Authors: Elizabeth Nelson
I hugged my phone to my chest, heart pounding with excitement and the thrill of our clandestine meeting. I walked around my room, replaying the conversation in my head. I’d been way more assertive than I’d ever known myself to be. As soon as I’d seen that newspaper article, as soon as the slightest doubt had peeked through my consciousness, I’d known I’d have to see him again. The pull toward him was too strong to ignore and I didn’t think I would be able to look at any more photos of him living his life without feeling satisfied that I’d at least tried.
I wanted to take it super slowly, I didn’t want him to hurt me, but all I thought about were the words he’d said to me that night under the streetlamps and the stars. He’d said I was different, and I believed he meant it, now I needed him to prove it.
What I’d just done was basically agree to betray my friend, this would all have to be done behind her back—that part of it didn’t feel good. But for now, I had to push it into a box at the very back of my mind. I’d deal with that when I had a clearer idea of what I was doing, what I was getting in to. For this instant, I had no idea.
Becky was obviously running late at the office and I was grateful for the extra time to myself. Daydreaming about the coming Thursday, I paced around my room as I imagined Nate with me, the butterflies inside on overdrive, while I thought about what might happen, what I was on the cusp of embarking on.
My ex had wanted me to live as conventionally as possible, on the surface of it. He had wanted us to project the image of a perfect couple with the perfect life. We both went to work Monday to Friday, I did the cooking and the cleaning, he put up shelves and fixed squeaky doors in our small apartment. Peter had been after a 1950s existence, and he’d had a 1950s attitude to match. I’d felt more and more suffocated by him as time had gone by—his need for perfection, then subsequently my need to reach his expectations, my need to feel good enough for him. My wings had been clipped down more each day and it was only recently that they’d started to grow back. I could feel myself breaking free from the memory of the chains he’d tied me in. But at what cost? At the cost of my one true friendship? The cost of my nearly restored heart?
I was acting impulsively, allowing my feelings to completely rule my decisions as well as my actions. Despite the potential for this all to go horribly wrong, the risk of it all, the sheer selfishness of it came with a tingle of joy that reminded me of being a teenager again.
I was jolted out of my rumination by the door slamming and Becky shouting out to me. The tangled daisies imprinted on my bedcovers had been smoothed down to within an inch of their life as I’d got lost in my thoughts.
“Hey. Good day at the office?” I asked her. There was no waver in my voice, no slamming of guilt. I wanted to indulge in this secret so badly; I’d finally pushed myself into being someone who deceives smoothly. I didn’t want to think about that too deeply.
Becky opened one of our glass-fronted cupboards and reached for a glass. She ran the tap to pour herself some water and leaned onto the breakfast bar. “It was okay. I’m looking forward to chilling out with you tonight though.” She stood upright again. “It’s actually nice to have a night away from Jason. I’m gonna take my make-up off, wear my scruffiest and most comfy sweats and totally slob out. It’s tiring being in a new relationship.”
I laughed, understanding completely what she meant. “Yep, it’s hard work. But you must know each other well enough by now? Or are you still sneaking out of bed before he wakes up to fix your face?”
“Good God no, I can’t be bothered with that, but I don’t think we’re at the stage where I can reveal the side of me that will surround myself in junk food and not move from the couch for eight hours.” She sniggered. “That, my friend, is what you have the sole delight of witnessing.” She moved around the kitchen toward the hallway, unbuttoning her suit jacket as she walked. “I’m going to make myself more comfortable. Do you wanna order a pizza?”
“On it,” I called after her. I opened the kitchen drawer where we kept our take out menus and rummaged for the right one. Over on the kitchen table my cell vibrated loudly, the buzz echoing against the wood. I swooped on it excitedly.
Can’t wait to see you,
the message read. I grinned inanely at the screen.
“What do you look so happy about?” Becky asked as she breezed back through to the lounge. I nearly dropped my phone in shock.
“Oh. Nothing. Nothing, just a stupid joke from Rachel at work,” I stuttered, unprepared for the cover up. I wanted to reply before he went on stage. I wanted to read the message again—it was the first time he’d given me any hint of real interest since we’d said goodbye that night, but I couldn’t do it so blatantly in front of Becks. I turned the vibration off and set the cell face down back on the table, trying very hard to make sure everything I did was as I normally would.
Becky sprawled along the couch, her long, slender legs stretched out while she stabbed the remote control at the TV. I picked up the folded paper menu from the kitchen.
