Chapter Seven
Jennie
Lisa puts down her guitar for the first time in more than an hour. We haven't texted at all, because we've been on a roll. It's pretty cool how well we seem to work together. She plays a song over and over while I lie across her bed with a notebook in front of me. I write down the lyrics as they come to me, most of the time crumpling up the paper, chucking it across the room, and starting over. But I've finished lyrics for almost an entire song tonight, and she's only crossed out two lines she didn't like. I'd say that's progress.
There's something about these moments when we're writing music that I absolutely love. All my worries and thoughts about everything wrong in my life seem to go away for the short times we write together. It's nice.
Lisa: Let's do the whole song now. Sit up so I can watch you sing it. I want to make sure we have it perfect before I send it to Bambam.
She starts playing the song, so I begin singing. She's watching me closely, and the way her eyes seem to read my every movement makes me uneasy. Maybe it's because she can't express words through speaking, but everything else about her seems to make up for that.
As easy as she is to read, it's only that way when she wants to be read. Most of the time, she's able to hold back her expressions, and I don't know what the hell she's thinking. She holds the crown in the nonverbal department. I'm pretty sure that with the looks she gives, if she could speak, she'd never even have to.
I feel uncomfortable watching her watch me sing, so I close my eyes and try to recall the lyrics as she continues to play the song. It's awkward singing them with her only a few feet away. When I wrote the lyrics the first time, she was playing her guitar but was a good two hundred yards away on her balcony. Still, though, as much as I tried to pretend I was writing them about Kai at the time, I knew I was imagining Lisa singing them all along.
A LITTLE BIT MORE
Why don't you let me
Take you away
We can live like you wanted
From place to place
I'll be your home
We can make our own
'Cause together makes it pretty hard to be alone
We can have everything we ever wanted
And just a little bit more
Just a little bit more
Her guitar stops, so naturally, I stop. I open my eyes, and she's watching me with one of her expressionless expressions.
I take that back. This expression isn't expressionless at all. She's thinking. I can tell by the squint in her eyes that she's coming up with an idea.
She glances away in order to pick up her phone.
Lisa: Do you mind if I try something?
Me: As long as you promise never again to propose a question by asking if I mind if you can try something.
Lisa: Nice try, but that made no sense.
I laugh, then look up at her. I nod softly, scared of what she's about to "try." She sits up on her knees and leans forward, placing both hands on my shoulders. I attempt to hold in my gasp, but it's a failed attempt. I don't know what she's doing or why she's getting so close to me, but holy crap.
Holy crap.
Why is my heart spazzing out right now?
She pushes me until I'm flat on her mattress. She reaches behind her and picks up her guitar, then lays it on the other side of me. She lies down next to me.
Calm down, heart. Please. Lisa has supersonic senses, and she'll feel you beating through the vibrations of the mattress.
Lisa scoots closer to me and by the way she's hesitating, it makes me think she's unsure if I'll allow her any closer.
I will. I absolutely will.
She's staring at me now, contemplating her next move. I can tell she's not about to make a pass at me. Whatever she's about to do is making her way more apprehensive than if she were just planning to kiss me. She's eyeing my neck and chest as if she's searching for a particular part of me. Her eyes stop on my abdomen, pause, then fall back to her phone.
Oh, Lord. What is she about to do? Put her hands on me? Does she want to feel me sing this song? Feeling requires touching, and touching requires hands. Her hands. Feeling me.
Lisa: Do you trust me?
Me: I don't trust anyone anymore. My trust has been completely depleted this week.
Lisa: Can you replenish your trust for about five minutes? I want to feel your voice.
I inhale, then look at her—lying next to me—and I nod. She sets down her phone without breaking my gaze. She's watching me as if she's warning me to stay calm, but it's having the exact opposite effect. I'm sort of panicked right now.
She scoots closer and slides her arm under the back of my neck.
Oh.
Now she's even closer.
Now her face is hovering over mine. She reaches across my body and pulls the guitar flush against my side, bringing it closer to us. She's still eyeing me with a look that seems intended to produce a calming effect.
It doesn't. It doesn't calm me down at all.
She lowers her head to my chest, then presses her cheek against my shirt.
Oh, this is great. Now she definitely feels how spastic my heart is beating right now. I close my eyes and want to die of embarrassment, but I don't have time for that, because she begins strumming the strings of the guitar next to me. I realize she's playing with both hands, one from underneath my head and one over me. Her head is against my chest, and I can feel her hair brush my neck. She's pretty much sprawled across me in order to reach her guitar with both arms.
Oh, my dear sweet baby Jesus in a wicker basket.
How does she expect me to sing?
I try to calm down by regulating my breathing, but it's hard when we're positioned like this. As usual when I miss an intro, she seamlessly starts the song over again from the beginning. When she reaches the point where I come in, I begin singing. Sort of. It's really quiet, because I'm still waiting for air to find its way back into my lungs.
