What goes down must come up... Part III of Heart Attack will end the same way we started it: *sets chapter down and runs away*
(Don't worry, we'll be back soon with Part IV and won't leave you all here forever!)
Part III, Chapter 11 - If I Move Away, Will You Give Chase?
Ted is there to keep me away from the liquor cabinet, which is probably good because if I had access to it, I would drink everything I could get my hands on. I am more than willing to just drink myself to death. I can see in his face that he is angry with me, but that his compassion is overriding that, bless him.
I go to my bunk and lie down. I hear Shaun and Johnny come in, talking about Tegan. They're taking her out for something to eat. How they've convinced her to do that, I don't know. But I know, unlike me, she won't want to be alone after what went on tonight. They're all pissed at me but they still ask me if I want to join them. I say no, assure them that I'm okay, which they obviously doubt since I can't stop crying. The alcohol is wearing off; the buzz was mostly killed when I saw those animals grabbing at Tegan. I apologize to the boys and they are getting ready to leave but Ted wants to stay with me. He's worried. He comes to my bunk with a small bag of ice and climbs in, pulling the curtain closed behind him. I get a surprised jolt out of being in my bunk with him but I'll admit that human warmth is something I want right now but can't ask for.
So he is sitting next to me and he digs around in his pocket and produces a wad of tissues and hands it to me.
"Here," he says, "you take care of the nose and I'll take care of the hand." He takes my right hand and gently presses the ice to my sore knuckles. "Man, I've never seen someone so small kick so much ass before." He's holding the ice pack on my hand, stretched out beside me on the bunk and with the adrenaline still in me, I'm vibrating and I don't know why the tears won't stop, but they won't and I wish I could ask him to hold me. "Sara, hey..." he says, his face just so sad when he looks at me. "You're okay, shhh," he says because I can't stop. He puts his hand on my arm because he doesn't know what to do. If I were Tegan he would put his arms around me but people hesitate to do that with me and right now I wish I were just someone else. "Sara, you don't need to be tough all the time." I kind of snort a little.
"I'm not tough," I say in a small voice, and the hollow ache inside of me makes it true.
"Well, right? It's better to just let go sometimes." I don't know what he's talking about because tears have been streaming down my face continuously since I was on stage, and just a few minutes ago I was smashing that guy's face in. "I hope you haven't broken anything," Ted adds, "but you have three weeks off to heal if you have."
"What?"
"Nick just told me. They're postponing the rest of the tour for a few weeks."
"He can't-" I start, the anger welling up again, unreasonably.
"Sara, neither of you are in a state to perform. The last few shows have been... really, you both need time to. . . sort things out." Poor Ted. He doesn't know how to describe it. I've started to take deep breaths, and the trembling is starting to subside. I manage to push it down again and stop crying, harden everything up again. Ted watches it happen, as I wipe away the last of the tears and sigh. He shakes his head.
"At some point, that will stop working," he says and I nod because he's right.
"You can go, Ted. Thanks. . . for sitting with me, but I'm fine." He gives me a doubtful look but I nod at him again. "I just want to sleep."
"Okay. . . but call if you need anything, okay?" I nod again and he leaves me.
I lie in my bunk for twenty minutes or more, but it's no good. My brain keeps replaying that horrific scene onstage to me over and over and over, and all I see is Tegan starting to cry while I mock her in front of the crowd. I can't stand this. I need something to distract me from wanting to die. I get up and go to the cabinet where I keep the whiskey and find it empty. Fucking thanks, Ted. I decide to go and find a bar nearby so I can drown everything again and not feel this but when I step off the bus, a girl is hanging around outside, alone, and looks at me.
"Hey Sara," she says, and I look back at her. "I was hoping you'd come out." There's a kind of confident suggestiveness in the way she talks to me. She's small, short brown hair. A little boyish, with sexy lips and a labret piercing. She looks enough like Tegan to stir up a little heat in my guts.
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but you caught me on a bad day," I mutter, stepping down off the bottom step and moving to get around her, but she gets right in front of me, pulling something out of her backpack. It's a plastic water bottle. I stare at her.
"Vodka," she says with a suggestive look. "Wanna party?" She knows she's sexy. She probably hangs around backstage at all the shows, looking for minor lesbian rock stars to fuck. She looks at me and bites her lip. She's cute in a way that doesn't interest me at all because I don't even know her and I already feel contemptuous. Normally I wouldn't dream of entertaining a fan like this, let alone taking a drink from a stranger when I have no fucking clue what could be in it, but I have no idea if there even is a bar around here, let alone where. And somehow she's managed to show up with exactly what I was looking for. I shrug, and lead her to the smaller bus.
