Unable to Resist (2 page)

I’m back in my room in Nashville. Thank God.

The moon shines vivid through my window and I turn toward the clock. Three fifteen a.m.

My clothes are drenched in sweat, and I lift my hand to wipe the salty moisture from my face, I wince in pain.

What the hell? The whole left side of my arm is bruised.

Then the dream hits me like a freight train.

The pinching.

Freaking figures.

Pulling myself back into my bed, I cover my head with a pillow and try to block out the world.

I usually sleep insanely well after a nasty nightmare, and last night was by far the nastiest one yet. Quite honestly the most confusing too, but I’m not going to think about that now. I’m still happily floating in a state of bliss.

There’s a faint ringing in my subconscious—a buzzing noise. A bee or fly, maybe? Who cares?

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Get away fly!

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The darkness is so nice.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Seriously fly? What the hell? Go bother someone else!
I swat at it.

Buzz. My swatting didn’t help.

Buzz.

“Ann, wake up,” someone gripes while shaking my shoulder.

“Mmmrrrrhummp.” What did I just say?

Someone titters.

“Woman, wake up. It’s seven! Your damn phone has been ringing for almost twenty minutes.”

Seven?! I sit straight up and smack my forehead against Liv’s.

“Ouch,” we say in unison.

I rub my head and open my eyes to see my best friend sitting on the edge of my bed, nursing her now very red forehead.

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but my bouncing shoulders give me away.

Liv narrows her eyes, lips pursed, then smiles. “Oh shut up, and get your ass out of bed. I made breakfast and you barely have enough time to get ready.”

Groaning, I lay back down, covering my head with my comforter. My brain hurts too much to think about getting my lazy ass out of bed. I need a minute to process—well—everything.

“Alright, give me a few minutes.” I muffle through my blanket.

“Okay, but I’m giving you twenty minutes, Daniels. If your ass isn’t sitting in that chair at the table, I’m going to come up here and drag you down. You hear me? Twenty minutes,” she says with, I’m sure, a very-serious face. Not that I can see her.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hand outside of the blanket. “Now get out.”

Peeking my head out of the blanket, I snicker. She must feel my stare because as soon as she gets to my door, she turns to flip me off.

And, that’s my best friend, ladies and gents.

Once the door closes and I’m safely alone, I let out a deep breath.

What the hell was that dream about last night? I seriously feel like I’m going a bit nuts. I mean—my dad talked to me last night. That’s never happened before.

“The answers are in the questions. Seriously, Pops? Could you be any more cryptic?” I repeat to myself.

“Ann,” Liv yells from downstairs, “I know you’re still in bed. Get. Up.”

Okay, fine, no more analyzing my overactive imagination.

And yes, my imagination. I’m feigning ignorance, okay?

Judge me.

Pulling the covers back, I let my legs dangle from the bed. The carpet is soft under my feet and I squeeze my toes, squishing the fibers.

Buzz.

There’s that incessant buzzing again. Although, this time I hear the ring that accompanies it, which means it’s actually a call. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s Jason, my best friend from back home.

Friends since elementary school, we met on the playground our first day. Jason, making a spectacle of himself singing at the top of his lungs, put on a show for everyone to see. I thought he was the coolest kid I’d ever met. Like some all knowing being, he picked me out of the crowd of kids and pulled me onto his makeshift stage. We performed the entire recess, singing, dancing and laughing, much to the audience’s enjoyment. Our friendship began with the love of performing, and still holds strong. He understands me in ways very few people do.

“Hi, Jase,” I say in greeting.

“Morning, gorgeous. You doing alright?”

Seriously, it’s creepy that he knows me so well. Even from across the country he knows something is wrong.

I rub my forehead.

“It’s official, you’re a psychic,” I sigh. “I had another nightmare.”

He huffs into the receiver. “I’m sorry, Ann. You want to talk about it?”

It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it with Jason, it’s just—I don’t want to admit that maybe I’m stepping into some sort of unknown I don’t really understand.

“No, I need some time to process. Thank you, though. What are you up to today?” I ask, changing the subject.

As Jason tells me more about his upcoming day, I get up and head to my walk-in closet to find my favorite jeans, a white tank top and one of my many pairs of Converse.

“And, Ann,” Jason says, “guess the fuck what?”

Pulling on my last shoe, I switch the phone to my other ear. “What?”

“I’m auditioning for the Broadway Company tomorrow.”

I shoot straight up to my feet, leaving my shoe untied and beam.

We’d acted together for years. Most of our time spent in school was either performing on stage in a production, or practicing for auditions. We perfected our craft, and the more shows we did, the stronger our friendship got.

“That’s so great, I’m jealous. You’re going to kick some serious ass.”

There are days when I wish I could go back there and live that life with Jason.

“You could be here with me, you know?” He challenges.

I can’t, though. Too many memories are in that town. That’s why I fled to Nashville.

“Maybe one day,” I deflect. “Plus, I can’t leave the shop. You know that.” I interrupt our conversation to apply mascara on my light, blue eyes.

“I know, I know. Alright, I gotta get going. I love you. Call me if you need anything. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know, I love you too. And good luck…errr, break a leg, I mean. Call me when you get out and let me know how it goes. What are you auditioning for, anyway?” I ask.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks in an excited voice, pausing for dramatic effect.

