear to have frozen
some
of your brain cells
as
the years have passed.”

“Mum
was right about a
lot
of things,” I answered,
remember
ing the wonderful woman that was our
mother.
Missing
her
was like a punishment with no end.
No
matter whether I held tight to the memories of
her,
or
tried to push them
away,
the results were identical — fucking painful.

The beeping sound of
my
phone
distracted me from
my
thoughts of Mum.
It
was the sound of
an
incoming message, so I pulled
it out quickly,
hoping
it
was from Stella.

“Who’s
it
from?” Meg asked, displaying a shit-eating grin.

“I
don’t
know—
It’s
from
Stella,”
I corrected myself,
her
picture appearing
on my
screen.

Meg tipped
her
spoon upside-down and rested
it
against
her
lips. “What does
it
say?” she asked, lifting
her
arse off the stool and leaning in to sneak a peek of
my
phone.

I smiled and stood
up.
“It’s
a song link.”

“What song?”

“’Breaking The
Habit’
by
Linkin
Park,”
I answered with a smile.

Meg winked and turned to
put
her
empty bowl in the sink. “Perfect.
She
wants to
move on
and
she’s
asking
for
your
help.”

Turning
so that I could go to
my
room and look up the lyrics, I stopped when Meg spoke again.

“By
the
way,
it’s
Stella’s
birthday
on
the weekend.
We
are
hav
ing a little gathering at the
pub
for
dinner.
You
might want to get
her
something
...
nice.”

Thank you for the music

How deep can a person dig their own grave? How many wrong decisions or avenues can they take before deciding to just stop taking them? How. Much. Can. Life. Suck?

Lying in bed that morning, these were the questions plaguing
my
mind. I had been miserable after yet another mammoth crying session,
my torrent
of tears the result of
Lawson’s
angry
behaviour the previous night when he’d basically labelled me a heartless
bitch
in
front
of Meg and
Todd.

But
could I blame him
for
his out-of-character outburst?
No,
I honestly
couldn’t.
After
all,
it
was me who continuously gave him false hope by surrendering to the unwavering passion between us, so
it
was only fair that he lash
out
in response. Then again, leading him
on
had never been
my intention.
In the heat of the
moment,
my
mind and body truly believed that anything was possible; that maybe he and I could be something
more.
Let’s
just say that
my
mind and body were both sexually optimistic
...
until after the act
when
doubt
crept in and caution blared crimson red, inevitably confusing the hell
out
of
not
only Lawson,
but
me
as
well.

Deep down, I
didn’t
want to feel uncertain where he was concerned. I actually hated feeling that
way.
I wanted to feel free, happy
...
and
brave.
So why
couldn’t
I allow myself to feel that? Why did I always grasp suffering?
I’m a self-saboteur, that’s why.

Getting
out
of bed, I stood up and switched
my
phone
on,
surprised to find a message from Lawson. Hesitation stalled
my
finger’s
movement
toward the tapping of his name,
as
I
wasn’t
sure I could handle any further anger he wished to hurl in
my
direction.
But
curiosity is a strange a thing; it’s gets the better of you, so I touched the screen and
bit
my
thumbnail anxiously, practically closing
my
eyes
as
I waited
for
the message to open.

I was convinced
my
latest flip-
out
had
done
nothing less
than
bring any evolving romance between Lawson and I to
an
abrupt end. So when I discovered
an
apology — a humorous
apology,
in which he’d called himself a toad — I was
more
than
delighted.

Slowly
lowering
my
body to
sit
on
the edge of the bed in
silent
wonderment,
I was surprised to find he’d attached a song link to the message.
Oh my god!
He’s
communicating through song.
Lawson had
sent
me
‘I’m
an
Asshole’ and I had to laugh at his choice of song.
But it
was the realisation that he understood me so well in such a short space
of
time that gave me a
much-needed
wake- up
call.

Roughly ten hours
later
, and now
sitting
on
a milk crate in the
pub’s
storeroom
,
I was still pondering
how
to respond to his message,
or
more
accurately, the third message that I’d just received. I was at a loss
as
to
how
I should reply; the humour he’d used in the earlier messages was
now
gone, a determined attitude replacing it.

This message and the song he chose to send along with
it
came across
loud
and clear.
How could it not?
He’d
sent
me a
love
song, a song of
apology,
but
of wanting to do anything in his power to make sure the two of us worked. Then, he’d
sent
a text straight after, advising me to replace the
word
‘love’ in the song with the words
‘really,
really
like’,
which I thought was cute. He’d obviously panicked that I’d flip-
out
at his brazenness, which surpris
ingly,
I
hadn’t.

Having a
couple
of
minutes to myself in the
storeroom,
I played the song and sang along to it. Jeez, this man was like no other and,
despite not
having known each other
for
long, he knew
how
to read me and
how
to send the perfect message. He’d also managed to dig himself under
my
skin and settle there.
Maybe I should call him ‘tick’ instead of toad?
I laughed to myself, picturing the expression
on
his face if I were to
call
him that.
It
would be priceless.

