{Bizkit}
Noah's pov
I leave in three and a half days.
The thought has done nothing but plagued me with dread since I woke up. As soon as I heard they wanted to restart the tour - and so soon- I felt sick to my stomach. Mourning the day that too quickly made its approach, and even with 72 (ish) hours between myself and the road it still feels like my world is ending at this very second. I don't want to leave Veronica, especially after the most recent events. I know she is capable of taking care of herself, more so than most that I know. She isn't naive, and she surely isn't vulnerable. But the world is cold and brutal as is, and the added burden of being tied to someone who has a abundance of, to a fault, die hard fans quite like mine can be exhausting.
I let out a drawn out sigh, shaking my head as I pick up Mel's coat that she had thrown across the sofa last night and hang it on the metal rack by the door. She got in later than Roni and I, her and Folio stumbling into the condo as we started to watch the second Nightmare on Elm Street movie around 12 am. The otherwise empty home being filled with the sounds of their wet kisses and eager giggles, high on the idea of love.
I knew from the moment they met eachother that they would be inseparable, but I never anticipated it being taken to this level. Not so quickly at least. I've seen him fall hard for many of women, puppy love no stranger to my tender hearted friend who wants nothing more than someone to hold close at night. But with Mellie, it's different. He's smitten over the fiery red head and I can't help but see hearts in his eyes whenever she's around.
Or texting him.
Or calling him.
Anytime Mel is involved, Folio is happier in that moment than I have ever seen him before. A side of him that up until now was foreign to not just me, but everyone who has gotten to know him over the last few years.
I'm happy for him -both of them- however , he deserves all the love in the world and I know Mel is a good girl ,the perfect girl for him. Despite her hard exterior and slick mouth. They're quite the paring, Folio being a bit more reserved and mindful of himself. While Mellie curses like a sailor and doesn't care who is listening when she speaks. She has no shame, and for whatever reason that works for the two of them.
I spend a good portion of the morning tidying up the place. I have noticed that despite the hefty rent that they pay, the place is far from luxurious. Broken floor titles and moldy surfaces only being kept at bay by religious scrubbing. The once white walls speckled with brown and yellow stains from the leaks and years of indoor smoking that the small space has endured in the last 40 years it's been in operation. I have become used to making sure the house is kept up to par when they work their long hours into early morning and rest most of the day. They may never admit it, but I know it helps them out tremendously. The duo is no stranger to the demand of Vegas night life, and they have been doing it all on their own thus far. But with the stress of keeping the home in order off their shoulders, they have been able to take care of themselves and other needs that have gone long neglected.
Roni's birthday is coming up, it will be just a week after I leave and I have a grand gesture planned for her this evening. I have her favorite grassy, I mean spinach, pizza ordered. Hot and ready in the oven for when she is home, which should be at any moment. The house is wiped down and far more clean than I have ever done- I blame that on my anxious mind. Wanting everything to be perfect. Needing everything to be perfect. I have even taken the liberty to set up her small island to be displayed with all her favorite snacks. Two bottles of the best Pinot Kroger had to offer sitting in a bucket of ice directly in the center.
She should be home within the next twenty minutes or so. Roni has been working the midday shift this week, her hours not running past nine pm the last few days. Causing her and Mel to have to ride to and from work separately due to the shift difference. As I watch the clock strike 8:55 I eagerly attempt to dial back the excitement that brews within me at the thought of her walking into the ballon and banner filled living room I have set up. The air filled rubbers are in assorted shades of her two favorite colors. Coordinating streamers hanging from the ceiling and cascading down and around the room.
It's the least I can do for the girl I love, and I couldn't be happier now that she knows how I feel. Despite what she says - or doesn't say for that matter- I can't help but feel that she's on the same page as me. We have been spending endless amounts of time together, exploring the city, watching movies as I attempt to erase all the pain she has been through. Her hard shell has soften over the last few weeks, her eyes relaxing with the promise that everything is finally okay. The promise that I will make it okay again.
When I first saw her what feels like a completely different lifetime ago I never imagined what her world was like here. Striping to make ends meet, bagging men who didn't care to know her name but only wanted to say they had the opportunity to spend the night with her. It was far from the girl I knew, the girl I grew up with and watched crumble at the hands of a man who was far too undeserving of her.
But I know she did what she needed to do, what gave her back the power she felt that she had lost somewhere along the way between then and now. I would never judge her for that fact. I know she wanted to be as estranged from the person she once was while she built a life made up of stories she never lived. For whatever reason the highly fabricated situation betwixt Natalie and I struck a deep enough nerve that she needed to get away and never look back. That's all I can gather from the entire ordeal, I can't imagine what else drove a wedge so far between us that she took off without a trace.
