Tracks (Rock Bottom) (19 page)

Eventually I think cabin fever caught up to us, and he suggested that we go out to dinner. I was honestly nervous, but it sounded so nice to get out in the world with him. As nice as our own private heaven was, I knew we’d eventually have to get back to the real world, and it seemed like it would be easier to slowly adjust instead of it being thrown on me.

Unfortunately,
I have a feeling it might backfire in our faces.

            
 
We had decided to go somewhere casual and dress inconspicuously. We even told his security that they wouldn’t be needed tonight, much to Rich’s dismay. When we leave his apartment, we are relieved to see no reporters outside of his building, and Jeremy takes me over to the parking lot, leading me to a silver Honda Civic.

I look
at him, bewildered, as he reaches in his pocket for a set of keys and clicks the button to make the car unlock. He opens the passenger door for me. “A Honda?” I question him, surprised.

He smiles
at me and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“Well, I just thought you’
d have a Ferrari or something.”

He
chuckles as he helps me into the seat. He leans in the door and smiles a childlike smile. He almost does look normal tonight, young and happy. “On the rare occasions I do go out alone, I’d rather not draw attention to myself.” He shuts the door and begins to walk to the other side of the car.

Well
, I guess that does make sense.

He climbs
into the driver’s side. “Besides, they’re good cars.”

We dri
ve not far from his building to a little corner eatery. We manage to find a parking spot on the street relatively easily, just around the corner. We have to walk just a little ways to the door of the restaurant and, as Jeremy opens the door for me, we enter.

The restaurant
is small and mostly empty. It’s decorated in maroon colors and has dim lights. The host, stationed just in front of the door behind a table, smiles at us. He is young, probably in college, and seems a little feminine. I can feel Jeremy tense a bit, his hand squeezing mine. I tense too. Would he recognize us?

When we reach him, h
e simply introduces himself, welcomes us, and sits us at a table in the back. After he hands us the menu, he walks away. We sigh in relief. He didn’t seem to recognize Jeremy.

It was a nice steakhouse type
of menu. Jeremy and I discuss what looks good and what doesn’t- a very normal type of conversation. I love that I feel like a normal woman for once on a normal date with the man I was falling in love with.

The waitress is an older woman, and takes
our order very casually. When she walks away, we figure it’s going to be smooth sailing the rest of the night.

After a lot of laughter, snuggling, kisses, and a good meal, we rose from the table. Jeremy left a generous tip for our waitress, and we headed out of the door to head to the car.
Jeremy grabs my hand, rubbing his finger along the outside of it, both of us smiling like high school kids as we round the corner to the street where his car is parked.

Suddenly
, we hear people yelling. Before we can even turn our heads or react, we’re surrounded by photographers. The now familiar sight of flashing lights and microphones hitting my face starts again, but this time we have no security.

“No comment,” Jeremy says, ang
rily.

“On a date?
Are you two serious?” a reporter asks.

Jeremy ignores them and tries to make his way through the paparazzi.
I keep my hand over my eyes, shielding my face. I’m panicked and claustrophobic again. My breathing increases and I begin to shake. Jeremy holds my hand tighter and tries to pull me harder through the crowd. We’re barely making progress.

“She’s not really your type, is she Jeremy
?” one male reporter torments.

He turns immediately to glare at him. “Enough,” he says, low and angry. Th
e reporter just smiles at him.

From the other side of the crowd, a man with a video camera says, “Pretty
girl- but definitely not the model type, eh, Jer? Kind of a cow, isn’t she?”

I freeze, shocked. I turn and look at the man, confused. I’d never been called fat before. Sure, I’m
a size 10, but I have big hips and I’m tall. My feelings are immediately hurt. The man looks directly at me, pointing his camera at us and says provocatively, “More cushion for the pushin’.”

Jeremy unexpectedly releases my hand. He runs at the man, grabbing his camera and smashing it. The crowd’s cameras click furiously n
ow, and the provoking man looks suddenly afraid.

Jeremy doesn’t stop moving towards him. The man backs into the brick wall of the restaurant, unable to escape. Jeremy, gloriously livid, brings his fist bac
k and hits the man in the jaw.

The man grunts and falls to the ground. Jeremy jumps on top of him, flipping him around and punching him in the face
again. The reporters do nothing to help the man or pull Jeremy off, they just continue clicking their cameras. Jeremy continues to punch him. He screams, “Don’t you
dare
talk about her that way. I’ll fucking kill you. I swear to God.”

When I snap out of my shock, I run over to Jeremy, pulling at his shoulders. “Jeremy, don’t!” I yell, frantic
. “He’s not worth it. Please!”

Jeremy stands, putting his arm around me. The man lays on the ground, still conscious next to his broken camera. He looks a Jeremy through the
blood on his face, terrified.

Jeremy gives him a kick in the ribs. The man curls up, moaning.
“You piece of shit,” he says, turning from him and leading me to his car. The reporters let us go now pretty easily. I assume it’s because they felt that they got their story. Boy, did they.

Eventually, I notice as I’m in my seat waiting for Jeremy to come around to the driver’s side,
some of the reporters did help the man. Jeremy begins to drive away frantically.

“Someone at that fucking restaurant must have called them. God damn it. Anything for free press,” Jeremy screams, beating his hand against the steering wheel.

We sit in the car in silence for a few moments, Jeremy fuming, me processing. “Jeremy,” I say, quietly, breaking the silence. “You’re going to get arrested. What’s wrong with you?”

Jeremy looks at me and tries to smile. “I won’t get arrested. He’ll threaten me with charges and my legal team will settle it out of court. I’ll unfortunately have to pay
that fucker a shit ton of money, but it was worth it. I will never, ever, have someone talk to you or about you that way,” he vowed.

