AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This wasn't a feeling I was familiar with. I had always been the one to slip out the door, leaving nothing behind but sweat on the sheets. It was cold and calculated, but I didn't want anything or anyone coming back to bite me in the ass, and it was nothing that the women I'd slept with weren't aware of beforehand.
But I couldn't recall making such an agreement with Lennon, so where was she?
Sucking in the air around me in an attempt to capture the lingering remnants of her perfume, I slumped against the padded headboard and wondered what the hell I had expected. Awkward conversation over breakfast? A bittersweet parting in the hotel lobby before going our separate ways, fingers interlocked until the very last good-bye? I didn't do that shit, and it was laughable to think I'd start now. But I'd be lying if I said the hurt wasn't squeezing the life out of my heart.
Waking up from the sweetest slumber to find my angel gone.
And here I am, a fractured man, clinging to a song …
A continuation of the shabby song I'd been struck with last night hit hard and fast. The frantic desperation to write down the lyrics captured me, and I surveyed the room quickly for a pen and paper. It had been years since I'd written a song though, and I'd fallen out of the habit of keeping things like pens nearby.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted, reaching for the prosthetic leg on the floor. “Against the black wings of an angel…” I mumbled the line as I strapped my leg on and climbed out of bed as fast as I could, then limped my way out the door.
There, in the living room, was Simon in nothing but a fluffy white robe, eating a plate of room service pancakes and eggs with all the fixings. He looked up at me, mouth full and wide-eyed, and pointed his fork in my direction.
“Hey, I didn’t know when you’d wake up, so I didn’t get you anything. But—”
“I’m good,” I grumbled, reaching for the desk and rifling through the top drawer. “How the fuck is there not a pen in this place?”
“You need a pen?”
“Isn't that what I said?”
He shoveled another forkful into his mouth and asked, “What do you need a pen for?”
“To stab myself,” I deadpanned, glaring at him, unamused. “What do you think I need it for? I need to fuckin' write something.”
Simon swallowed before allowing his mouth to hang open. “Wait …” The tines of his fork were aimed at me once again as he said, “Are you gonna write a song?”
“Just help me find a fucking pen,” I demanded as I opened another drawer to find it empty.
“Yes, sir,” he said, jumping from the couch to rush into his bedroom. In just a few seconds, he came running out with a permanent marker. “Here you go.”
“Beautiful,” I muttered, sitting on the couch.
With marker in hand, I reached for a cloth napkin, and the words came to life on the white linen. It was sloppy and the ink bled, but it was legible. Simon hung over my shoulder, watching as I wrote and nodding his head.
“Ah shit, man. This is gonna be good,” he complimented, sipping at a glass of orange juice. “Oh, by the way, your lady friend told me to give you this.”
Looking up from my writing to find him reaching into the robe's breast pocket, I asked, “What?”
Simon took out a scrap of paper and handed it to me. I was hoping for a number, but I would settle for a full name.
I was given neither.
All she’d left was a note that read,It was everything I had hoped for. Thanks for making my fantasies a reality. —Lennon.
It wasn't enough, made obvious by the sinking of my heart. But it was in her handwriting, and that was a piece of her. Evidence that she had been here. And it was a lot better than some lingering sweat on the sheets.
“So, I guess she workedhermagic onyou, huh?”
Simon's voice broke the deafening silence, and I turned to find his smirk, teasing and suggesting something that he knew nothing about.
But if I slapped him, it would make me a hypocrite. Because this empty ache settling deep in the pit of my gut? I knew nothing about what it meant or what I could do about it other than to squeeze as many songs out of it as I could.
So, I wrote.
***
