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WitFit Jan/Feb 2013

90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll

Word Prompt: Pebble

Dialogue Flex: "I'm not sure my bank account can cover it."

-PoM-

A year ago, I would have said I was content with my life the way it was: school, work, the occasional date; hanging out with Rose on the weekends, or occasionally going to visit my father in his small town when funds and school permitted. It wasn't a balls-out ride or anything, but it was what I thought I'd enjoyed.

Now, though, with shows at least twice a month (if not more) and the excitement of watching the guys gain more and more attention, I couldn't imagine going back to that even keel. School was going good, and work had been so much easier since I'd told Mike to cut the crap. He was polite now . . . not as friendly as before, but that was a blessing, really. And I hadn't even needed to sic my tattooed, fuck-authority boyfriend on him. Sticking up for myself was addictive.

And then there was Edward, who was so different and interesting, and sometimes woefully oblivious to everything else around him when a song was in his head or a melody was waiting to be laid down. It was the best sort of challenge learning how to fit into his life, and all the more rewarding when the doubts I'd had in the beginning were proved wrong. Because, even when he was lost inside his brain, he resurfaced and made me feel like I was special.

He was attentive in his own way, and when I remembered to let go of fantasy love stories I'd devoured growing up, the quiet affection he gave to me was oftentimes better than anything I'd read about. I was learning the ropes, so to speak, about what being with someone meant. My inexperience, at first a hindrance, was waning, and I liked finding what it was I wanted in life without compromising myself to another.

Not that we were without issues. They cropped up every few weeks, but the more I became comfortable with him, and also with myself, the easier it was to voice my concerns. Gone was the timid girl who'd sat back and let someone else call the shots; who'd sat idly by while forgetfulness caused havoc. If something bothered me I told him, and didn't worry that I'd be seen as a shrew.

Relationships were give and take, after all, and better when it wasn't all give on only one person's part.

-PoM-

"I need to call the magazines and push for an interview. Maybe get them lined up on the local festival schedule," Rose said.

It was early March, and while the four song EP the guys had produced with Eric was taking off locally, and in some cases beyond, what they really needed was a big break.

We all did our part. Rose talked the band up to anyone who would listen. Tyler was pushing CDs out of the back of Lauren's van whenever he could. I took copies to classes with me and hawked them on campus. Jasper was relentless in calling labels and trying to get a demo sent to them, or talking to people who knew a guy who knew a guy.

The band had taken on travelling further beyond the borders of the city to do gigs in places as far as Vancouver and Portland, with some moderate success. But I knew it was just a matter of time before they were really discovered by someone who had a bigger hand in helping them than our grassroots efforts.

"What you need is national attention. Right now there are so many good local bands, they could easily get lost in the shuffle."

Personally, I thought they were better than some of the bands that had gotten national attention in the wake of the explosion of "grunge", which had taken a hold of the music scene and knocked it on its ass.

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

I chuckled. "What does Jasper think about your self-appointed position as public relations manager?"

"I don't give a shit what he thinks. If it wasn't for me, they wouldn't have played in Portland. He's all right at managing the logistics but not the band as a whole. Besides, he knows better than to try and tell me to let him handle it."

I took a sip of coffee and muttered, "He better not, if he knows what's good for him."

"What did you say?"

"There is no one else better suited for the job, Rose," I said quickly.

"I do wish he'd keep a better eye on Tyler though."

I set my coffee down. "Why? Is something going on with Ty?"

"Kids been doping it up a lot lately. I think it's that pipsqueak he's been hanging out with. She's bad news."

I didn't disagree with her. Lauren was nice, but flakey. She was interested in partying and that was really about it. She sat with me and Rose at some of the shows, and other times she blew us off in favor of a rougher crowd that she hung around with. They always disappeared in little packs of two or three, only to come out of the bathroom with eyes that didn't seem to stay open.

Besides the usual puffs of pot or drinking that was an afterthought when a show or practice was over for me and Edward, I hadn't noticed a lot of other nonsense. Not that I was able to be around all the time, not with classes rushing toward finals and work.

Over time, I'd noticed Edward didn't really drink except for when he was playing. On nights we both could get out, when I didn't have another paper due and he didn't have a gig, we'd go catch a show or a movie together, or hang out with our friends, and he might have a beer or two but that was about it. He seemed happy to drive me so crazy with a hand stroking my spine or fingers drawing distracting patterns under my hair until I rushed him out and back to one of our apartments.

"What kind of stuff has he been into?"

"Eh, Emmett said he was trippin' on a microdot the other night."

"Acid? That's not a good move."

"That's what I'm saying. That show last week, the one you couldn't come to in Portland? Well, he was positive he was going to float off of the stage so Emmett wound an amp cord around his leg and told him he was tethered to the ground."

"If it wasn't sad, I might find that kind of funny. That worries me, though."

She looked at me, her features full of concern. "I know."

-PoM-

Bored with reviewing the same words over and over, I looked up from the term paper I had been working on for the past hour and studied my boyfriend instead. He was sitting on the couch, shirt unbuttoned and guitar propped on his lap, working on a new song.

