Ким Карр - Torn

He throws himself back on the bed. “Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t told them yet. I wanted to see what would happen to the guys first. Make sure my quitting doesn’t have a financial impact on them. That’s why Ellie was here, she was pointing out the penalties for breach of contract.”

I want to say I bet she was, but I know this is not the time for jealously. Right now he needs me. I lean down next to him and stroke his cheek with my thumb. “River, why are you doing this now?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds. “I just can’t do it. I never wanted it to begin with and now with everything else going on, my heart just isn’t in it.”

“River, you cannot quit because of us.”

“That’s just it, Dahlia. It’s not because of you or us; it’s because of me. You know I never wanted this. It won’t be good for me and it won’t be good for the band if I go through with it.”

He pulls me closer and our mouths collide. His tongue lightly probes mine, and I realize I have missed his lips. I have missed him. He pulls me on top of him and his hands slide down to my backside, pushing me into him. I get caught up in the moment, and then suddenly remember we still need to talk about yesterday.

I murmur against his lips. “River, we need to talk.”

He breathes back, “I need you right now.”

“I need you, too, but I meant what I said yesterday—we can’t keep trying to solve our issues with sex.”

Pulling back, he looks at me. I move to sit beside him and he sits up, too. Sighing, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I know we do, beautiful.”

All I want to do is grab handfuls of his messy hair and pull him back to me. When I look into his eyes, I see the same look I saw when I walked in the door: guilt.

“River, we have so much we need to talk about.”

He nods his head and looks resigned to the discussion. I notice his hands start to twitch when he says, “Dahlia, there are just some things that are harder to talk about than others.”

“I know. But we need to have these difficult discussions.”

“You have to know, I just never wanted to have to say anything that might hurt you . . .”

When the house phone rings, I jump. I reach to answer it, but he stops me. “Let it ring.”

“It might be about Trent,” I tell him and grab the receiver. “Hello,” I answer.

“Let me talk to River,” Xander demands.

I cover the receiver and mouth, “It’s Xander, and he wants to talk to you.”

He exhales a heavy breath and takes the receiver. “What?” He’s quiet for a few seconds and then frowns. “I don’t want to talk about it now.” Then he turns the phone off and tosses it to the floor. “What’s going on with Trent?”

“He called me crying this morning. He sounded scared and alone. He said he needed me to come get him in Newport. I tried to wake you up to tell you.”

He studies me. “You lost me. What was he doing in Newport and why did you have to go get him?”

“River, he’s an addict.”

“How do you know that?”

I know he’s not going to like this. “When I got to Newport, Ben was already there. He needed help to take Trent back to the house.”

His mouth sets in a firm line and his eyes narrow. “What house, Dahlia?”

“My house in Laguna.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says as he stands up. “You spent the day with him and you’re worried about what Ellie was doing here?”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

He heads for the door and just before he leaves the room he says, “You got that right!”

I follow him out into the living room. “River, we need to talk about this reasonably.”

River’s eyes snap to me. “Whose clothes are you wearing?”

There’s a hard knock and the front door swings open. Xander stands there scowling.

River ignores him. Pain contorts his features. “I asked whose clothes you’re wearing?”

“It was raining and I was wet so I had to change.”

Xander isn’t going to be ignored. He walks right over to River and says, “I want to talk to you now!”

“Fuck off, Xander.” River’s voice is low and filled with fury. I don’t think he’s even trying to control himself as his hands clench into fists.

I flinch when Xander grabs River by the shirt and gets right in his face. “Listen to me. I said I want to talk to you and it isn’t a choice,” he seethes.

River shoves him away and looks back at me. “You’re wearing his clothes! Did you let him fuck you?”

“Hey bro, calm down,” Xander says.

I gasp in shock that he would say something like that. My voice breaks but I manage, “River, no, of course not. You know there’s nothing going on between Ben and me. Let’s just sit down and talk about this.” I tell him this suppressing my own temper—trying to remain calm and pretending Xander isn’t really here listening to all of this.

His voice sounds rough, broken even. He shakes his head just once. “I don’t want to fucking deal with all this shit anymore!” Suddenly, his expression grows dark, almost dangerous. Then before I know what’s happening, he kicks the glass table from underneath, the papers that were sitting on it scatter in the air and the tabletop itself flips over and shatters. The sound is piercing. Without looking at me he storms out the kitchen door and stomps down the stairs. I can hear his engine rev and then his tires squeal.

From the front door I watch as he takes off. I call after him, but he can’t hear me. I just stand there frozen. I shiver and I know it’s not because of the chill in the air or lingering rain.

In the next moment Xander is standing behind me.

“Muse! Did you hear me?” he says in an incredulous tone.

I turn around and his eyes snap to mine. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands.

All I can do is shake my head. There is so much going on, I’m not even sure what he wants to know.

“He’s smashing shit and running out. He’s not acting like himself. Why?”

I swallow. “He’s mad.”

He takes a step forward, curling his lip into a sneer. “Ellie just called and told me he quit. How is it I didn’t even fucking know he quit? Is it because of you?”

I lean back against the open door and try to open my mouth to speak but the words won’t come out.

