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WitFit Jan/Feb 2013
90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll
Word Prompts: Fireplace
Plot Generator – Binding Blurb: rushing to judgment.
-PoM-
When the buzzer sounded at two minutes 'til seven, I about jumped out of my skin.
My body practically lit on fire when I opened the door to see him standing there in a grey Sex Pistols t-shirt and jeans, with an ancient plaid shirt thrown on for warmth.
Honestly, though, as good as he looked, I wanted the plaid shirt to be gone—the tattoo I was so fond of on his arm was covered, and it was something I'd been looking forward to seeing again.
"Hi," I said. A hint of nerves were audible as a tremor in my voice.
"Thought I was going to be late, I had to park up the street a bit," he said as I let him in. "Wow, killer apartment."
I looked around, too, trying to see the place through fresh eyes. Rose and I had definite differences in style, but somehow they worked well together. Our place was a cool mix of kitschy and modern, and the amount of space was enviable to most of our friends.
"Yeah, I love it. We got lucky. The older lady that lives downstairs wanted to swap so she didn't have to do the stairs. We got the better view," I said, smiling at him.
He walked over to the window and looked out over Lake Union. "This is great."
"Thanks. It'd be even better if I there was a fireplace so when it's one of those chilly nasty days, I could just curl up with a good book and enjoy the view." That admission was a new bit of information to him, probably. It was sort of embarrassing to admit out loud how much of a shut-in I could be; during the time I'd spent with him in Phoenix it had definitely not come up.
"That sounds like heaven."
Because I wasn't expecting to agree with me, and at that to do it in a tone that said he was being really, truly, honest, a flash of excitement fluttered in my chest.
I cleared my throat. "So . . . should we go? I was thinking we could walk, if you want? It's only about ten minutes and there won't be any parking fees."
He nodded without turning around, so I ceased with the steady babbling and grabbed my I.D. and money from the counter and shoved them in my pocket. And then I waited.
He turned around. "Sorry. Lost in thought for a minute there. You ready to go?"
I ushered him out the door and locked up behind me. Rose was at Emmett's, where she'd probably stay, so I didn't bother leaving a note.
"Great night, huh?" I said as we started the walk down the hill.
"Perfect for a show. It's cool to see more people picking up on the Seattle scene."
I laughed. "You mean the kids in the Midwest who're finally getting over that tired hair band thing? MTV's been having a fit trying to put any 'grunge' bands on the air. Rose and I have been making fun for weeks."
He grunted.
"What?"
"Grunge." He said it with a sneer. "Always gotta be labeling things."
I smiled. I hadn't forgotten how into talking about music he was; I was the same, so I looked forward to this conversation.
"In a way, though, all 'labels' aside, it kind of is. It's so raw and gritty, and people are always going to call a movement by some sort of identifying name. Think about it: we go from bands like Bon Jovi and Poison, with the hairspray addiction and goofy clothes, to something so visceral. No one's heard anything like it, and they're throwing over the old regime for something infinitely better. It's about time."
"Nah, it's because of the way we dress," Edward deadpanned.
I laughed, but, really, there was an element of truth to that, too. "Eh, maybe. Whatever, I'm excited about it."
"Me too," he said, and there was a ring of hope in those two little words.
The closer we got to Bumbershoot and the gates to the Seattle Center, the more the crowd thickened. The cafes and restaurants we passed had their doors thrown open to let in some of the nice air, and the smells wafting out made my mouth water. I was glad it was an earlier show, because I was going to be starving by the time the lights went back up.
"Damn, lots of people out tonight," I said, trying to navigate my way through the crowd. Edward had an unfair advantage with the height thing, and he could certainly see over most of the massed bodies. I made my steps match his to keep from getting lost.
He paused, let a group of guys dressed like him pass in front of us. "Shit, come here. You'll get trampled."
He put his arm around me, hooking a finger in to the belt loop of my pants to keep a hold of me—or maybe he was getting fresh. I didn't know, but either way I didn't mind. Every once in a while his fingers would move against the skin of my waist, especially when we got stopped by someone cutting in front of us to rush a group of friends, and every time he touched me I had to hold my breath because it felt so damn good.
There was this . . . energy that was damn near palpable once we got inside the arena. Beer vendors shouting to be heard, amped up music enthusiasts talking over each other to discuss the next big thing coming out of Seattle . . . it was infectious, and just knowing that my favorite band was going to take the stage filled my stomach with excitement to where I was almost bouncing on my feet.
We found a spot at the edge of the floor, close enough to the front where we could see the stage and be out of the way of the gathering mosh pit already teeming with energetic fans. Edward nodded at a few roadies, obviously people he was familiar with. And then the lights went down, and the place went crazy.
. . . Far beyond the road, between your house and home . . . "I love this song!" I shouted, raising my arms over my head to clap and scream my appreciation.
"Fuck, me too," Edward shouted back.
