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the next day, i laid in bed until one o'clock in the afternoon. a thin layer of sweat had made a home of my skin. my stomach churned with nausea whenever a wave of heat washed over my shoulders. and i couldn't help but grimace every now and then at the taste of bong water and stale weed lingering somewhere in my mouth.
my brain ran circles in my head. i hadn't given myself a moment to process the news that marin had laid on me last night—really process it—so i was caught in this loop of smoking a bowl, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, then peeking out my bedroom window to make sure my car hadn't been stolen. (it hadn't.) (yet.) i did that until quarter to two, when i decided i could no longer deal with the sensation of grime blanketing every inch of my body, and the sickness in my gut. i'd grown tolerant of my loop of distractions.
i took a hot shower. then a cold one. then i brushed my teeth over and over again until i couldn't taste anything but mint. after that, i sliced up an orange and bit into it before my mind could put up a fight, and soon enough the bitterness didn't faze me.
if there was one thing about me, it was that i could never look my problems in the eye. even if i knew it'd be good for me. even if i knew that those exact problems, and all the weight i carried on my shoulders because of them, would downsize tenfold the very second i turned to face them. all i had to do was stop running. but i was compulsive, and afraid, and restless, and i always had been. and i wouldn't know how to stop running even if i wanted to.
that was another thing: i wasn't sure if i did.
so i did everything in my power to avoid thinking.
i spent the next hour going through my luggage, sorting out the worn and unworn articles of clothing before giving up and tossing everything into one big pile to be washed. i blasted alice in chains on surround sound to drown out any morsel of silence that might be cowering in the nooks and crannies of my home. it was the best i could do. and it seemed to do the trick for a while. long enough for me to throw some clothes in the washing machine.
it was when i dug my hand into my messenger bag, prepared to find nothing but gum wrappers and old crumpled up receipts, that my mind finally managed to outdo the music.
jake stared up at me from the cover of the magazine in my hands. a white suit hugged his figure. his fingers clutched the neck of a red gibson.
THE BEST GUITARISTS OF 2021
he was a rockstar. he was famous.
i couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't mentioned his profession. better yet, how i hadn't managed to put the pieces together myself. considering all the evidence that had fallen at my feet during the week — the way he walked the busy streets with his head down, the expensive instruments and equipment littering his beautiful condo, and the knowing look on that drive thru employee's face as jake rolled up with his hood over his head — i should have known. it should have been obvious. i considered the notion that he was vain enough to assume i already knew of his renown. or maybe he had hoped that i didn't. either way, i couldn't confidently say that it was important, that it mattered, because it didn't. he wasn't a rockstar to me, he was just jake. kind, humble jake.
memories of our crossing paths paraded in my mind, suddenly very quiet and tranquil.
i thought of the night we met, how he'd saved my ass from some sleazy oil-clad hick, and drove me home out of the goodness of his heart. come to think of it, climbing into a stranger's car in the middle of the night was a stupid, stupid move, but i supposed that was the beauty of whiskey. and luck. definitely luck.
we'd flirted back and forth across the dinner table the next night. talking about pirates and velvet and hard liquor as we bit our lips and let our eyes say what our mouths wouldn't. i could remember that much. and how close we'd gotten under the dim light of the dive we'd found ourselves in later on that night, eager to hear each other's voice over the music. he smelled woodsy, and fresh, but there was this musk to him that was almost magnetic. i'd imagined burying my nose in the crook of his neck, tangling my fingers in his long hair, and breathing him in until my lungs were about to explode.
vague images—memories—flashed in my head. my hands on his chest. on his jaw. the bottom of his face inches from my own, distorted slightly by perspective and booze and copious amounts of weed. feeble light. forest green sheets. smoke so thick you almost couldn't breathe.
i blinked. then i frowned to myself. whether or not i could trust the authenticity of my mental souvenirs was beyond me. it was all so foggy, clouded by intoxication.
after feeling around for my phone on my bed, i pulled up my conversation with jake. i hadn't responded to his text the night before. partially because i wanted to make him wait for me, just to see if he would, but mostly because i didn't know what to say. he wanted to see me again... i wanted to see him again... the feeling was mutual—very much so—and i should have been glad about it, but instead there was this tension simmering at the bottom of my gut, and i didn't know how to turn it off.
jake: so when can i see you again?
i stared at the message for a long time, then scrolled up to stare at the photo of him in his en suite mirror for even longer.