I chuckle.

“Drum roll please.” He waits.

“Seriously Jase, this better be good after all this build up.” I droan.

Then what does my manly queen do? He giggles. Damn schoolgirl. “I’m auditioning for…”

I can hear him drum on a table. Ass.

“WICKED!” He sings. Only, he doesn’t just sing it, he sings it like Oprah. Yes, Oprah.

Remember how she would have a show every year where she gave away outrageous gifts to her audience? ‘You get a car! You get a car! You get a pony! You get a pony!’ Remember it, now? Yeah, so it sounds like, ‘Wiiiiiickeddddd.’ The overabundance of vibrato makes it that much more funny.

I drop my mascara and jump up and down like a teenager. “Oh my God! Jason! Who are you auditioning for? Elphaba?” I joke.

In case you don’t know anything about the show, Elphaba is the green witch—a woman witch. Get my drift? Jason may be an all-American, woman-loving male, but the man can sing in some seriously high notes.

I hear Jason do a spit-take and laugh. “Seriously, Ann. Dammit, I just spit my mini-wheats all over my table.” He pauses, probably cleaning up his mess. “You know I wish I could audition for her. Lord knows I have the vocals for it. But, sadly I don’t have the boobs or the vagina for the role.”

I snort.

“No, I’m hoping for the witch’s father,” he says.

I can see that. He isn’t old by any means, twenty-five, like me, but with stage makeup? Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that stuff is magic. It’s amazing, and also fun.

Jason may be this manly man, but when it comes to performing, you’d never know there is a dark, mysterious man hiding underneath the façade of an actor. He’s charismatic, hilarious, always on point and can hit some pretty high notes for a man. He’s a genius on stage.

“Well, have fun. And sing for me. Bye, rock star.”

Jason laughs. “Bye, baby girl.”

After I hang up with Jason, I check the time. Shit, I only have ten minutes till Liv barrels in my room to get me.

I plug my curling iron in and pray it heats up quickly. Applying a little foundation and bronzer, I look in the mirror to assess the damage that was my night. I thankfully don’t look too bad, considering.

This whole dream situation feels backward. It’s a weird feeling.

I shrug a shoulder at my inner monologue.

Maybe I am going nutters.

I curl my long, red hair in tight curls all over my head and, once satisfied, I comb my fingers through it to bring out the wavy loose curls. Spraying a bit of hairspray, I smudge a bit of gloss on my lips and head out the door.

Music blares from the living room when I head down the stairs, and I dance into the kitchen, happy to be out of my funk.

“You look better.” Liv notices from the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Nodding my head, I plop down on a stool next to her and breathe in the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs. My favorite. It’s not the healthiest, but Liv must know about last night and this is her way of cushioning the blow. I’m thankful because frankly…I’m starving.

“I feel better,” I say. “Last night was pretty intense.”

Liv studies my face and nods. “I had a feeling something happened. I heard you scream.”

My mouth forms into a thin line. It drives me nuts that I do that—scream in my sleep. It’s embarrassing. And, sometimes I think Liv pities me, and I hate pity.

I look up from my plate and see the apprehensive expression she has plastered on her face.

Defeated, I sigh. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

She tilts her head. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but when you’re ready,” she smiles and puts her hand on my shoulder, “I’m here.”

I look away, taking a bite of bacon.

Maybe I do need to get it off my chest. Maybe getting an outsider’s opinion will help. Maybe it’ll make a bit more sense if I just say the words out loud.

Out with it, then.

“He talked to me last night.” I verbalize the words I’ve been repeating in my head all morning, and it sounds insane.

Liv puts her fork down and turns to face me, completely serious. “He talked to you? What do you mean?” She asks.

I laugh at the absurdity. Putting my elbows on the island, I shrug my shoulders. “It was the weirdest thing, Liv. It started like it always starts, but then something happened.” I reach for my glass of orange juice and take a drink, giving myself time to get the courage to say the words. “I was back in the house…in the basement.”

Liv gasps, concerned because she knows why it’s so significant.

“For some reason, I decided to go upstairs, and get this, he’s there. Just fine, drinking beer. He tells me that the ‘answers are in the questions,’” I say in a low tone, trying to sound like Dad. “I mean, what the crap does that even mean?”

Liv shrugs her shoulders. She’s always believed in that kind of stuff. Paranormal stuff. Stuff I don’t like to think about because it means he might not be at peace. That thought alone is enough to make me want to crawl into a cave. I have to believe he’s at least happy—wherever he is.

“I don’t know, Ann. But it seems like he’s trying to give you some insight to his death. Isn’t the case still open?”

Last time I heard from the detectives, they ruled it as a possible suicide, but they couldn’t prove it. So the case is just that. Open.

I rub my temples. “Yeah, it’s still open.”

She shrugs again. “Well, I would sit on it, but don’t let it overtake you. It’ll all be okay.”

See that? Right there. Those few words she just said took some of the weight off my shoulders and I can breathe again.

Liv has always had a way of calming me. She’s one of the very few people who can block out my bleak and shattered past.