After that I was lost, spell-bound by the tone of Cornell's voice and the killer band that made up the whole. The show was beyond incredible, but even more so was being there with Edward. His hand never left my side, sometimes reaching around me to gather me tight when the sway of the crowd got too close.
I watched him occasionally, finding a thrill in seeing his enjoyment of the band. At times his voice would pitch low, near to my ear as he sang along, and at other times he was just as raucous as the crowd, head moving along to the music and arms raised over his head.
When the lights went up my throat hurt from singing along so loudly, and my eyes had trouble adjusting to the sudden brightness.
"Oh my god, that was incredible," I said, but the ringing in my ears let me know I was probably still shouting.
"Fucking killer," he agreed. "Did you see the fucking crowd? They were insane!"
I nodded, and then took a deep breath and dove forward when a spot opened up in the exodus. "Wanna look around some?" he asked when we got outside.
"Definitely." There were vendors all over the Center grounds hawking everything from hats with pot leaves on them to concert tees, and we had a blast strolling through and perusing the wares. Eventually the foot traffic cleared enough that we could make our way through easily, and we took our time walking back up the hill and discussing our favorite songs of the set.
When we arrived at his car he turned around and leaned back, placing a foot behind him on the door.
I twisted my hands together, and then leaned next to him against the car. "That was amazing, thank you so much for taking me."
He had another one of those unidentifiable looks on his face, and if there wasn't the knowledge that he wasn't mine, I would have loved to reach up and smooth my thumb over that furrowed brow.
"No. Thank you for going. I can't imagine I would have enjoyed it more with anyone else."
Those words both thrilled and made me ache. I looked at our feet, smiling to myself at the general disrepair of our black sneakers. "Yeah . . . It was so good."
"You have plans the rest of the night?" he asked, and I looked up at the urgency in his voice.
"Not really. Why?"
He looked down the street. "I don't know. I figured we could hang out a little more. I was going to head to the band house later because I wanted to pick up one of my notebooks I left there. What would you say to taking a ride down there with me and maybe after we can go grab a drink."
And as much as I knew I shouldn't, anything to spend more time with him was a plus in my book. The signals he was throwing out made me think he was interested, too, or maybe he was just that friendly with everyone—really, I had three days and a couple of new hours time banked with him, so I couldn't be sure—but I'd deal with the fallout, if any, later.
"Sure."
He turned around and unlocked the passenger door to his car, opened it for me. Once inside he gave me a warm smile and turned the car southbound. On the way, he shoved a cassette into the deck of the car.
"Mother Love Bone? Nice." I picked up the cassette case. "A mix tape?"
He smirked. "Yeah. I threw it together the other day."
The twenty minute trip flew by with a veritable 'who's who' of up and coming bands, and our shared knowledge. By the time we got to the place I'd first saw him again last time, I had reached that place where I was blessed out on music talk and happy.
Without cars clogging the drive and lights shining inside, the house seemed even eerier than it had a few nights before, and felt like unknown territory once more. I followed behind him closely, watching over my shoulder for reasons I couldn't explain.
He unlocked the door, reached up to flip on a light, and then turned. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sorry. It's just really dark out there. "
He laughed. "Don't worry. If the boogeyman comes, I'll knock him out before he gets you."
"Because that's encouraging," I snarked. "Damn, this place is quiet."
We paused in the kitchen so he could grab a bottle of Jack Daniels from a small cabinet over the fridge, and I shook my head. How positively rock-n-roll of him. Before descending down the stairs, he flicked on a light and turned to grab my hand. "Watch your step."
The basement was pitch black, and I stood in place while he moved around the room, turning on a light or two as he went. It didn't help chase away the shadows, but it allowed me to watch as he crossed to a space where the wall formed a little corner. He crouched down, digging for something.
"What's that?" I asked when he produced a box from seemingly nowhere.
He just grinned, and the dim light made it look both seductive and menacing at the same time. He held up something, and I moved closer to see what it was.
Small, white, and twisted just perfectly.
"Game?" he offered.
"Sure." This time, compared to when Tyler offered, taking the edge off sounded like a great idea.
He lit the joint and walked over to me. Instead of handing it over, he held it to my lips and I reached up to steady his hand as I inhaled, watching him watch me.
A couple more of those and a weightless feeling stole its way through my limbs. I relaxed into the chair, pleasant warmth replacing the edginess, and grinned at nothing end everything all at once. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I knew what I wanted.
"You want a drink?" I looked up to see him wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, the whiskey bottle held out in offering.
"Nah, I'm good like this." Last thing I wanted to do was to get wasted.
He shrugged, setting it on the riser, and then where a few guitars had been propped against a speaker. Flipping on a switch, he pulled the cord back over to where I was sitting, sat on the floor, leaned against my legs and began to strum.
"Well she's walking, through the clouds," he sang softly.
It was a Jimi Hendrix song, the very one he'd played for me the first night we met . . . and those fingers were playing it for me again.
Melting, mellowed out high. I embraced it, letting myself get lost in the way his fingers moved over the frets, the way his voice filtered through the shadowy room.
