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My chest filled with his sweetness. Heat blossomed in my belly. He was reciting the last lines from my song. And the way he said it, I knew he really felt that way.
"Jake. You're Shakespeare."
He rolled his eyes, but those lips of his came down with righteous enthusiasm. He scraped his palms over me, digging his fingers into my hips. He lifted me from his lap and laid me down on my back. His mouth was soft, moving languidly over me; making me want to scream and cry, and thank him for loving me. Or for breathing. His existence made the world a better place.
The delicious feeling of being everything to the man I loved danced inside my chest. I reached for him. He pulled me up from the bed until I was on back his lap. Cocooning me in his embrace, his tongue parted my lips; dancing against mine and filling my mouth the same way his body filled mine.
He spoke into my mouth as we kissed; sweet poetry and promises. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of being devoured, being consumed by him.
His husky voice was in my ear. "Say it again. Say 'yes'."
It was an exquisite feeling, making love with Jake. So intense and encompassing. I did as he commanded, repeated everything he told me to. I was his. Body and soul. And he was mine. We kissed sweetly, reverently, holding each other in the most intimate way.
He opened his shining hazel eyes. "Angel. I love you."
The look on his face was so intense, it made the tight coils of my desire break. Shredding and shattering me into a thousand glorious pieces. Jake watched me come apart and then wrapped his arms tighter around me, uttering my name.
Once we caught our breath, I turned on the television in time to catch the two a.m. repeat of the eleven o'clock news. Jake was quiet and red-faced through the three-minute edited interview they aired, but I was so proud. They mentioned his proposal but thankfully didn't air any of it. And then, we made love some more.
As far as either of us knew, it was just one of the thousands of nights we would have together. We were sure our future was just beginning.
+ + +
36
-Avery
I am curled up in the corner of my cell: knees tucked up into my chest, my arms curled around them, trying to hold myself together, like always.
I think the problem was that everything was changing too fast. When we left that morning, I had never felt so alive, so free, so at peace, but by that same night, I could hardly catch my breath. I should have been content with leaving my screwed up life behind. I should have been happy standing beside Angel as the one thing she had in her life finally came together.
But I couldn't.
+++
The bathrooms in the Mystic Muse were perpetually disgusting but I'd had like three sodas. I had to wait for someone else to open the door to let me out because I didn't want to risk contact with the handle.
When a fat chick barreled in with a spray bottle and a push broom, I slunk out into the hall opposite the bar. The whole club smelled like beer with subtle whiffs of green smoke and urine. It seemed strongest near the trash can that'd been left outside the ladies room. It smelled like someone pissed in it.
As I wandered around, people were pouring in. The night looked promising.
When the first band was introduced, Jake left his spot near the front, pushing past the growing crowd and I noticed how so few people recognized the greatness passing by. I knew that, in a few years, when him and the band were well-known, the clueless lot that let him through might recall that they once saw Analog Controller perform at a local club, but none would recall the tall, hot guy with the boyish features currently pressing into the crowd against traffic, repeating, "excuse me," in an oddly polite way.
I loved Analog Controller. But unlike Angel, the guys in the band never seemed anything other than normal to me. I didn't get why making music would suddenly elevate a person inside the minds of the people that heard them. Was a persons' capability so closely entwined to their value as people? If that was the case, I was in trouble because I could barely breathe most days. The guys did make great music, but they were still people.
Angel was leaning against one of the pillars in back and I kept an eye on her, but wanted to see where Jake was rushing off to. As I pushed through a group of guys, one of them grabbed my ass and squeezed. Normally, something like that would have me pivoting to sucker punch the asshole, but I felt the constant ice in my chest melt for a second and it threw me off. Took me a second longer to mull over what should happen next.
Who the hell did whoever think he was, touching me like he knew me? What gave him the fucking right to familiarize himself with my body? The black inside me wanted to boil over, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay in control. To be careful.
I spun back around, catching the drummer and bassist from Anemic Psychos laughing at me. Morons, that's what they looked like, with their nicotine stained teeth and chain wallets. I wanted to punch them both before killing one to force-feed his remains to the other. I'd seen them at sound check, but didn't know their names. They were both tall and lean, both smiling at their probing conquest. The fucking egos were twice the size of the puny Indie label they were on.
"Which one?" I pointed at them each in turn.
The drummer pointed at the bassist, while the bassist pointed at the drummer. Neither spoke.
"That's the way you want it?" I stepped in between them, threw both my hands out, and simultaneously grabbed both their scrawny asses, kneading a shocked musicians' cheek on each side of me. The drummer jumped, belting out a surprised laugh, but the bass player leaned into me.
Yeah, he's the one, I thought, and looked him square in the eyes. "Don't touch me. Ever. Again."