Wanting
to send a song back to him, I strained
my
brain
for
the perfect
one.

“Whatcha
doin’
back
here on
your own, lovey?” Shaz asked from
her
position
at the
door,
her
raspy
voice
startling me and
making
me drop
my
phone.
It
slid across the floor and landed at
her
feet.

She
picked
it
up and looked at the screen, then furrowed
her
brow.
“Bryan Adams? I would’ve thought
you
young ones listened to P!nk and that other chick with coloured
hair.”

Shaz walked
into
the room and sat down
on
the milk crate
opposite
me before handing
over my
phone.

“That other chick with coloured hair?” I queried,
taking
it
from
her
and smiling in
thanks.

“Yeah,
the pretty
one.
You
know?
She
was married to that English comedian
guy.
Russell
...”

“Brand?”

“Yeah,
yeah,
that’s
him. Russell
Brand.”

I smiled.
“I
take
it you
mean
Katy
Perry then?”

Shaz pulled
an
e-cig
out
of
her
pocket.
“That’s
the
one.
I like the song where she kissed a girl and liked
it.”
She
put
the
fake
cigarette to
her
mouth.
“I
did that once
...
kissed a girl. I liked
it
too.”

I cracked up laughing.
“Did
you?”

“Sure
did,”
she said with confidence, waggling
her
eyebrows
as
she blew
out
fake smoke. The vapour generated seemed to dis
sipate
quite
quickly.

“Does that thing work?” I asked
curiously,
nodding at the supposed
quit-smoking
device and deliberately changing the subject. Something
told
me Shaz
wouldn’t
be opposed to filling me in — in great detail — about
her
lesbian experience.

“Yep,
it
works until I
can
get
my
hands
on
a real
smoke.”

I shook
my
head, confused. “So
it
doesn’t
work
then?”

“No,
not
really. I need nicotine. This thing
doesn’t
have
that.”

“Have you
tried patches?” I asked, diverting
my
attention to scrolling through songs
on my phone,
all
the while continuing
to
talk
to Shaz.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They gave me a rash. What are
you
looking up?” she asked, leaning
over
and
taking
a stickybeak at
my
phone.

I waved
my
hand dismissively and
put
the
phone
in
my
pocket.
“Oh,
it’s
nothing. I was just
trying
to find a song that had a particular meaning. I want to send
it
to
someone.”

Shaz’s
eyes lit
up.
“Ooh,
what meaning?
I’m
good at this sort of stuff. I host the monthly trivia night, did
you
know that?”

I shook
my
head.
“No,
I
didn’t.
Sounds like
fun.”

“It is.” She
pretended to
blow
fake
O
rings. “So
...
who’s
the song
for
and why?”

Shaz was
an
in-your-face
open and
honest
type.
In the short time I had known
her,
I could tell there was no middle ground where she was concerned. I also felt comfortable in
her
presence and
somehow
knew she
wouldn’t
judge
or
make
fun
of me.

“It’s
for
Lawson.”

“Ahh
...
our
resident
knight and mechanic,” she said, with
an
enormous grin.

I narrowed
my
eyes just
slightly,
while biting back a smile.
“Yes,
that’s
him.”

“Easy.
I have the perfect song
for
that young
man.”
She
jumped up and held
her
hand
out
for
me, putting the age gap between us to shame with
her
agility.

“You
do?”

“Sure!” she said
confidently.
Shaz then pulled me to
my
feet and wrapped
her
arm around
my shoulder,
walking
me
out
of the room while lowering
her
raspy
voice
to sing
‘Touch
Me’
by The Doors.

I burst
into
laughter and covered
my
face.

*
 
*
 
*

As
the evening
wore
on,
Shaz kept offering song choices,
all
of them having
some
form of sexual connotation.
It
was quite funny because the local
men
sitting around the bar had no idea why she kept shouting song titles like
‘Let’s
Get
It
On’
by
Marvin
Gaye and
‘Pour
Some
Sugar On
Me’
by Def Leppard, and why I kept laughing and replying with
“No.”

Eventually,
I had come up with a song that spoke to me about wanting to stop fighting a losing battle and
trying
another way of getting past what
it
was that was holding me back and making me miserable.
It
depicted finally
taking
a step in the right
direction.
It
depicted having faith. So, without even typing a message, I
sent
the link of ‘Breaking the
Habit’
by
Linkin
Park to Lawson, this time knowing that what I was telling him was true; that I meant
it
and
wouldn’t
change
my
mind. Maybe
it
was because this time around I had music to
help
me communicate, to back me up and
clarify
what I was
trying
to
say.
I
don’t
know
but,
whatever
it
was, I was ready to
move
on
and take a chance with Lawson. I was once
again
ready to
gift
my
heart. Albeit
broken, it
was
my
heart and worth something. And if he was able to
put it
back
together,
I knew
it
was capable of loving beyond anything we’d both known.