J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

I giggle despite the heavy weight that settles in my chest. If he only knew my nightmares were about him, that my guilt plagues me even in my sleep.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been planning for this moment—to get close enough to Rex again so that I can unload my burdens. But now that I’m here, I don’t know if I can. My intention has always been revenge first, absolution second. Here I am, sitting a foot away, holding information that I thought would bring Rex the peace he deserves, but watching him over these last few months, it seems he’s doing much better than I am. This is a mistake.

“I feel better. I should probably go home now. I don’t think I’m a coma risk.” I shift to swing my legs off the bed when his hand lands firmly on my thigh. My gaze swings to his, and even in the dark, I can see the flash of panic in his expression.

“Don’t go.” His fingers flex slightly as if to confirm his words. “Just, um . . . you’re tired, it’s late, that fucker’s probably crashed at your place, and you don’t know what you’ll be walking in on.”

All my thoughts focus on his big hand resting on my thigh, and my words clog in my throat.

He tugs at his silver lip ring with his teeth, rolling it a few times before releasing it. “I know what it’s like to have bad dreams.” His whispered words carry the scent of liquor and mint.

I lean in a fraction of an inch and inhale.

“When they’re bad, you wake up; it’s no fun being alone.”

My head bobs in agreement.

“Stay.”

I study the angular lines of his jaw, his full lips, and the brightly colored dragon tattoo that skates up the side of his neck: claws, teeth, spikes, and a fierce looking snarl on its face. “What do you dream about?”

He moves his hand and I instantly regret asking. It just slipped out, but the last thing I want to do now that I have him here, talking to me, touching me, is push him too hard and lose him again.

A quick snapping sound draws my attention to the elastic band around his wrist. “Dreams are nothin’ but crap. Leftover shit from the day that festers in our heads.” The snapping gets louder. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“I agree.” I don’t, but the tension radiating off his body forces me to lie. It seems to work and the snapping stops.

“What do you dream about?” His voice is soft, desperate.

“Memories from the past. Things I wish I could forget but can’t.” You. Always you.

“Forget.” A humorless laugh, dry with sarcasm, tumbles from his lips. “You think your nightmares would end if you couldn’t remember the bad?”

“I don’t know. I hope they would.”

He exhales hard and his shoulders drop. “They don’t.”

God, what is he saying? He doesn’t remember the bad, but he dreams it? I’m pushing it, I know I am, but he’s opening up, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to find out if he’s okay, if he’s really okay. “You dream the bad, but you can’t remember it?”

“Something like that.”

That’s not possible. “Then how do you know it’s real?”

He drops his head into his hands, gripping fistfuls of his hair. “I don’t.”

And suddenly he’s that boy, the one I met night after night and clasped his hand beneath a door, offering every comfort my eight-year-old self could offer. Singing, fighting tears in order to be strong. For him. All for him.

I scoot forward and place my hand on his back. He goes ramrod straight, eyes forward. My hand freezes as fear pulls me in two directions: afraid to leave it there, but equally nervous to pull it away. Seconds tick by and tension fills the room.

He’s not that boy anymore. He’s hardened by his circumstances, forced to live through a nightmare that still haunts his sleep, unable to escape the devastation of what was left behind. A man broken.

“I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, I drop my hand. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Do you like tequila, Mac?” He’s still looking ahead at nothing.

I shake my head. “Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.” And he’s up. He walks out of the room, and I lean to watch him walk through the small living room and out the front door.

His absence clears the muddy thoughts of the past and brings me to the present.

I hop off the bed and race to the bathroom. As soon as I flick on the light my reflection jumps out at me. “Oh wow.”

My cheek is scabbed over and swollen. Blue and purple swirl together below my eye. And my hair. Ugh. I wet my hands in the sink and try to smooth out the frizz that’s pushing its way through the silken strands of my ponytail. Pulling the long ends over my shoulder, I comb my fingers through when I hear the front door shut.

“Crap.” Redoing my hair as fast as I can, I check my reflection. “Good as it’s gonna get.”

I head out of the bathroom and find Rex leaning against the wall just outside the door.

His tall frame takes up most of the space. Here in the light of the hallway, his blue eyes look glossier than they did before I went to bed. I watch in awe as they travel from my lips to my eyes and down to my cheek. They flare for a moment and then squint before they move to my hair and soften. He tilts his head and dangles a clear bottle filled with light amber liquid from his fingers. He flashes a small smile and lifts his eyebrow that’s home to two small barbells. Heat warms my belly.

“You game?” he says.

“Of course.”

Liquor works like a truth serum. I only hope we’re strong enough to handle what the truth brings to light. I turn toward the living room, but he heads in the opposite direction, back to the bedroom.

He climbs onto the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing his ankles.

My feet are locked to the floor in the doorway, weighted by everything the intimate setting implies.

He turns toward me, but in the dim light I can’t make out his expression. “Change your mind?”

“You want to drink tequila in bed?”

“Is there any better place?” He throws back a healthy gulp and sucks air through his teeth when he’s done. “Come on.” He holds out the bottle. “That couch is for midgets. I just thought it’d be more comfortable in here.”

I’m still stuck in place, the thought of getting drunk in bed with Rex bringing too many images to mind that are as confusing as they are tempting.