The feelings that I had run from in Phoenix were still there, never really gone but buried instead, and I was lying to deny them to myself. Being so close to him again, the whisper of our attraction echoed in the space around us like words so soulful and sweet, resurfacing, clawing their way out of the compartment I'd shoved them into.
The last note hung in the air, reverberating, and he turned, gaze searching mine. Time seemed to slow as I leaned down to take his face in my hands. I closed my eyes and cut myself off from everything but the feel of his lips on mine, the gentle slip of his tongue into my mouth. We kissed for a moment, and then he broke away.
My eyes opened, and if I was expecting to see reproach, I was wrong. He put the guitar down, twisted until he was on his knees in front of me, and threaded his hands through my hair to pull me closer. This time it wasn't so soft, and my legs fell open to give him space to get closer.
He settled between my knees, chest touching mine, his hands resting on my thighs. He leaned in and placed his lips on the skin below my ear. "You don't know how often I've thought of you, how much I wanted to see you again," he whispered. "Somewhere. Anywhere." I shuddered from the wet rasp of his lips against the delicate skin of my neck, and turned my face to meet his again.
I couldn't get close enough, wanted so much more, but the kisses were intoxicating—the taste of whiskey and smoke on his breath. Our kiss became more urgent, his hands sliding up under my shirt to graze the sides of my breasts.
"I want you. I've thought of nothing else since I saw you that first night."
I sat back trembling, my hands holding the sides of his face, searching for something to tell me that I shouldn't do this. The ghost of a blonde haired woman crossed the room behind him and left just as quickly.
"Then have me," I whispered. He leaned in and kissed me as if he wanted to learn me all over again. Tuned in to him as I was, I barely noticed the thump as someone opened the basement door and started to make their way down the stairs.
"Damnit," he said, breaking away. We sprang apart and jumped up; I readjusted my shirt and looked around, flustered because we'd been caught.
That ghost seemed closer, and I silently prayed it wasn't her.
As the door flew open, Edward stepped in front of me, partially shielding me from view.
"Hey, Ed," said Tyler as he walked in the room. "What's up? I just…. Oh, sorry dude. You have company."
A little embarrassed I closed my eyes —at least I had my clothes on.
Peeking around Edward's shoulder I said, "Hey, Tyler."
He looked from Edward to me and back again and smiled. "Hey, Bella." The closer he got, the more noticeable the red glaze in his eyes and the familiar grin of inebriation became. He raised his hands, and began to back up. "Sorry I interrupted. I can come back later."
"No, not a problem, Ty," said Edward, reaching down to grab my fingers. "What are you doing here so late?"
"Aw, my ma kicked me out again, so I thought I'd crash here. That's cool, right?"
"Of course. It's your place, too."
"I just came down to jam a little. Got all kinds of things running through my head. Figured I'd better get 'em down while I can."
Edward seemed to relax. His posture changed, and he wrapped our joined hands around my waist, leaning in to me. "I finished the lyrics on the last song you did, you want?"
"That would be rad."
Edward walked over to where his notebook sat. He picked it up and thumbed through a few pages until he found what he wanted. He tore out the page and held it toward Tyler. "When you're through just put it in my case, all right?"
"Sure. Thanks. I'm really sorry I busted in."
Tyler bobbed his head, weaving a little, and I wondered how he'd got here when he was so wasted. I tried to glean cues from Edward as to whether this was a shock or something that happened more often, but he didn't seem all that concerned.
So, this wasn't a one-off, then.
"It's cool." Edward closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm. He turned to me. "Ready?"
"Yeah." I glanced at Tyler, worried about him some more. The guy seemed blitzed. "See you later, Tyler."
"Have a good night guys," he said as he moved to pick up his bass.
Edward grabbed my hand and we headed up the stairs.
Once in the car, he turned up the heat to ward off the chill. He reached over and rubbed my leg and when he looked at me that way, it was easy to forget about the interruption as he turned the car around to take me home.
Not so easy, however, was fighting off the guilt that began to settle in.
Some sane part of my brain wondered about a guy who would so easily cheat on his girlfriend—and the fact that I was more than willing to participate was a hard pill to swallow, as well—and what sort of person that made us both. Yet another part of my thoughts were centered on wondering what his motivation was for getting involved with me again.
It was impossible not to look at him and see a gorgeous musician, all talented and more than likely exposed to all sorts of temptations and invitations. Hell, it was probably like putting a kid in a candy store and telling him to go wild on it. Insecurity crept in, swift and crippling, and the weight of my actions tonight pressed on my shoulders.
And then he looked over at me and smiled, reaching to grab my hand. The smile was honest, so very real, and it lifted some of that weight and threw it into the backseat. I had to trust him, to see where this was heading, and hope that the little I knew of his character—the part I was insanely attracted to and got along so well with—was enough to build on. And I hoped against hope that, in the end, it would turn out the way it was meant to.
-PoM-
Thank you for all of your comments!
Song:
Jimi Hendrix – Little Wing
Nic? Outstanding. xoxoxo