"hellooooo! earth to valerie!"
i startled, clutching my chest with a gasp after fumbling with my phone in the air. "jesus christ, dude!" i huffed. "you scared the shit out of me!"
tegan and i looked at each other for a moment. the dark, outgrown roots of her otherwise burgundy hair were wet with what i could only assume to be rain, the shoulders of her fitted grey t-shirt darkened with moisture, too. she leaned against my doorframe with a lazy hand, half-clad in long, striped fingerless gloves, on her hip.
we'd lived together for nearly two years. desperate to escape the confines of my childhood home, i'd clicked on the first ad i'd stumbled across: a lease takeover on a one storey home near campus, one roommate, $550 a month, available immediately. initially, we'd clashed a lot, too caught up in our own perceptions and opinions to see each other for who we really were. once i got to know her, i couldn't believe i'd gone my whole life not knowing her and having no choice but to be okay with it. i often wondered how much different my life would have been had i met her earlier on. part of me believes i would have been happier. i'd always had layla around, and of course she'd made me happy, but she didn't get me the way tegan did. tegan was honest. sometimes painfully so. but i admired that about her. she was kind and generous and caring, and she didn't hesitate to tell you what she thought because she always knew it was for your own good. i'd needed someone like her in my life. someone to keep things real. i'd had enough sugarcoating for one lifetime.
tegan grinned just then. she drew her eyebrows together, made devil horns on her hands and bobbed her head to alice in chains' "dirt." by the sarcastic expression on her face as she lip-synced, it was obvious that she was being a dick about the volume, but i knew she was just fooling around. i rolled my eyes at her and tried not to give her the satisfaction of my amusement. but i couldn't help from chuckling. i slipped past her to turn down the music on the stereo.
"feels like i'm there, dude," she joked.
"a girl can dream," i said. we nodded in agreement.
"how was your trip?" she asked me then, perking up. i could feel my face muscles fall at her question, but by the time i tried to pretend i was anything but elated to reminisce on my nights in nashville, tegan's shoulders had already sagged. "oh god. what happened? did you guys get mugged again?"
"no! nothing happened. it was a lot of fun." i chuckled like i couldn't believe she thought otherwise. stepping around her, i avoided her stare and made my way over to my bed to busy myself by flattening my covers and fluffing my pillows.
"since when do you buy magazines?" tegan asked from somewhere beyond my peripheral. i turned to find her leaning against the doorframe once again, thumbing through the pages of total guitar, which i'd carelessly thrown out of my sight just moments before.
"when in rome," i muttered halfheartedly, playing it cool. i sat down on the corner of the mattress. "or whatever..."
tegan tossed the magazine, landing it right next to me. i glanced down at jake's photograph, contemplating whether or not i should tell her about our little rendezvous. if she would even believe me. but i supposed that if she was so certain something had happened, and so eager to get it out of me, she had no choice but to at least humour me.
"alright, cut the shit, val."
i rolled my eyes, dropping my head in my hands with a groan. it was pointless to even try to hide things from her. she had some sort of sixth sense, i swore. all she had to do was look at me, and all of a sudden there was this indiscernible urge deep in my bones to spill every secret i'd ever kept. i didn't have any qualms about tegan being as omniscient as she was in my life. she wouldn't judge. i knew that. and she certainly wouldn't hold my words against me, either. it was when i was forced to face my own thoughts that i had a problem. she was like a giant brick wall. i couldn't run any further.