I love Rex. I’ve always loved him. Those feelings combined with his rugged good looks, piercings, and tattoos do things to my body that I’m not totally comfortable with and yet are all-consuming.

“Don’t worry, Mac. I won’t touch you.” He chuckles low in his chest; the sound washes over me like warm oil. “Trust me.”

“Flattering. Thanks.” I move around the foot of the bed to slide in next to him. “Nice to know I’m safe from your advances.” I try to keep the sarcasm light, but it’s hard to hide the hurt in my voice. He doesn’t find me attractive. He probably likes the little blond girls, someone like Layla or the dozens of bleached blond groupies that hang off of him like a wet towel. Whatever.

He hands me the tequila. “Yep, you are definitely safe.”

I rip the bottle from his hand and press it to my lips. The liquid burns the whole way down and I force myself to swallow another mouthful.

“Damn, Mac, pace yourself.” He pries the bottle from my mouth. “You know how fun puking with a split cheek is? None at all.” He stabs his thumb into his chest, drawing my attention to how the cotton fabric is stretched taut over his pecs. “I should know. I’ve done it.”

“Ugh.” I hand him back the bottle. “I hate puking.”

“Me too. And if you toss, I’ll toss.” He caps the bottle and sets it in the space between us. “So let’s slow that shit down.” Arms folded behind his head, he slides down a few inches to rest against the pillows.

I flip to my side and face him, my head resting in my hand. “This Emma, your girlfriend—”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Just your neighbor-friend?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You said she’s out of town. Do you ever go with her?”

He’s still gazing up at the ceiling, but his eyebrows are pinched together. “What? No. Why would I go with her?”

“Do you like her as . . . more than a friend?”

“Mac, are you asking me if I hook up with my neighbor?” He rolls his head to look at me. “No. I’d never do that to Emma.”

Why does the tender way he speaks about her make me want to break every piece of furniture in this place? “She’s pretty. So why not?”

He props himself up on his elbows to look at me, his dark eyebrows pinched. “How do you know what she looks like?”

Oh shit!

I drop to my back and stare up, avoiding his glare. “I thought I saw a picture of her in the living room.” That’s a lie, but I’m hoping like hell that the pictures in the living room have her in them.

“Oh.” He drops to his back too. Something about lying here next to him, the silence in the air between us, feels so natural.

“She’s a good girl. Good girls aren’t my type. What about you?”

“Yeah, good girls aren’t my type either.”

He laughs low again, sending waves of butterflies through my chest.

“You and Hatch ever date?”

“No. I told you he’s my roommate’s hookup.”

“Is your roommate stupid? That guy’s a dick.”

I giggle and shake my head. Yeah, she does find herself in some stupid situations. “Trix has interesting taste.”

He sits straight up and turns his body toward me. “Trix is your roommate?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Fuck yeah, I know her. All the guys in the band know her.” He chuckles. “Well.”

I sit up and stare at him. We’re so close on the full-size bed, nothing separating us but that bottle of tequila. My eyes go tight and my chest seizes with jealousy. “You and Trix?”

All those mornings she’d go on and on about the one-night stand she’d had the night before. Telling me all the filthy details while I cringed and laughed. And one of those was Rex? Oh, fuck that!

“Me and . . . No.” He shakes his head. “I know Trix because she hangs out at some of our shows. I’ve never hooked up with her.”

Relief washes through my tense muscles and I lean in closer. “Never?”

His eyes dance around my face. “Never.”

Without thinking, I close the tiny space between us. My lips brush against his once, the metal from his lip ring is warmer than I imagined it’d be. I drag my lower lip against it—

“No.” He shoves me back by my shoulders. “Don’t fucking do that.” He’s off the bed, his hands fisting his shirt at his stomach.

I cover my mouth. Oh shit. I kissed him!

“You’re welcome to stay the night.” I can’t read his expression in the dark, but his body looks . . . pained.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t say it enough, loud enough, with enough meaning for him to understand. “Please, I don’t know what came over me. I just—”

“Lock the door on your way out.”

The last thing I see is Rex’s retreating back before I hear the front door slam.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. What did I do? The relief I felt that he hadn’t hooked up with Trix, his blue eyes locked on mine, the clean scent of his skin mixed with tequila on his breath, and the way we were so close—I kissed him. Oh no, this is bad. I finally get him alone and opening up to me. I fucked it all up.

He’ll never speak to me again.

Rex

Fuck! What the fuck was that? I didn’t see it coming. I can’t believe she tried to kiss me. Try? Shit, she did kiss me!

It was seconds, not even seconds, and my dick roared to life. The slight touch of those full cherry lips, the smell of the sun and sweetness coming from her skin, and I was gone. All the blood in my body pooled instantly in two places, one painfully obvious behind my zipper, and the other in my stomach. I hit the door, practically choking on the rising tequila.

I take a deep breath and turn up the volume on my car stereo. Avenged Sevenfold’s “Lost it All” blares through the speakers, intent on beating the memory out of my head. I keep seeing the pain of rejection in her eyes and the look of sheer panic on her face when I left. But no amount of music can erase the lingering smell of her in my truck or the buzz on my lips left from her soft kiss.