After the first few lines, I find a steadiness to my voice. I close my eyes and do my best to imagine I'm simply sitting up on her bed right now the way I have been for the last hour.
I'll bring my suitcase
You bring that old map
We can live by the book
Or we can never go back
Feeling the breeze
Never felt so right
We'll watch the stars
Until they fade into light
We can have everything we ever wanted
And just a little bit more
Just a little bit more
She finishes the last chord but doesn't move. Her hands remain stilled on her guitar. Her ear remains firmly pressed against my chest. My breaths are heavier now that I've just sung an entire song, and her head rises with each intake of air.
She sighs a deep sigh, then lifts her head and rolls onto her back without making eye contact with me. We lie in silence for a few minutes. I'm not sure why she's being so unresponsive, but I'm too nervous to make any sudden movements. Her arm is still underneath me, and she's making no effort to remove it, so I'm not even sure if she's finished with this little experiment yet.
I'm also not sure I'd even be able to move.
Jennie, Jennie, Jennie. What are you doing?
I absolutely, positively, do not want to be having this reaction right now. It's been a week since I broke up with Kai. The very last thing I want—or even need—is to develop a crush on this girl.
However, I'm thinking that may have happened before this week.
Crap.
I tilt my head and look at her. She's watching me, but I can't tell what her face is trying to convey. If I had to guess, I'd say she's thinking, Oh, hey, Jennie. Our mouths sure are close together. Let's do them a favor and close this gap.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I'm incredibly impressed with my telepathic abilities. Her full lips are slightly parted as she quietly takes in several slow, deep breaths.
I can actually hear her breathing, which surprises me, because that's another of her sounds that she keeps complete and total control over. I like that she can't seem to control it right now. As much as I claim to want to be unattached from guys and independent and strong, the only thing I'm thinking is how much I wish she would take complete and total control over me. I want her to dominate this situation by rolling on top of me and forcing that incredible mouth onto mine, rendering me completely dependent on her for breath.
My phone receives a text, interrupting my clearly overactive imagination. Lisa closes her eyes and turns to face the opposite direction. I sigh, knowing she didn't even hear the text, so turning away was of her own accord. Which means I'm feeling pretty awkward right now for just having that rich internal dialogue sweep through my mind. I reach behind my head and feel around until I find my phone.
Kai: Are you ready to talk yet?
I roll my eyes. Way to ruin the moment, Kai. I was hoping that after days of avoiding his texts and phone calls, he would finally get a clue. I shake my head and text him back.
Me: Your behavior is bordering on harassment. Stop contacting me. We're done.
Lisa
Stop with the guilt trip, Lisa. You didn't do anything wrong. You aren't doing anything wrong. Your heart is beating like this simply because you've never felt anyone sing before. It was overwhelming. You had a normal reaction to an overwhelming event. That's all.
My eyes are still closed, and my arm is still underneath her. I should move it, but I'm still trying to recover.
And I really want to hear another song.
This might be making her uncomfortable, but I have to get her to push through her discomfort, because I can't think of any other situation where I'll be able to do this.
Me: Can I play another one?
She's holding her phone, texting someone who's not me. I wonder if she's texting Kai, but I don't peek at her phone, as much as I want to.
Jennie: Okay. The first one didn't do anything for you?
I laugh. I think it did a little too much, in more ways than I'd like to admit. I'm almost positive it was also obvious to her by the end of the song, with the way I was pressed against her. But feeling her voice and what it was doing to all the other parts of me was way more important than what she was doing to me.
Me: I've never "listened" to anyone like that before. It was incredible. I don't even know how to describe it. I mean, you were here, and you were the one singing, so I guess you don't really need me to describe it. But I don't know. I wish you could have felt that.
Jennie: You're welcome, I guess. I'm not really doing anything profound here.
Me: I've always wanted to feel someone sing one of my songs, but it would be a little awkward doing this with one of the guys in the band. Know what I mean?
She laughs, then nods.
Me: I'll play the one we practiced last night, and then I want to play this last one again. Are you okay? If you're tired of singing, just tell me.
Jennie: I'm good.
She lays down her phone, and I reposition myself against her chest. My entire body is battling itself. My left brain is telling me this is somehow wrong, my right brain is wanting to hear her sing again, my stomach is nowhere to be found, and my heart is punching itself in the face with one arm and hugging itself with the other.
I might never have this opportunity again, so I wrap my arm over her and begin playing. I close my eyes and search for the beat of her heart, which has slowed down some since the first song. The vibration of her voice meets my cheek, and I swear my heart flinches. She feels the way I imagined a voice would feel during a song but multiplied by a thousand. I focus on how her voice blends with the vibration of the guitar, and I'm in complete awe.