“Usual?” I asked her.
She considered a moment. “You know what? I want something different. What about the Mexican spiced one?”
I scanned the menu. Normally, we’d order a pepperoni with garlic bread sticks—always. On this occasion, I had to agree with my friend—I was in the mood to try something different too, it was becoming my philosophy these days.
Becky and I happily debated movie choices while we waited for our food, eventually deciding on a dark thriller, I’d let her have the final say. As she got up to collect the delivery, I couldn’t resist any longer and swiped my phone from the table, checking it quickly.
There were no more messages; I was dying to send a reply to Nate but instead clicked to send the screen dark as she approached, balancing a tower of cardboard boxes. I tucked the cell under one of the cushions I was sitting on and made a space for the food to be spread out on the long coffee table in front of the couch.
The movie was ridiculously bad and we giggled our way through it as we ate, our conversation no more intense than the odd comment on the poor acting and the hotness of the male lead. If it hadn’t been for the burning itch to use my cell the whole time, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with my best friend—it almost felt like the old days.
“So what’s up with you?” Becky asked me once the credits started to roll. “You’ve been checking your cell like—” She trailed off, realization transforming her face into one of pleased shock. “Have you met a boy, Anna?”
My first emotion was fear. I thought I’d been so careful, checking my phone covertly. Clearly not. The next was mild panic. I had no idea what to tell her. If I had a group of friends or a normal social life like any other person, I could have had a casual reply at the ready. Becky however, was fully aware of my pathetic non-life. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m tracking something I ordered online,” I blurted out of nowhere. My mouth had acted completely independently of my brain and I was slightly taken aback.
“Ooo, what’d you order? Anything good?”
Oh fabulous. Well done, mouth. Now what?
“It’s for your birthday so keep your nose out.” The lie kept coming and I sweetened it with a smile.
“Wow, you’re organized. My birthday’s not for two months.” She looked impressed rather than suspicious and my heart rate calmed a little.
“Anyway. How are things? All good between you and Jason?” I needed the focus off of me or I was going to pass out from the pressure.
Becky sighed and lifted her arms above her head in a stretch. “Things are good. I just—it’s just taken some getting used to, being in a relationship with a man who’s willing to act like a grown up.” She put her arms back down and absent mindedly chewed on a bread stick. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. Last week, when he went out with some of his colleagues, he actually got home when he said he was going to. He sticks to things; he makes arrangements for weeks ahead. He treats me right.”
“But—” I encouraged, I could hear hesitation in her voice.
“No buts. I’m simply adjusting to having a functional boyfriend.” She flashed me a wide smile that for some reason I didn’t believe. It may have been because while everything she had described sounded nice, it also sounded like the exact thing I was trying so hard to avoid. She seemed content, though. I guessed Becky and I were as opposite in outlook now as we were in looks, and this made me feel suddenly sad.
“Is it better than—than before?” The question was out before I even had a chance to stop it. This whole thing appeared to have totally disconnected my brain-to-mouth communication. Becky flung back her head and looked to the sky, exasperated.
“What is with you to keep bringing up the past? I want to forget about it and move on, something you should definitely have a go at. Look,” she splayed her fingers in front of me, as if to signify that she was laying it all down, “Nate made me unhappy. Jason makes me happy. You need to look forward in life, Anna, not back.”
I hung my head, ashamed at myself for persisting to bring it up. I really hadn’t meant to, but even after all her insistence, I still had a suspicion that Becky hadn’t told me everything, and if I was about to get involved with him I needed to know what I was getting myself into. Whenever Nate’s name or their previous relationship got mentioned, it was almost as though she was too unwilling to talk about it, too defensive. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I spoke to her about Peter all the time—it was that shared empathy that helped me to move on. How come her break-up was off limits? The mystery was infuriating and un-necessary.
The next time she went to the bathroom, I texted Nate back quickly. I’d already spent the entire night drafting the reply in my head.
I’m looking forward to seeing you too. Have a good show tonight.
Okay, so it was hardly the text message version of Romeo and Juliet, but my guard was still up. I had to be careful not to sound too desperate, I didn’t want to get too involved yet either. I trusted my instinct that there was still much I didn’t yet know. While I yearned for excitement, I didn’t want it by handing over my feelings in a glass box. I needed him to give me a bit more assurance that box wouldn’t be easily smashed. While I wasn’t after a major commitment from him, I also didn’t want to put so much on the line for someone who, quite frankly, wouldn’t be worth it.