I relaxed a little about Jeremy getting arrested. I’m sure he’s been in situations like this before. I remember from the few times I did pay attention to news stories
of him before we started dating that he had gotten into fights quite often.

The worry about him getting arrested allows me to feel the heartbreaking sadness and fear that I had pushed aside in my concern for him.
The fear of those reporters in my face and the stress it causes me. My fragile self-esteem and their mean words. I sit silently, trying not to cry.

Jeremy sighs, looking over at me.
“Baby, are you alright?” he says, quietly, emotion and worry filling his every syllable.

The sound of his voice sends me over the edge. I begin to cry. No, I begin to sob. I never sob.
Well- never in front of anyone.

I’m sure I look like a mess. I should be stronger than this. I don’t want him to think I can’t handle being with him.
Shit, Dylan. Put the walls back up. Get yourself together. Stop! Stop!

But the tears conti
nue and continue, an ugly sound escaping my throat. Fat? Me? I look down at myself, grabbing at my stomach in surprise.

“God damn it!” I hear Jeremy scream, pulling the car over on the side of the road.
I jump, and it makes my sobbing calm a little. He turns to me after he parks the car, his eyes both angry and sad.

“Dylan, I am so, so sorry,” he says, putting his hand on my cheek. I lean my face into it. He leans his body over and embraces me, hard. “Dylan, you’re beautiful. You have no idea how spe
ctacular I think you are.”

I put my eyes on his shoulder and nod my head. It’s strange to see him being so sweet after watching him beat someone until he was barely conscious. Actually, I think, in a way I guess that was sweet too.
He said he would protect me. No one has ever protected me against anything. Maybe, just maybe, he does care for me more than I think he does?

I smile despite myself, and he notices my cheek
raise. “See?” he says. “I think…” he stops for a moment. “I think you know how I’m beginning to feel. I…” he stops again, and my heart stops. I don’t look at him and he doesn’t continue, he just smooths my hair.

“What a way to spend
my last night here. I am so sorry,” he apologizes again a few moments later.

My heart squeezes in sadness again. “Just take me home,” I say, trying to sound seductive.
He backs away from me, smiling wryly, looking amazing. We drive off to my house and, although early, we head straight to the bedroom.

I hear the alarm go off from my phone resting on my nightstand. I moan and rub my eyes, shutting the alarm off. It’s 9 a.m. Strangely, I don’t remember setting an alarm. I sit up in bed, and turn to look at Jeremy. He sleeps silently, breathing deeply. I smile and stretch. We haven’t gotten more than two hours of sleep the whole night.

I get out of bed naked and walk into the kitchen. I start a pot of coffee and practically dance into the bathroom. I turn the shower on and allow it to get warm. After I
go to the bathroom, I slide in.

A few minutes later, I hear the door crack ope
n. I smile. “Hey, baby,” I say.

“Dylan?” I
hear Jeremy say. He sounds strange, like he’s sick. Confused, I pull the curtain back. He stands with boxer shorts on, hands at his sides. He looks a little pale, but still stunning. His hands are shaking, even though the bathroom by now is filled with steam.

“God, Jeremy. Are you cold?”
I nod towards his hands.

He looks down quickly and then looks back at me, smiling
a little. “Excuse me,” he says, leaving the bathroom. I close the curtain again and finish shaving and washing my hair. About 20 minutes later, I walk out of the bathroom in a white towel and into my bedroom. Jeremy isn’t in there, and his clothes aren’t on the floor anymore.

I search in my drawers for underwear and a bra. I have to remind myself to buy more if he’s going
to keep destroying mine. I smile and throw on plain white underwear and a white bra. I find a suitable plain green tank top and a dark pair of blue jeans.

I walk out of my room, running the towel through my hair, and into the kitchen. Jeremy stands with his back to me and a bo
ttle of wine held up in the air, pressed to his lips.

I laugh and he t
urns. “Wine at 10 a.m.?” I say.

He takes the bottle off his lips and walks
over to my trashcan, pushing the button for the lid to pop up and throwing it out. I hear it “clang” against another glass item inside.

“I don’t li
ke flying. Nervous.” He shrugs.

I put the towel down on the table and give him a funny look
. I don’t remember seeing anything glass in my trashcan yesterday. His eyes are wide as I walk over to the trashcan to investigate, and push the button so that it opens. “Dylan…” Jeremy begins, then stops.

Inside the trash, I see three empty bottles of wine that I know were full when I came home last night. Two of them Theresa and I store in the back of a cabinet, just in case we have people stop by.
The other was the bottle I had two glasses from a few nights ago. But there they are in the trash, now empty.

God, please tell me Theresa came home and entertained people
and I somehow magically didn’t wake-up.

I look up at him, my eyes wide
. “Did you drink all of these?”

He stands silently and his phone rings. He doesn’t look away from me as he
digs in his pocket and puts the phone up to his ear.

“Yea
h? Okay,” he says, and pushes a button to hang up.

I cross my arms.

“Yeah, I drank them. Nervous…”

I sigh, angrily. My mind goes back to the second time I was in the dressing room, when there were bottles everyw
here. Then I remember when I woke up at his place and discovered all of the bottles scattering the floor. Now that I think about it, during the days we spent together, I can’t recall him not being near some kind of alcohol. And now here? My mouth drops open. How could I be so stupid?

“Jeremy, do you have a problem?” my voice is
both sad and shocked.

He laughs joyfully. “No!” he says,
pretending to be insulted at my question. I can tell he’s lying- he’s trying too hard to play it off. When he sees my expression isn’t changing from shock and horror, he stops laughing and his face turns serious.