I want to feel the range of her voice, but it's hard without using my hands to feel it. I pull my hand away from the guitar and stop playing. Just like that, she stops singing. I shake my head no and motion a circle in the air with my finger, wanting her to keep singing even though I'm no longer playing the chords.
Her voice picks back up, and I keep my ear pressed firmly to her chest while I lay my palm flat against her stomach. Her muscles clench beneath my hand, but she doesn't stop singing. I can feel her voice everywhere. I can feel it in my head, in my chest, against my hand.
I relax against her and listen to the sound of a voice for the very first time.
• • •
I wrap my arm around Irene's waist and pull her in closer. I can feel her struggling beneath me, so I pull her even tighter. I'm not ready for her to go home yet. Her hand smacks my forehead, and she's lifting me off her chest as she attempts to wiggle out from beneath me.
I roll onto my back to let her off the bed, but instead, she's slapping my cheeks. I open my eyes and look up to see Jennie hovering over me. Her mouth is moving, but my vision is too fogged over to see what she's trying to say. Not to mention that the strobe light isn't helping.
Wait. I don't have a strobe light.
I sit straight up on the bed. Jennie hands me my phone and begins to text me, but my phone is dead. Did we fall asleep?
The lights. The lights are going on and off.
I grab Jennie's phone out of her hand and check the time: 8:15 A.M. I also read the text she just tried to send me.
Jennie: Someone's at your bedroom door.
Bobby wouldn't be up this early on a Friday. It's his day off.
Friday.
Irene.
SHIT!
I hurriedly jump off the bed and grab Jennie's wrists, then swing her to her feet. She looks shocked that I'm panicking, but she needs to get the hell back to her room. I open the bathroom door and motion for her to take that route. She walks into the bathroom, then turns and heads back into my bedroom. I grab her by the shoulders and force her back into the bathroom. She slaps my hands away and points into my bedroom.
"I want my phone!" she says, pointing toward my bed. I retrieve her phone, but before I hand it to her, I type a text on it.
Me: I'm sorry, but I think that's Irene. You can't be in here, or she'll get the wrong idea.
I hand her the phone, and she reads the text, then looks back up at me. "Who's Irene?"
Who's Irene? How the hell can she not remember . . .
Oh.
Is it possible I've never mentioned Irene to her before?
I grab her phone again.
Me: My girlfriend.
She looks at the text, and her jaw tightens. She slowly brings her eyes back to mine, and she snatches the phone out of my hand, grabs the doorknob, and steps back into the bathroom. The door closes in my face.
So was not expecting that reaction.
But I don't have time to respond, because my light is still flickering. I head straight to the bedroom door and unlock it, then open it.
Bobby is standing in the doorway with his arm pressed against the frame. There's no sign of Irene.
My panic instantly subsides as I walk backward and fall onto my bed. That could have been ugly. I glance up at Bobby, because he's obviously here for something.
"Why aren't you answering my texts?" he signs from the doorway.
"My phone died." I reach over to my phone and place it on the charging base on the nightstand.
"But you never let your phone die."
"First time for everything," I sign.
He nods his head, but it's an annoying, suspicious, You're hiding something kind of nod.
Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
"You're hiding something," he signs.
Or maybe I'm not being paranoid.
"And I just checked Jennie's room." He arches a suspicious brow. "She wasn't in there."
I glance to the bathroom, then look back at Bobby, wondering if I should even lie about it. All we did was fall asleep. "I know. She was in here."
He holds his stern expression. "All night?"
I nod casually. "We were working on lyrics. I guess we fell asleep."
He's acting strange. If I didn't know him better, I'd think he was jealous. Wait. I do know him better. He is jealous.
"Does this bother you, Bobby?"
He shrugs and signs back. "Yeah. A little."
"Why? You spend almost every night in Sorn's bed."
He shakes his head. "It's not that."
"What is it, then?"
He breaks his gaze, and I can see the discomfort cross his face before he exhales. He makes the sign that indicates Irene's name. He brings his eyes back to mine. "You can't do this, Lisa. You made this choice for yourself years ago, and I tried to tell you then what I thought about it. But you're in it now, and if I have to be the annoying friend to remind you of that, so be it."
I wince, because it kind of pisses me off how he's referring to my and Irene's relationship. "Don't refer to my relationship with Irene as being 'in it' ever again."
His expression grows apologetic. "You know what I mean, Lisa."
I stand and walk toward him. "How long have we been best friends?"
He shrugs. "That's all I am to you? A best friend? Lisa, I thought we were so much more than that." He smirks as if he's trying to be funny, but I don't laugh. When he sees how much his remarks have bothered me, his expression quickly sobers. "Ten years."
"Ten. Ten years. You know me better than that, Bobby."
He nods, but his face is still full of doubt.
"Good-bye," I sign. "Shut the door on your way out." I turn and walk back to my bed, and when I face the door again, he's gone.