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

Word Prompts: Streak

-PoM-

It can't be.

The thrum of bass guitar, the steady crash of drums, and the howl of the lead guitar all dulled. Like floating in water, where your ears drop below the surface and you hear only muted flashes of sound, a sense of awareness stole over me.

Edward Cullen was here.

His gaze flicked over me; nothing more than a general glance around the crowd, and I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I couldn't help but watch his face for any sign of recognition.

And then, like resurfacing from the cool blue of a pool, when everything rushes back and you become aware again, I moved backward and further into the shadows. Rose was so into the set she didn't even notice me leave her side.

The riff of an unfamiliar chord invaded my senses just as Edward's attention, eyes alert now, slammed back to the now-empty spot where I'd been thirty seconds before. His brow furrowed, and he seemed to shake himself before refocusing on the notes of the song.

The band continued with a set of covers ranging from soulful acoustics to raucous jams, each one better somehow than the one before. The last song, poignant, intense, all yearning loss and shattered hope, simply exploded from Edward as he closed his eyes and wrapped his voice around the lyrics until they became one and the same.

As the last chord echoed through the room, Emmett and the bass player—a skinny, dark-haired kid— bumped fists over the drums. There small crowd exploded, energy held in check during the last song releasing as people gathered around the band.

Edward's eyes scanned the room but I had slowly worked my way into a hallway, allowing the darkness to provide a curtain to my identity. Part of my ego wanted him to notice me, but the blonde girl killed that hope quickly. She pushed her way through the mass of bodies to throw herself at him, and I turned away before I saw any more.

"Bella!" Rose, barely audible over the noise, finally noticed my absence. "Where are— Hey! What are you doing?"

"I need a smoke. I'm gonna duck out back," I gave her no more, just turned in search of an exit.

With the clinging dampness of a chill Seattle night surrounding me, I took a long drag of my cigarette and tried to dispel some of the anxiety of the last hour. A steady wisp of smoke clung to the little corner of a back porch I'd found, forming a bubble around me and my thoughts. I inhaled again, watching the lights twinkling off of the First Avenue Bridge on to the Duwamish River below. It was another world—completely different from here, completely different from mine.

I wanted to go home but knew Rose wouldn't want to leave. Escape was first choice, but barring that, hanging out right where I stood would do just as well. Rose would find me eventually; I could tell her that the crowd had freaked me out and she'd buy that.

The back door opened, sound amplified and spilled out, and the bass player stepped onto the worn and weathered deck.

"Hey," he said. Up close he seemed thinner than down in the basement, sort of cagey.

"Hi," I returned, watching him light up a small pipe.

He inhaled and passed it over to me, instantly relaxing.

"No, thanks," I said holding up my cigarette. I didn't smoke weed often, though I could have used it right then.

"That's cool," he rasped through the smoke in his lungs, shrugging his shoulders as if to say more for me. Raising his head to the sky, he finally let out the long stream of smoke that he'd been holding inside. "I'm Tyler."

"Bella." I hesitated. "Um, great set. You guys sounded amazing."

He smiled, sort of dopey but sweet. "Right on. Yeah, I love it when we get tight like that. It feels so easy. Just how I imagined it," he said, putting the pipe to his lips again and inhaling deeply.

I waited until his lungs were clear once more before I spoke. "How long have you guys been together?"

"About a year. We're kind of pieced together from other local bands. It's so cool we found Ed when we did. He just makes everything complete, you know?"

All I could do was nod.

"We have this gig coming up soon that could be huge. Everyone's kind of tense about it. I keep telling them to just let it go because, right now? We're in the groove, man. Totally copacetic."

I smiled again, enjoying his company. He was that sort of artist that seemed to just get it, content to talk shop to anyone who'd listen, and confident enough to think it'd all work out. And, after listening to the set, I could see why—he had talent.

He rambled some more between tokes, asking me about bands I liked and what I thought of the sound coming out of Seattle recently. All the while, I worked up the nerve to push for some info on Edward, mainly how the hell did he wind up here?