"fine," i said, hardly able to unstick the words from my lips. "i met a guy."
tegan didn't respond, waiting for me to elaborate with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.
i picked up the magazine and flashed her the front page. "him."
the mattress shifted as tegan sunk into the space next to me, plucking the issue from my hands to examine jake's picture from a new perspective—my perspective. "he's cute," she said, almost hesitant. like she wasn't sure whether or not this was good news.
"i knowww," i grumbled.
"do you like him?" she asked.
"yes—" i threw myself onto my back, covering my face with my hands "—and that's the problem!"
i watched her frown from a gap between my fingers. "what? why? is he, like, a republican or something?"
"no, i just— i don't want to like him. i can't."
"you're not making any sense here, dude. just— start from the beginning. how'd you meet him?"
so i stood up and i told her everything as i paced back and forth in front of her, from layla's disappearance at the bar to the last message i received from him on the floor of the detroit airport, and everything in between. the things we had in common and the things that made us different. the way he smelled up close in that dive. how i couldn't remember what happened that night, and how i wasn't sure if my slivers of recollection were real or just what i wanted to believe.
she laid on her stomach, listening intently and nodding whenever necessary. i told her that i was afraid. confused. that layla was right when she'd suggested that jake wasn't just some guy. that he was different and that i liked him and didn't know what to do with myself because of it.
i'd never felt this way about anyone before. and now that he was asking to see me again, i thought about how i'd never felt so far beneath someone in my life. he was cool and he was famous and kind and funny and he didn't make a big deal of how amazing he was even though he obviously knew it just as well as the next person. i'd never really been cool, or talented enough for people to know my name. i could be mean, and sometimes i tried too hard to be funny. i wasn't good enough for him. i didn't understand how he couldn't see that.
i released a long sigh after i laid everything out on the line for tegan to pick away at, like some sort of psychological buffet. i was a tough case, and i knew it, but i figured someone oughta help her put her degree to use.
she was quiet for a while. then she sucked in a lengthy breath. "can i be honest?"
"please," i hummed hopelessly.
"you're a fucking idiot."
"i know!" i exclaimed, dropping into my desk chair with a squeak. "god, i know... i'm such a dummy."
"he likes you, val. obviously. and anyone with eyes and a brain can see that you like him, too."
"i know..."
"i think you'd be stupid not to give it a chance, just because you're insecure and can't fathom that a guy likes you for you, not for what you can offer him in the middle of the night."
i stared at my hands.
"what are you so afraid of?" tegan asked me. her voice was soft. gentle.
"i don't know," i said. and it was true. i was terrified. but why? "i guess i'm just worried he'll turn out like the rest of them."
it made sense as it rolled off my tongue. it felt right. but as i sat there with my chin in my hands i knew it didn't make up the full magnitude of my misgivings. so i dug a little deeper.
"and that if he gets to know me a little better he won't like what he sees."
tegan looked at me a moment before she said, "he might, he might not. but that's for him to decide. if you get to know each other only to find that your pieces don't quite fit together, then so be it. right? at least you tried. you just have to be willing to accept the possibility of not being right for each other."
i didn't say anything because i knew she was right. she always was. i felt angry at myself for how weak i was, and sick with admiration for how strong and wise she was, floating through life on a carpet of stoicism. i wished i could be more like her. i wished i could feel pain and doubt and embrace them like an old friend. but instead i was just like my mother, more so than i cared to admit. i was scared and my clothes caught on every fence i tried to climb and i didn't know the first thing about strength or wisdom or love.
"the whole point of life is to feel," tegan said. "you're not doing yourself any favours by running away."
i started to cry then. i thought of my mother, and my sister, and my estranged stranger of a father. first i was angry. then anger melted into heartache. heartache into mourning. i kept quiet in my thoughts, and tegan sat there with me in silence as rain pattered against my bedroom window, her presence more than enough for me.
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anotha one (unedited, mostly). (sorry.) hope you like <333
j xx