I'm just lucky enough to have found her.
I sigh, tapping up the balloon arch just above the small sliding glass door. It too is filled with an assortment of all her favorite colors, orange and teal that somehow work well enough together to create a beautiful hue.
I throw a small orange table clothe over the island, setting out the platters of her favorite snack like sour chips and salty pretzels. Opening up the freezer I see the bright pink came box sitting next to a few half drank bottles of liquor. Smiling, I reach around it to grab the flutes sitting to the left and set down the chilled glasses for us on the island.
She should be here anytime.
Making last minute adjustment out of easterners, tidying up the counter and making sure everything is displayed perfectly. I even declutter the living room, putting stray movie cases back in their places on a shelf, knocking some dust off of framed photos, and even straightening up the girl's heels that they had scattered around. I want everything to be as perfect as possible. I have a bigger plan up my sleeve for the evening, and with my nerves on edge I hope it goes well.
I palm away at the velvet ring box in my packet, knowing that the small princess cut diamond sits in between the two cushions between the folds. It may be too soon- or even not soon enough all things considering. But I want her to be all mine, and the right away this time. Regardless of the difficulties that lay between us, the mishandling of our hearts or any complications that may arise.
This is what I want.
I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear a rustling in Roni's room, looking around I see that Bizkit has moved from his over the top four story cat condo that he was perched on but a few minutes ago.
Shit.
"Bizkit" I call out, hoping the ginger cat will peak his head out from one of the small opening of the large and obnoxious toy Mel had bought him. When my efforts are useless I let out a frustrated sigh.
I make my way down the small hall, and see that Roni's door is slightly ajar. And that makes me grunt even louder as I frantically push the door open.
Due to her allergy she usually is good about keeping her door shut, not wanting to risk the contamination, but she must of been absent minded today in her rush of getting ready for her shift that she was running late to. I can't blame her for being absent minded, it's been a hectic few days and the added stress of her not staying on the meticulous schedule she keeps herself on was enough to have her frazzled.
I step in, clicking my tongue to grab his attention but only being met with the sound of paws ruffling around. I can pinpoint the noise to under her bed, rolling my eyes with a forceful annoyance -I now have to wash her comforter because of the curious feline.
Getting on my knees I crouch down, peaking my head under her old metal frame and seeing the tabby sitting in a worn out black shoe box, the lid discarded next to it on the floor.
"Bizkit" I whisper yell to him with a staggered voice, I watch as his round green eyes snap up to look at me, unshaded by my panic. He holds his head titled slightly to the left, trying to understand my demands - or trying to figure out if he cares or not. I've learned over the last few weeks he is stone headed, only really listening to Mellie when she gets fed up with his antics and drops the base in her voice.
I jolt my hand towards him, causing his feet to scurrying quickly out of the box and from under the bed. His plump figure disappearing around the curve of Roni's door open frame as the bright green bell around his neck echoes in the air with a jingle. He is a mischievous fellow, with a curiosity that should of killed him by now. We have to be mindful of keeping the balcony door shut right or else there's a chance he will escape and cause chaos with the strays outside.
Again.
There are papers scattered about from within the small space he was nestled in. And I bring my right hand to reach for everything to put it back in place. Pulling out the box first, I grab for the bundle of papers next and draw them out as well. My hands begin to gather up the stack, trying to neatly place it all together once more. But my eyes quickly land on a copy of what can only be an ultrasound photo. My curious mind far too eager to set it down as I bring the still to my face. In the corner I can read a name
Veronica B. Collins
Then a date
3-10-2020
In the middle of the thin photo paper is a captured still of a small forming life, the black and white not providing much other than a small bit of information to let me now that it's indeed the first stages of budding life. I see the fuzziest outline of what I assume is, well.. it. it's hard to tell. But I can see some sign of life snapshot before me.
My mind is flooded with a plethora of thoughts, my hands shaking with emotion as I bring the picture up to observe it more intently.
There's no way.
The dates line up with a few months after she left LA, the baby looking to be only big enough to be a few months old. It's addressed to a some clinic in Fresno, on a street I have never heard of. Miles away from the place I thought we called home.
But she would tell me if we had a baby.
Wouldn't she?!
I'm confused, angry and fucking sad as I rummage through the paper work. My heart races with a thunderous rhythm that can't be tamed, it floods out the world around me with a hallow echo as my rage leads the way. I see confirmation of an abortion performed but only a few weeks past the date on the photo. Veronica's signature printed on a line in bold pen ink.
My eyes flood with tears that burn up my sinuses, as my chest aches with a cry I dare not let out.