Next to him was his tattered notebook full of lyrical prose and ideas and if Tyler was correct, the story of us. It was quite possibly the hardest thing to not peek, to not ask innocent questions that wouldn't let on that I knew what was in there, every time I saw him with it—which was often. He almost always carried it with him. There were times I'd hear something he was working on and I'd just know what the words were about, and the feeling that gave me was indescribable.

Another part of getting to know him was learning to understand the way he worked. He was stoic, not always comfortable with expressing his feelings in conversation. Since we'd gotten together there had been a few instances where he made his thoughts clear, times he'd let me know straight up what he was thinking about, but the old adage that actions spoke louder than words was one that fit him perfectly.

Instinctually, I knew he'd show me only what he wanted to through actions—sweet gestures like bringing me my favorite candy bar and soda when I had a long night of studying, or playing a song he knew I liked when we were just hanging out—and the rest came out in song.

And the songs he was writing . . .

Once the EP was finished and out there, he'd taken on a bigger role with the songwriting. Because of this their sound had changed a little, but onto something I thought was even more dynamic and infinitely stronger. Sadly, Tyler's input had diminished somewhat, his desire to write fading.

The newer stuff was different from the old, more intense, and it spoke to me on a level that made me feel like I was floating on a wave of promises of the future. Because I knew, intrinsically, that the songs were Edward's thoughts about me.

He put down his guitar and called to me, "Hey, beautiful girl, come here."

Not needing an excuse to postpone comparisons of war journalists in the early twentieth century, I put down my pen and gladly went to curl up under his arm on the couch.

My hand found its way to his stomach, and I traced the shape of the tattoo on his ribcage. His muscles bunched under my hand. "Mmm. This is way better than working on my paper. I could do this forever."

In a move that was so him, he kissed the top of my head and pulled me into his body. "Why don't you just give in and move in with me?"

I sighed and spread my hand out over my chest. It was a conversation we'd been having a lot lately, and while it thrilled me to know he wanted that, that he wanted me to be there when he got home and when he woke up, I had some qualms about the situation.

"Edward," I said, gently so he wouldn't take it as an outright refusal, but firm enough to ensure my words were heard. "We've discussed this. I don't like being here alone. When you guys are gone on away gigs, I feel more comfortable in my own apartment. Not that Rose is always there, because most of the time she's with you, but at least I'm in a place that I know. Besides, I'm not sure my bank account can cover it. Rose pays lot more utilities and rent than I do." Edward's apartment was . . . not a heap, but it wasn't in the safest area. And I got that—he was a struggling musician, and therefore he lived where he could afford. He had a part time job at a store that sold instruments, but the checks barely covered his rent most months, especially lately. He was lucky his boss was so cool and let him get away with working when he could, and that the gigs had been paying more as of late to cover the rest of his expenses.

And, while I knew I could certainly help with that on some level, I also didn't want to my portion of the rent to go to a place where I didn't feel safe. And, if things happened for him and the band . . . well, I wouldn't want to live alone, that was for sure.

And he didn't want to, as he'd put it: "Live somewhere I can hear Emmett boning Rose."

"I know you don't want to live here, and maybe we wouldn't have to. Let's get some other place together."

"The idea sounds wonderful." Waking up to him every morning would be a kind of heaven.

"Then why are you resisting it so hard? I'm going to start taking it personally."

I sat up and turned around to face him. "Hush it. You mean the world to me, and if you don't know that by now then I'm clearly not doing the whole 'girlfriend thing' correctly. But, seriously, you guys are on the brink of something big, I just know it. And when it happens—not if—there'll be a lot of change happening. And I'd be more comfortable in my apartment."

"That's exactly the point. Things are going to change, but you're home to me, Bella. Wherever I go, I want to know I can come home to you."

I smiled and snuggled into his chest. So tonight was going to be one of those rare nights where he let me in on his thoughts through conversation, and when my heart positively melted. He so didn't play fair. My lips found the skin over his heart and I hovered there, just breathing him in. I grinned when his nipples pebbled under my breath, and moved my thumb to the side of his jaw to stroke the scruff on his chin.

Above all, being with him had taught me how to be myself. Every day, something he said or did made my breath catch, made my lungs fill until they were fit to bursting. That we'd found each other again was fated, I knew it as surely as I knew my name, and I loved the way we'd settled into each other after our reconnection.

Even with that knowledge, the thought of him leaving to go on the road full-time scared me to death. I trusted him. Rose, my eyes and ears when I couldn't be around, kept an eye out on any potential hazards for me. She reported in after every show, every road trip, and let me know how many times Edward had rebuffed advances—and I didn't think it was just because she was there, either. But the havoc that distance and opportunities that future stardom might bring could hold kept me awake at night sometimes. I didn't want to lose this thing we had because, knowing now how good it could be between us, made that thought unbearable.

"You're my home, too. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with anyone else. But until we know for sure, I think we should just . . . hold off on the moving in thing."

"I get it, you're over dating a musician," he said, dropping his arms in mock disgust.