The voice that came through the closed door stopped that thought in its tracks. Tyler rolled his eyes as he moved to make way for the new occupants of the deck.

"Here we go again," he said, heaving himself off the rail he leaned against to my side. "Sure you don't want to smoke up?"

"No, really. I'm cool on—"

"I just don't get him. Such a fucking buzzkill."

"—not partaking," I finished.

"Your funeral," he muttered even as he packed another bowl.

The blonde, attention focused on the large leather bag she was rooting through, walked out accompanied by a brunette with a blue streak in her hair and a fedora perched on her head. Plucking a long menthol from a green pack, the blonde lifted it to her lips, inhaling as the other girl lit it for her. The flame illuminated her face, elongating her pretty features.

"He's so stressed out," she complained. "Don't know what his fucking problem is, he never wants me to come to practice with him." She glanced at Tyler, rolled her eyes.

Well, that was rude.

Her friend looked at her. "He's just being an ass, Tanya."

"I don't understand why. It's not like I'm in the way."

I smirked and ducked my face down to hide it.

"I don't know why you're still worrying about him, anyway. This place is a fucking heap, let's get out of here and go dancing or something."

The girl—Tanya, I reminded myself—pondered that for a minute. "Where?"

"I don't know…the Vogue or Neighbors. C'mon, we can get sloshed and dance and not worry about anything."

She smiled, all cat in the canary. "Yeah, I guess I don't really feel like sitting here half the night being ignored. Let me just tell him."

"I'd just blow him off. And don't even think about blowing him before we ditch this shit-hole. He's being rude."

"Too late for that tonight. Just give me a sec."

She threw down her lit cigarette on to the wooden deck and walked back into the house. Her friend, finally acknowledging the audience of me and Tyler, shot us a look that clearly said she was weighing whether or not we were worth her time. She turned and followed Tanya inside.

Tyler let out a loud sigh and walked over to pick up the still burning cigarette, putting it out on his heel before tossing it toward a metal bucket not three inches away. He took another hit off of his pipe and snuffed out the bowl, saving the rest for later.

"Coming? We're about to start again."

"I'll be in when I finish," I said, showing him my half-finished smoke. "Nice talking to you."

"Yeah. Catch ya later."

The butterflies swirled inside as I thrilled at seeing Edward again. But the way it happened—the way I left, it was just not cool. Stay here, or go back in . . . both had their drawbacks, and both had merits.

Rose poked her head outside. "What the hell are you still doing out here? I've been waiting for you to come back, but no," she said, drawing the vowel out, "you force me to come looking for your pale ass."

"Through Emmett's face?" I retorted, putting out my smoke.

"No, smartass, we were hanging out inside talking. And, by the way, someone was asking about you . . . Something you haven't told me?"

"Who?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"The singer?"

"Oh." I pretended to dig through my coat pocket.

"That's all you're going to give me?"

I sighed and shuffled my feet a little, and looked up to see her leaning, arms crossed, against the doorjamb.

"I kind of know him."

"From where?"

"My last visit to Phoenix, but I don't really want to go into it here," I said, looking around her shoulder and into the house.

"Ah," Rose said, comprehension overtaking her annoyed look. "She's gone."

"Can we just save it for later?"

She gave a low whistle. "Must be bad. You want to split?"

"I'll stay if you want. I just feel weird about . . . yeah."

"I'd really like to stay for another set before we go. Just one. I barely get to see Emmett as it is right now with gigs and practices. We can split immediately after, promise."

I sighed, resigned. The lights of the bridge caught my attention once more, and I stared in that direction while weighing my options. Rose was reasonable, at least, and I knew she'd park us right by the stairs if I asked her to. It'd have to do for now.

"I know. I'll hang tough. I'm just not ready to talk to him right now."

"And why is that?"

My head snapped back around toward the new, but so painfully familiar, voice joining the conversation.

Edward, even better up close than I remembered, stood behind Rose, eyes locked on me.

-PoM-

Thank you for reading!

xo nic

Song: Seasons - Chris Cornell