I’d only taken Alice onto the tour bus. I didn’t want her anywhere near the hotel, anywhere that anyone could see, and I hadn’t enjoyed even one second of her company. When she left, I sat on my bottom bunk alone in the dark for a long time, just thinking.
She’d been a sweet enough girl—beautiful, yes, and oh so very grateful—but what I’d just done made me feel a little sick to my stomach. I tried to find an explanation for it, but for all I’d used her to escape the man behind the music, now he was all I was left with; this shallow, bitter, angry shell, an excuse for a person. Anna’s face floated into my mind’s eye. Her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a silk waterfall, the depth in the black pools of her eyes. But I had no need to feel that guilty, the promise I’d made her about trust was conditional, we’d made no exclusivity arrangement. She didn’t even want her best friend to know, so as far as I was concerned, that made me a free agent.
I shook my head at the tough talk going on in my mind. I was fiercely building defense barriers, and yet every time I spoke to her, or even thought of her, a few of those bricks would come tumbling off of that wall. Deep down, I suspected that I wasn’t very nice. Sure, I hid it well when in direct contact with others, but I honestly didn’t like myself very much. My biggest fear was that she would be exposed to the real me—the one I was hiding—and when she was, she’d run a mile, like all the others had.
I stuck my forehead against the cold, tinted window of the bus and looked out. It was quiet. There wasn’t even any crew around, the rigging trucks having already left for the next venue. I had no idea where Mikey, Jon or Rob were, probably at the hotel, maybe a bar. I was glad for the stillness of the night outside and decided that it was probably dead enough for me to walk back to the hotel. My phone’s GPS said it was 45 minutes away on foot. Perfect. I hesitated near the kitchen area before I left, wondering if I should take a couple beers for the journey, then decided against it. I needed to spend time with myself—my real self—and maybe figure out where I was going so wrong.
Setting a steady beat for myself with my boots against the asphalt, the walk took less time than I’d expected and I was back to the hotel much quicker than I’d thought I would be. I felt marginally better with the fresh air on my skin and the solitude of night, but I still ducked past the bar, just in case Mikey was in there and called me for a drink. Up in my room, I made my eyes take everything in—I didn’t want to keep taking it all for granted.
As it turned out, the hotel was pretty old and underneath the clean surfaces were signs of wear. There was torn wallpaper behind the chair, flakes of peeling paint on some patches of the ceiling. The carpet was a faded, looped design in grey and red that made my vision go if I stared at it for too long. The bed was just a normal double, rather than the usual king, and there were only two slightly puckered satin cushions propped up near the pillows, as opposed to the standard twenty or so I’d normally have to chuck onto the floor.
I liked it. It was more like the hotels we used to stay in on our first tour, when I’d been at peace with myself. I liked the disillusioned, seen-it-all interior more than the extravagant and the plushness of our normal stops, and I crept under the blankets fully dressed, wanting oblivion and finding it in sleep.
***
The next few days passed in a blur, I heard no more from Anna, nor did I contact her. Not until Thursday morning, the day I’d been secretly counting down to. I had a radio interview just before lunch, so I let her know that I’d be with her by late afternoon. My message was matter-of-fact and so was her reply. This leaked further insecurity—I almost preferred the over-attentive jealousy that I got from women. The nonchalance made her hard to read, it made it hard for me to feel secure. I couldn’t tell how she really felt and it made me nervous.
I’d booked a room ten minutes away from her apartment and told her to meet me there. I’d purposely chosen a hotel that was of a lower standard than usual. The rough edges of the room I’d stayed in before had made me feel comfortable, I didn’t want flashy or over the top. I just wanted a place to hang out with her. I couldn’t care less about thread count.
She was already there when I opened the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed swinging her legs, she looked round and greeted me with a shy smile. Among the beige décor and the white linen, she shone like a rainbow on a grey day. It seemed awkward at first, I found it hard to smile in return, feeling a bit choked for some reason. She stood slowly as I crossed the room to her, dropping my bag on the floor. Not sure what else to do, and unable to make sense of how she was making me feel, I wrapped my arms around her.
There, in that touch, it began to fall into place. The awkwardness vanished and all my attention and energy focused on one thing—her. She held me tightly, her frame tiny in my arms and it just felt right, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. We pulled apart slightly and I kissed her, her lips were soft and warm and met mine tenderly.
