L.A 2020 - Hotel

It's been nearly a week since I left the guest house. I've managed to bury myself as deep into my work as possible. I'm desperate for distraction. Every time my mind wanders for a moment I'm assaulted by words and images, visiting me from various times- from the last seventeen years that I've known Bo. Seventeen years, trying to unpack themselves against my will.

Why did I ever agree to come here? I was okay. I was fine, before I left. Chris is a great guy, and he's invested nearly five years of his life with me. He's smart but simple, not complicated in the slightest. I don't think we've ever even had a fight.

I'm learning that no amount of distraction can help me ignore the feeling rising inside of me. A strange and unfamiliar kind of anger I've never felt. I never said anything back to Bo, after he sent that text the night I left. But, the last conversation we had still lingers on the surface of my mind. In the moment, it was all such a blur, but as the days have passed, part of that conversation is coming into focus. One thing he said in particular; 'You never say what you need to say to me.' He's right—and the more I realize he's right, the more angry I become.

So, I make a decision.

The forecast claims that summer heat is rolling into the hills. I paw through my luggage and pull out my little pink, flowy, skirt and a black tank top; The only thing I packed for unexpected warm weather. I don't care, let him look, it'll add insult to injury. I grab my rental key from the tv stand, and head out into the warm L.A sun.

I establish three cardinal rules for myself, as I navigate onto the winding road, leading to the guest house. RULE #1 – Say what you need to say. RULE #2 – Don't back down. RULE #3—Leave. I repeat this, over and over again in my head. I know how quickly my mind clouds when I'm around him. And it seems to have only gotten worse in the last five years of distance between us. But not this time. If he wants me to say what I NEED to say, well—I hope he's prepared, because I've got shit to say, and now I'm pissed.

I press the gas, accelerating. And it's with a mission, I ascend into the hills.

Spring 2010- TOUR OPENING NIGHT

The 'Words Words Words," Tour was officially launching in fifteen minutes. I hovered close behind Bo as he peeked around the curtains. The sheer volume of the crowd was intimidating to me, so I couldn't imagine how nervous he was. As soon as they had announced the Tour to the media, it was an all out frenzy. Apparently Bo had accumulated a massive following of dedicated fans and it seemed, almost, that they ALL had shown up that night. He turned back to me, nervously pulling his hair forward and resting his forehead on my shoulder.

"You're okay, you're going to do amazing," I told him. I listened to the crowd and thought back to that day at Hotel Hugo in NY, nearly seven months ago.

FALL 2009

Bo sat on the floor with his arms hugged around my legs, resting the side of his head on my knees. I played with his hair, trying to ignore the sadness I felt, at the sight of his red puffy eyes.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready for this," he said weakly. "I've been doing this alone with only one audience member, the camera. I don't know how to deal with fans because- I don't know how to accept their complements. I was never trying to impress anyone. I just create stuff because I have this weird—need, to do it."

He sits up and moves closer to me. "I think what scares me the most is—" His eyes grow severely heavy with fear.

"What it is?" I ask.

He looks at me, like he's just realized it in the moment. "I'm not who they think I am."

SPRING 2010 – OPENING NIGHT

When the stage lights go up and they start to announce him, the crowd explodes. He keeps his head on my shoulder and his arms slide tightly around my waist.

"I love you so goddamn much, Sidney," he said.

"I love you, too," I reply. He looks up at me, absolute fear in eyes. A stage manager comes up, speaking into the microphone attached to the headset.

"Okay, were ready?" She pulls at Bo's shirt. "You're on babe, let's go."

That night he went out there and he killed it. He was funny and charismatic. It was surreal as I watched him. I'd never seen this full-fledged, Bo. I was bursting with pride and nervousness. When he took his final bow, the crowd was thunder as they all stood.

They LOVED him. And just like that, with incredibly intrusive arms, they swallowed him into their grasp.

L.A 2020 GUEST HOUSE

Once again, the peak of the roof comes into view and I feel a rise of nerves. I have to remind myself of Rule #2 – Don't back down. Before I have the chance to talk myself out of it, I'm out of the car and crossing the lawn to the guest house. As I approach the door, I hear nothing but silence from inside.

I knock. "Bo, it's Sidney; We need to talk." More silence. I take a deep breath and turn the knob, and the door opens. I walk in, shutting it quickly behind me. Bo's sitting on the floor, towards the back of the room, by the bed. He's wearing his headphones which is why he probably didn't hear me knock. Papers are scattered around him, and he has a grip of them in his hand, a pen in the other. His wide eye's meet mine, dropping the papers and pen to the floor, quickly pulling off the headphones.

"Sid?" He stands, but doesn't move from the spot. I'm still lingering, not far inside the door, ready to speak. The loosely fitting, pale yellow shirt he's wearing is a sunny contrast against his severely deflated demeanor. Suddenly, it doesn't seem so easy to speak, as I stare at his eyes, tired and tortured, his unwashed hair, flipping around his face, and somehow still entrancingly beautiful.

Rule #1 – Say what you need to say.

"You said I never say what I NEED to. So, I thought, this is it- you know? For you and I. We're not together. We're not even friends. So- I guess were just strangers now- with baggage."

Pain flickers on his face.

"Either way, It doesn't matter. I'm here to say what I need to say, and then I'm leaving. That bullshit poem, you did during your 'What.' tour? New York Times described it as, 'Offensivly Endearing.' The one about SLUT fucking. Particularly the DUMB slut— it was pretty obvious that it was directed towards me."