There's a small journal sitting at the bottom of the box, the black leather held together with a thick matte binding. I can barely keep a tight hold on it as I contemplate opening it and taking a look at some pages. I never would imagine having the urge to cross her lines of privacy, but as I see the unimaginable right before my eyes I can't help but let those temptations win. I peel back the front cover, flipping through a mound of blank pages before finally finding something jotted down in the middle of the book. I recognize the bubbly scripture immediately as Ronis's. My eyes scanning the first few lines of the only entry on the entire book.
3-14- 2020
I did it. I fucking did it and I can't tell if what I am feeling is relief or regret. A giant burden has literally been ripped out from my womb and I am the furthest thing from happy about it- that's all I know. The only feeling I can register from in is the sadness that brews so heavily from within its almost unbearable. The pain in my stomach is indescribable, my groin burns with an ache I have never felt before. My body feels hallow and barren. The bleeding hasn't let up much in the last two days, and I would be scared if it wasn't for the doctor informing me that I would bleed a lot since I was underweight for how far along I was-
I slam the book shut, not being able to stomach much more as the thick hot tears beg to fall from my eye and I almost give in but a few heavy blinks keep them at bay. My chest is tight, and it feels as if breathing is far from the realm of possibility at this point.
Taking the handful of papers and the small leather book into my palms, I grip them so harshly I see the paper crinkle under my touch. Sluggishly I make my way back to the small kitchen as the world around me begins to warp around me. Slamming everything down on the countertops as my eyes continue to gawk over them. Trying to find an explanation of what is surely a reasonable situation.
Trying to make sense of it all.
My eyes are overfilling with hot tears the more I wrack over them. Seeing that she did In fact consent to an adoration just a few months after leaving me, a few snapshots of the small life forming in her all dated to what would be a perfect timeline to be my own. My chest fills with anger, the heat radiating through my body and making my fingertips tingle with an unearthing rage. I want to scream until my lungs collapse, throw the glasses against the wall and watch it scatter away like the pieces of my heart. But instead I wait. Sitting down on a bar stool as I stare at the front door. Relishing in the betrayal that I was so carelessly smacked in the face with. I can't help but feel like a fool for being so blind to the truth, for not questioning her actions a little more. For whatever reason I figured she was justified in her reasonings for leaving, thinking she did it all along with no malice intent.
My mind flooding with so many questions, and no answers insight to explain away the one question that rages in my mind-why. This isn't the Veronica I know, the girl who had no poker face and wore her heart on her sleeve, but somehow hid something so prominent from me.
Maybe she isn't the girl I thought she was.
Or maybe somewhere in between all the hurt, all the pain inflicted on her undeserving heart and betrayal she changed into someone I never really knew.
After what feels like hours I finally see the locks turn. The world is going in slow motion as I watch the knob twist and the door push open. Revealing a clearly exhausted Veronica.
She's dressed in all black like usual. Lows rise noir denim so tight against her slim legs, they look nearly painted on. A see through corset top adoring her upper half and leaving very little to the imagination as her small breaths push far up on her chest. It stops right above her deep navel, showcasing a ruby jewel that glistens under the lights. Her long blonde hair is passing her ribs now, and she has been wearing it in its natural waving state lately. The dark roots had began to peak through a while ago, and she hasn't made an effort to cover them up. Minimal makeup showcases her icy blue eyes and narrow face, a faded red painting her pouty lips that hold a warmth so welcoming it almost feels like home.
She is beautiful but lethal.
She keeps that same smile for a moment longer, her crimson lips turned upward as she walks towards where I sit. Ignorant to the information that has been bestowed upon me. But as soon as her ocean eyes catch a glance of the papers scattered across the island her face settles into panic and I swear I can hear her heart rattle as her chest rises and falls with an unsettled tempo. She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly clasps it shut. The words getting lost somewhere in her throat that she desperately tries to wet with a few deep swallows.
I ponder over what I can say for a moment. Needing to muster up anything , something, to say to her as the raw truth lays in front of us. My mind runs a million miles a minute, not a single cognitive thought making itself known. I watch as she wracks her brain for something to say, for something to do to make it better. To cushion the blow from the heartache that should of been unloaded on me years ago. I can see as her body begins to tremble and in another universe I would hold her in my arms and keep her steady- like always. But I can't find it in myself to do that, to do much of anything but watch the beautiful disaster of a woman before me. I can barely even breathe, much less speak, but I can eventually push forward a few words.
"Veronica. What the fuck is this?"
—-
DUN. DUN. DUN.
SOOOO HOW ARE WE FEELING?? THE SECRET IS NOW OUT! GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS BELOW!
UNTIL NEXT TIME!
-XXJ