His jaw clenches and his fury seems to overcome him. He slams his fist against the wall. “You have nothing to say. He doesn’t answer his phone. He won’t talk to me. And you two are going at it . . . again. You’re the reason he quit. Aren’t you?”

“No. No, I’m not the reason. He just doesn’t . . .”

He cuts me off. “Fuck it! I’m done.”

With a disgusted look he brushes by me and walks out.

“Xander, let me explain,” I call out but he just ignores me.

I watch him leave as well, then turn and close the door.

A memory suddenly flashes before my eyes—the first time I saw River’s gorgeous silhouette across the bar, his intense gaze, our instant connection. Is it gone?

Walking into the living room I pick up his guitar and strum my fingers along the strings. When I look at the glass table now broken into a thousand tiny pieces, I think, You were wrong, River, we are in pieces.

Everlong

Faint morning light streams through the window as I slip off our bed and try to call him again. Standing over the nightstand I clutch the portable phone. My call goes directly to his voice mail but I don’t leave a message; I haven’t left any messages because I’m not sure what to say, what will make any of it better. I just think if we could sit down and talk reasonably, we could work it out. Or at least I hope we can.

As I hang up the phone I have an urgent need to find something that will bring me some comfort. I peer out the window, looking for the sign that’s blocked from my view by the heavy rain. I open the sliding doors and make my way down to the pool deck to get a little closer so I can catch a glimpse. Once I’m standing on the half wall that acts as our railing, I shade my eyes and I see a faint hint of the letter H. I spread my arms out and throw my head back. The rain pelts down on my face and I look into the heavens and ask—why are we falling apart?

I stay out in the rain until I’m shivering and my teeth are chattering. Making my way back into the house, I take off my wet clothes and slip on my bathrobe. Ben’s clothes are still lying in the same place I threw them last night when I stripped them off. Picking them up, I walk into the kitchen and throw them away. I can see why River hasn’t answered his phone; it’s sitting on the counter, its screen illuminated and beeping to indicate that he has messages. I feel some relief that at least he isn’t ignoring my calls.

On my way back to our bedroom, I stop in the music room and sit at the piano that River bought me for Christmas last year. I had told him that my dad had been teaching me to play before he died. Since then, River has taken that role on and I have perfected many songs, but I am most proud that I’ve mastered the one my dad was teaching me before tragedy stuck—“Lullabye” by Billy Joel. I sit at the piano for a long while, drawing my fingers across the keys and thinking about our happy times in this room before finally deciding to take a shower.

Standing under the hot water, I try to rid myself of the chills that don’t want to go away. When I finally get out, I start to get dressed and the phone rings. I dash for it, assuming it is River.

“Hello?”

“Dahl, it’s me. I need some help.”

“Ben? How did you get this number?”

“From Caleb. Why, are you not allowed to get calls?”

“What do you need, Ben?”

“I want to go check out one of the centers that have availability for Trent and make sure it’s not a shithole, but I can’t leave Trent alone.”

“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say and hang up.

I throw on a pair of jeans, select one of my dad’s concert T-shirts, and put my boots on because I know River likes them.

I can’t find my phone, I have no idea where I left it yesterday morning in my haste to get to Trent. So I leave the house without a phone again, but this time I leave a note for River. I know he thinks I’m still upset with him and he’s obviously upset with me, but I want him to know how I feel.

River,

If I could have one wish, just one, then my wish would be you . . . to wake up with the feel of your breath near my neck, the warmth of your lips on mine, and the sound of your heart beating in sync with my heart.

You’re the one who turned my world around . . . made it right. You brought me back to life. I can’t imagine my life without you. I know this past week has been tough for both of us, but I love you more than words can say. I’d never do anything to hurt you and I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Reach down deep into your soul, remember who I am, who we are, and I know you will have no doubts.

Just remember you’re my everything. I know we need to talk.

I love you more. I love you always!

I’m yours, Dahlia.

PS I hope you know which one is missing.

Once I finish and tuck it under his phone, I run to the bedroom and pull out the six guitar picks I gave him for Valentine’s Day. Placing them on top of the note, I leave all but one and place the one I selected inside my pocket.

I also need to tell him I’m going to Ben’s to keep an eye on Trent, so I take a Post-it from the drawer and write a quick note that I stick to the refrigerator before leaving.

* * *

I arrive in Laguna much faster than usual, so I pick up a few items at the grocery store that I know Trent likes and then go through the Starbucks drive-thru and get coffees.

When I get to the house, I step on the front porch and can’t help but think it seems so strange to knock, not just walk into the house that I lived in for so long. I lightly tap on the door, not wanting to wake Trent in case he’s sleeping. When there’s no answer, I open the door and peek my head inside. “Ben?”

There’s no response so I decide to step inside. I’ve just set the bags and coffees down in the kitchen and turned to open the refrigerator when he walks in. He’s shirtless, his hair is wet, and he’s trying to run a belt through the loops of his shorts. His other arm isn’t in the sling, it’s hanging limply by his side. He looks surprised. “Shit, you really did get here fast. I guess you were already awake.” Then with an impish grin he says, “What, doesn’t he have blackout shades?”