His shoulders fall, "I'm sorry, really I am. But it's not like I called you out by name."

My anger returns to full power. "You're right Bo,— those stadiums full of faceless crowds you're performing for, they don't know my name. They don't know I exist. I was just your anonymous little ghostwriter in the background. But I watched it the night it was released, back home in Danvers. With our FRIENDS and our FAMILY. They, didn't HAVE to hear my name to know EXACTLY who you were talking to.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms.

"I was hurting, Sid."

"So the fuck was I, Bo! -But I didn't have a big stage, to publicly lash out at you on! You've been angry at me for a FUCKING DECADE! So, here it is- I am so, so sorry, for wanting a career and trying to create an identity for MYSELF!"

"Sidney—" he whimpers.

"NO!" I point my finger at him like a dagger. "I am SO TIRED of feeling guilty for it! Because when it comes down to it, you left ME! You disappeared into a world of fame, and then came around for YEARS, just to torture me!"

His eyes go wide with shock. "TORTURE you?"

"YES, you FUCKING tortured me and you KNOW it! -I mean- COME on! The party? -Ian? -CHRISTMAS!?"

"STOP IT!" Bo's, voice thunders through the guest house. He charges towards me. Six and a half feet of rage, has been activated. "You stop right the FUCK there!" He slaps a light stand in his path to the ground, causing me to jump. He's in my face now, his eyes unrecognizably terrifying.

RULE #2 – Don't back down.

He points his finger in my face, almost making contact.

"I swear to god, this is the writer in you, Sidney! You have an AMAZING ability to construct your own narrative about how OTHER people feel- How I feel! But you have NO FUCKING CLUE! You have NO idea what you're talking about, so SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I stand, locked on his dangerous eyes. The only sound now is our heavy breathing.

RULE #3 – Leave

"Goodbye, Bo," I say, turning and heading towards the door.

"HELL no, FUCK YOU, Sidney! -You are NOT walking away from me!"

He snatches my arm, spinning me back towards him, so violently, I raise my hand to hit him, but he catches it. For a split second we lock eyes. I snatch my arm away and he grabs me up, around my waist. My feet leave the ground and I'm suddenly afraid of him. But his mouth is suddenly on mine, one hand twisting into the back of my hair. His rage is still present, as well as mine, but our mouths move furiously and breathlessly on each other's. I fucking HATE him.

I'm not even aware were moving until I feel him jerk, and hear something metal clanging out onto the floor. I feel something press against the back of my legs and he slightly loosens his arms. I think I'm sitting on the large amp by the door. One of his arms slips from around my waist, our seething mouths only deepen their own silent fight. Everything is happening in urgent movements, as he seems to lift me slightly.

He shoves his hand under my skirt, snatching my panties off in two violent tugs. I'm suddenly reminded of Hotel Hugo in New York. Except this time, his rage is directed at me. His mouth leaves mine, looking down long enough to shove the waistband of his Grey sweatpants— just enough, out of the way. I can't understand how I can hate him and want him so badly at the same time. He looks up, tossing his hair back, pushing his waist between my legs. He grips into my hair, tilting my head back, and his eyes fall darkly on mine. Again, like in NY, he moves harshly and it hurts SO bad but feels SO good. He always used to try to take his size into consideration but he's not feeling considerate today. I'm not mad about THAT, at least.

He moves hard and angry, and soon my heart starts to soften, and although the want is still there, the pain starts to become more apparent and it feels mean. Everything has moved like a blur, and I just now realize —this is the first time I've felt Bo this closely in years. I feel my eyes sting with tears and I try to escape the grasp he has on my hair so I can look away. But I'm too late. He's notices, and I watch the darkness leave his eyes as they soften. He stops immediately.

"Sidney— hey," his voice is gentle but heavy with concern. And my heart reminds me that I don't hate him. I Just hate that I love him.

"Please don't hate me," I say, tears brimming in my eyes.

His brows pull. He looks physically hit with pain. "Sidney, I'm never going to hate you. Never. I'm so sorry I handled you like that."

"I miss, us, Bo. -I just really need, us," I say, feeling the tears escape.

He reaches up, wiping them away with his thumbs, his eyes sweeping over mine. They look heavy with thought. Thoughts that I know he'll keep with himself and I wonder if I'll ever know what's hiding behind them. He leans in and kisses me. It's slow, and bares more meaning then I know. He picks me up and walks me over to the bed and we fall into it, picking up where we left off. But this time, instead of anger, he shows me with his body, every ounce of love he's ever held for me.

The sun has faded behind the valley and the guesthouse is bathed in twilight. Bo and I, lay there twisted in the sheets, looking up the ceiling as he runs his fingers softly, back and forth, across the top of my shoulder.

"What are we doing, Bo?" I ask, after a while.

"Sid, please," He turns onto his side, sinking his head into the pillow as he gazes at me. The softest smile plays on his lips. "Please, let us just have this time. I just want to leave the world out there, away from us, for now."

I smile and brush away the lock of hair that's fallen across his forehead. He raises up and leans over, looking down so deeply at me, I almost feel like I'm going to blush. He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone.

"I'm flying, Sidney. Higher than I've ever flown, and I'm just not ready to come down. Not just yet."