I poked him in the ribs. "Whatever. How about a compromise? Let's see how the next couple of months go, and then we can decide."

There was always the summer. Work would be steadier, and the class load I'd set up in the beginning of this school year could be adjusted. Back then I hadn't thought I'd want so much free time and had taken any chance I could to pile up credit hours. Next fall could be scheduled with more slack, and I could get either a better paying job or pick up more hours at the store. A nicer apartment would be attainable then.

"Bella."

"Huh?"

"Babe, where'd you go?"

"I was just thinking about something."

"Uh, huh," he said as he moved to kiss me underneath the ear. He trailed his lips down my neck. "What about?"

"About . . . about maybe this summer we could move in together?"

He grinned. "Yeah? And why's that?"

"Well, I wouldn't need to schedule myself so many classes next year if we waited until this summer, and then I could work more. I know you say I don't need to worry about it, but I'd be able to pay my half of the bills. I've always hated that Rose picks up so much of my slack."

"You're one of a kind. Most girls I know would be all over not paying for their way."

I huffed. "Yeah, and I'm not most girls."

"I know you're not. It's what makes you so sexy." His arm fell to my waist, fingers slipped into the back of my jeans.

I let him go on for a bit, but then pulled back. "Ugh, hold that thought. I'm more than glad to let you do whatever you want to me later, but I need to get back to my paper or I won't finish it in time."

He closed his eyes, scrubbed his hand over my face. "You're killing me here."

I pried his hands away from his face and kissed him quickly. "I'm sorry, and I promise I'll make it up to you. Now, get back to playing some music, please. It helps me study."

He grabbed his guitar as I headed back to the table and my books. I laughed when I heard the opening chords to one of my favorites, and nodded my head along when he began to sing.

"Believe me some things I wouldn't miss, but I look at your pants and I need a kiss. . ."

-PoM-

"Has Tyler been acting different lately?"

Probably surprised by the topic so immediately after we'd had sex, he lifted his head off my chest and peered at me like I'd lost my mind. "No. What brought that up?"

My arms went around his neck to play with the damp hair of his nape. "Dunno. Rose brought up the acid incident earlier this week."

"And you were thinking about it just now? I'm losing my skill, apparently."

"No, stop that. You know you're better than good. I was just thinking about it while I wrote my paper and then you didn't give me a chance to ask."

"Oh. Well, you looked cute with your glasses on." He shifted his weight off of me, reached to grab a cigarette. "What'd Rose say to you?"

"Just that he's been messing with some heavy stuff. Someone needs to tell him to watch out, ya know? Something could happen to him while he's performing. He could fall off of the stage . . ."

He held his arm out so I could take a drag. "I mean, he's been experimenting, but it's nothing we all haven't done at one time or another, Bella. He's young and he needs to get it out of his system. He can take care of himself. Jasper already gave him the 'no acid, no 'shrooms' lecture, so don't worry about it."

I started to interrupt, but, just then , the phone rang. Edward glanced at the phone on the table near the sofa and groaned.

"Ugh. Don't want to get that," he said, leaning his head on the back of the couch.

"Just do it, it might be important."

"All right, fine. But when Jasper wants to chew my head off for an hour over something, you can't say shit. Just remember that." He leaned over to the side table to pick up the phone. "Yello." A pause and then, "Hey, man, what's up?"

It was Jasper. I could hear his voice, muffled, over the other end of the line. Like usual, it sounded like the "Wah, wah, wah" of Charlie Brown's teacher to me. I grabbed the blanket Edward kept over the top of the couch, wrapped it around us, and reached for the remote.

"No fucking way! When?"

His tone, so sharp and excited, stopped me in my tracks. I sat up so I could see his face, not even caring when the blanket slipped. Myriad emotions passed over his face—shock, nervousness, unadulterated excitement.

"What?" I whispered.

He held up his finger, and I wrinkled my nose at that.

"Right on, I'll see you tonight then."

He hung up the phone, stood, and began to pace around the room. AS nice as the sight was, his antics had me on edge.

"What's going on?"

"That was Jas. Holy fucking shit, I can't even believe it. I mean, I knew it'd happen, but I didn't know when . . . God damn, this is fucking stellar."

"How about an explanation for me that involves telling me what, exactly, you're mumbling about?"

But I knew. It was there on his face, in the way he couldn't even express himself properly. It was there in the tightening and releasing of his fists, the animated steps.

When he said the band's name, I wanted to scream with joy for him and weep in sorrow because this was huge. When he said the other band they'd be replacing had dropped out of a West Coast tour, my stomach hurt. When he dropped down beside me and kissed me, and gave me every bit of his happiness in that action, I pulled away and congratulated him because it was what he'd worked for, and it was his big break.

"They want us. Holy shit, can you believe it. They're so big right now, and we're going to get our name out there. God, baby, this is so fucking killer."

"I'm so happy for you, Edward," I said, and meant it.

Happy for myself, on the other hand? Well, that was another story.

-PoM-

Thanks for reading!

Release – Pearl Jam

xo Nic for helping me bounce around tunes…