Tegan's still out with the boys. The girl follows me into the kitchen area and the déjà vu slaps me in the face. I grab two plastic cups from the cabinet over the sink and she hands me her plastic bottle. I pour some of the vodka into each cup, and hand her one.
"Cheers," she says, giving me a coy look that makes my lip curl so I look away and drink deeply. It's awful, but really, I just want to fuck myself up. And since she's here, I want to fuck her up too. I pour myself more vodka and down it. I'm starting to get a terrible idea.
"So. . . is all that stuff you were saying onstage true?" she asks, hungry for gossip. I look at her, emotionless, and then walk into the bedroom.
"What do you think?" I ask coldly, setting the cup on the nightstand as I sit down on the bed and untie my shoes. She stands in front of me with the cup in her hand, shrugs.
"I don't know," she says, drinking more.
"She's my sister," I say flatly, not caring if she believes me or not. She lowers her eyelids, looks at me in what she probably thinks is a seductive way.
"I've seen the video," she says. "It really looks like you." I stare at her. "It's hot."
Then, suddenly, she's peeling her shirt off and I'm watching. She is the farthest thing from someone I would date. She is the absolute farthest thing from Tegan, despite her labret piercing and her PK Flyers. I can't even tell how old she is. Too young for this to be happening, I'm sure.
She's wearing a black bra. She takes it off with no hesitation.
"I'm not Tegan but I'm pretty good with my tongue, too," she tells me slyly. Why is she talking? She's an idiot, and I'm filled with contempt. Which is fine.
"That's not what's going to happen," I say, and she doesn't flinch.
"What's going to happen?" she asks, unzipping her pants, and I still have enough of my sobriety and sanity to be struck by how surreal this is. A girl, taking her clothes off in front of me and I don't even know her name? What is happening to me?
"Well, you're going to get naked, and I'm going to do what I want," I say to her, and she gives me a look again, one that I suppose she thinks is seductive, but really it just makes me want to bend her over a chair.
But anyway, she does it. She drops her underwear on the pile of clothes and stands in front of me naked, totally unabashed, as if to say, what next?
"Get on the bed," I say, and she slowly stretches out on the bed, watching me expectantly. Despite the alcohol, I find that I'm embarrassed. "Can you roll over, please?" I ask coldly, and she smirks at me, but she rolls over and faces the wall as I take my pants and underwear off.
"Wow, Sara Quin is shy? That's so cute," she says, and she sounds both sarcastic and sincere at the same time. I grab the strap-on from the nightstand and slide the harness up my legs and fasten it tightly against my pelvis. I get on the bed behind her, and as she starts to turn, I grab her hips.
"Get on your knees," I tell her, and she does. I stay behind her, and with a hand on her back, I push against her so she's on her hands and knees. I push her knees apart with mine, and use one hand to guide the end of it, and she pushes back against me so I push my hips forward and slide the dildo into her. She gasps as I start to thrust into her, my hands on her naked hips, pulling her back against me, hard. I feel nothing. That is, I feel nothing that I should feel. I realize that I don't care how she feels, I don't care if I'm too rough, I'm not thinking at all about wanting her to come. I'm not going to kiss her. The thought disgusts me. I fuck her harder. I ram the thing into her, and she's moaning, gasping, slamming back into me and so I guess she likes it like that, but I don't care. Did the Scottish guy care what was happening with me as he fucked me from behind? I didn't let him care. This is not me, it's not who I am. At least, it never used to be.
I keep thrusting, and after a while I can tell by her escalating moans and whimpers that she's going to come soon. I feel nothing, nothing at all. I stop and pull out, and she protests. I grab her hips, turning her.
"Get on your back," I tell her, and she does. She rolls onto her back, her knees raised, her legs open, looking at me. She's breathing heavily. She was almost there. No pain, no blood, no shame. I get on top, between her thighs, and a second later, I'm inside again, thrusting into her. She puts her hands on my body, tries to touch me, so I take her wrists and hold them down, next to her head, as I thrust my hips against her. Her mouth is open, her head back, as she thrusts her hips up to meet mine. I intensify my rhythm, sliding up higher on her hips. I look her in the eyes, and she looks back, heavy-lidded and breathless. I lose my rhythm for a moment when she bites her lip and, for a second, looks like Tegan. I can't just fucking ram her like that if she reminds me of Tegan.