Breaking off breathlessly, I had to pull away before the want for her became too much. I ran my thumb down the side of her face, our noses touching.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Hi back,” she replied, moving her hands to rest on my shoulders. I wanted to start some witty conversation but nothing would come to me. The atmosphere was too loaded, and we ended up just drinking each other in without speaking. My breath started to quicken as I looked at her. I stroked every part of her face, running my fingertip along the curve of her nose and over her lips, which she parted slightly. Eventually, the urge became impossible and we started kissing again, panting hot breath into each other’s mouths as she tugged on my hair. I placed my hands on either side of her curvaceous hips and pulled her into me, knowing that she’d be able to feel the hardening shape beneath my trousers as my desire for her grew.
She writhed herself against me and I couldn’t stop from moaning. Kissing along the side of her face and sucking gently on her earlobe, she made me harder still by groaning softly as she tilted her head back. I couldn’t take anymore. I lifted her top over her head and deftly unhooked her bra. She struggled with my t-shirt, which I flung off my body to the floor. We both paused for a single beat, breathing hard, taking in one another’s half-naked frames. The building tension in that second was like the stillness in the eye of the storm and it took one more breath before we were yanked by the force of it.
Our lips met once again, hard, our teeth clashing as the need became urgent, desperate. She fumbled with the button on my leather pants as I dug my fingers into her back. Stripping me of my clothes, she then clasped me firmly in her palm, watching me steadily. I gasped at the sensation coupled with her gaze and was momentarily rendered immobile, the sexiness overwhelming. Realizing I needed to go easy, I pulled her arms down to her sides while I removed her jeans, needing a second to gather myself, needing this to slow down. Picking her up, she wrapped her legs around my back as I lay her down on the bed, leaning over her, just watching her face.
She lifted her pelvis up to me and I felt myself quiver with the anticipation.
Not yet, not yet
, I said internally. I wanted to experience more of her first. Still above her, I balanced my weight on one arm while I snaked the other down between her thighs. Her skin felt like liquid silk to touch and her wetness made my eyes close involuntarily at the eroticism of her desire. I forced them open again, wanting to see her. As I dipped the tip of my finger inside, she sharply inhaled. I circled her bud and delighted in making her legs part wider, she was inviting me in.
“I need you now.” Her voice was thick, raw. I carried on massaging as slowly as I could bear. Bending down to kiss her, she grabbed my head in her hands and pulled me down, raising her hips as high as she could, crying out into my mouth.
“Nate. Please,” She begged, grinding against my fingers. Her legs started to tremble against the side of my torso and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I entered her with a gruff moan, her moist hotness tight around me. Moving together, we gyrated in an opposite motion. I tried to move as slowly as I could, wanting her satisfaction before mine. She breathed loudly in my ear, each exhale a small, soft groan. She clawed at my ass cheeks, pushing me in deeper, the groans increasing in volume and frequency. As I was concentrating hard to stop myself finishing too early, she suddenly shuddered and I felt her spasm violently underneath me. It was too much, too sexy, and I exploded inside of her, holding her as tight as I could while we both convulsed in ecstasy.
As we both started to get our breath back, Anna started to giggle. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes bright as she laughed and I started to laugh with her. It felt really, really good. After all the intensity, all the build up, it was great to just let go. It felt like the simplest happiness in the world.
After a while, Anna lay her head on my chest. I draped my arm around her and stroked her shoulder as we were quietly absorbed in our own thoughts. This was where I started to feel the worry. I was so at one with myself around her; it was like she had put me back together by her mere presence. I’d never been with someone who had the potential of having so much power over me.
“This is going to have to be kept between us for a while,” Anna said, not moving from her position.
“Well, this has only just started. I need it to be slow anyway, so that’s fine by me. I’ll be your dirty little secret,” I joked. But she didn’t laugh and neither did I. I didn’t think I would be able to cope thinking that one day she may turn to me and say that Becky was her biggest priority, that she wouldn’t see me again. I had no idea how she felt about me, and there was no way I was going to ask—my self-esteem couldn’t survive if the news was negative. I found it hard to believe that she didn’t feel the same way I did. This connection we had was palpable, I was certain. But I’d made mistakes before by going on assumptions, and I wasn’t going to do it again. Every time I saw Anna, I fell a little harder—I needed to stop.