Page 130 of The Comedown

a passing phase,

shit, nothin’ but a prude.

Wrap your arms around me like the salve to my wounds.

Forever indebted like the day Eeyore met that bear, Pooh.

He ain’t never been better than in his place beside you.

Don’t know how to say these feelings, they ringin’ so true.

Listen to my heart, baby, and I’ll tell you what you already knew.

All these nights I’m spending ’longside my muse,

Wondering how the fuck we can make it on through.

But if I wake to find you gone,

back I’m sinkin’ to that prison of my own creation.”

“That’s from your shirt.”

“It’s not from my shirt, Poohbear. It’s from here.” I flatten my hand to my rib cage, feeling my heart trying to bust out of it.

Looking in her silvery eyes right now, all I want to do is follow through on my threat to send everyone home so it’s just the two of us.

She basically stiff-arms me though when I lean forward, drawn to her in a way no lyrics could ever capture.

“And the nickname? Will you finally tell me where it came from?”

“When I met you, the cloud that’d been hanging over my head, following my every move, shifted for the first time in years. You chased it away. Just you, with your little red crop top and your sunshine hair.”

I’m pulled right back to that moment, the first meeting with Collette—the one I actually remember—and with a flick of her knife, she flipped my world upside down, just like now.

“You’re saying this song is about me?” she whispers, and I let out a short laugh, telling her, “They’re all about you.”

Hundreds of songs are sitting inside me, waiting to be let out, and every one of them was inspired by Collette. Her hair, her eyes, her throat, the feel of her hand in mine as we fall asleep. This past week hasn’t just been about the sex. After each show—after Collette trusts me with her body—she trusts me with something even more important, she lets me sleep on her bus. Every night I climb into the bunk above hers, then drop my arm down below to hold her hand. I’ve woken up with a dead arm every morning, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other feeling in the world because waking up to Collette still clutching it with hers, I’ve never felt more whole.

She clears her throat, and her words, “I have one last gift for you,” go off in my face like a pack of C-4 because I don’t want a gift from her. I only want her. She is my gift.

“You bought me something?” I question, venom lacing my tone despite my effort to stay calm. I don’t fucking care what Collette bought me, what anyone bought me. I got enough gifts today to last me through my thirtieth birthday. I thought I made it clear that the only thing I do want, the only thing I need, is standing right in front of me, but she’s tugging on my arm, making me follow after her to a stairwell leading to a lower level I didn’t realize was here because I didn’t bother checking.

Collette’s shoulders shrug, and speaking over one of them, she says, “Kind of.”

“How do you kind of buy something?”

“There was a lot of…incentive given to get this.”

Incentive? The fuck?

“What does that mean?”

“It means I hope you like it.”

“What did you have to give?”

“Two future gigs.”