"How long. . . were you waiting. . . outside the bus. . . for me?" I ask her, grinding into her, again and again. She looks back at me, aroused, not a shred of shyness.
"A while," she moans.
"And you thought. . . all you needed to do was. . . wait outside. . . my bus. . . and I'd come out. . . and fuck you?" I ask her, thrusting harder now, so that her face becomes a mixture of arousal and pain.
"You are fucking me," she replies, her voice pure sex.
"Yeah," I say back to her viciously, and I'm starting to get out of breath. "Is it. . . everything. . . you dreamed it would be?" Her eyelids lower, and I thrust deeper, harder, and her eyes roll back a little and I realize that I won't know when I'm finished if I don't care whether she comes or not. The emptiness of it, the wanton slutty trashiness of the whole thing is starting to sicken me when I hear it, behind me, her voice.
"Oh," she gasps, shocked, and I know that she is behind me, watching my ass thrusting between this star fucker's thighs. I should jump up, cover myself, start apologizing, but I don't. I shift a little, and look back over my shoulder at her.
"Oh, shit," the girl says, which surprises me; she pushes me off of her and gets up hurriedly. "Jesus." I sit down on the bed, the thing still strapped to me, wet from this nameless person. Everything inside me, hollow, aching, bleeding. I look over at Tegan, who still stands there, stunned. Her brow creases, puzzled, for a moment. Her mouth opens. The random girl has quickly, carelessly dressed, and quickly brushes past Tegan to leave. Tegan's eyes do not move, do not give the girl a millisecond of her attention; they are locked on mine. They are searching.
God, the silence. I realize that I've never looked more ridiculous, I've never felt so alone. I've never hated myself more. I look back at Tegan and I'm sickened to realize that this, at last, is probably enough. If I could describe the pain in her face, even if I could, I still wouldn't want to.
"Why?" she chokes at last, and I stand up, pulling the straps of the thing out of the D-rings.
"Why not? Because I fucking felt like it," I say, hating the contempt in my voice.
"You. . . felt like it?" she repeats, her voice soft.
"It is none of your fucking business," I say to her, pulling my pants back on and zipping them.
"It is, though. Everything you do is my business. You're my business," she says.
"You're my sister," I snap. "And I can fuck who I want."
"You did it here, in my space, because you wanted me to see it," she accuses, her voice rising slightly, but the primary note in it is not anger, but pain. "Why? Why would you want me to see that?" I sigh, which makes me sound exasperated, impatient, when actually I feel like throwing up.
"It's over, Tegan. Face it." These are the cold words I try to leave her with, but she won't let me pass. She catches my arm.
"No! You can't just decide that-"
"I don't see what you're making such a big fucking deal about when you fucked Jamie. Many times!" I snap at her. Her eyes widen.
"That is not the same thing-" she protests, and she's right, but I'm heartless.
"What's the difference? A fan is a fan."
"I've known her for years! And she. . . we. . . cared about each other," she tells me, and she's still blocking my way. "And you just fuck some. . . random. . ."
"Don't you think that's kind of worse?" I ask her.
"What? Worse than what?"
"You love Jamie! You loved her when I only loved you!" This is a cheap, unfair shot, and it's a blow to her. Her face reddens.
"Don't use the past tense," she murmurs.
"Yeah, I fucked some band slut! But you cheated! With your heart!" I'm lashing out now, and it hurts, my God.
"Sara, I. . ." She doesn't know what to say because it's kind of true, in a way. She's apologized for it and I've long since forgiven her. But I can dig it up now to hurt her and so I do. "That's not how it was, and you know it. I was. . . I was. . . lost. . ."
"And so was I! I was in Montreal, alone! Lost and totally fucking alone! And you were in Vancouver, all cozy, with someone who loves you-"
"Cozy? You told me it had to stop, and my heart was fucking broken and-"
"How many orgasms did you have with your broken heart? Did she hold you at night while you cried about me? Did she? Did she make love to you, Tegan?" I shout, and her eyes are shining again, and it's working, because she's feeling guilty about it all over again and it's not fair. She doesn't know what to say. Her mouth opens and closes again.
"I'm. . . sorry about Jamie and. . . I've apologized for it. And you forgave me. And now you're bringing it up again-"
"Whatever, it doesn't matter anymore," I mutter, squeezing past her and walking down the hall towards the door, just slightly faster than the wave that is threatening to engulf me.
"You're wrong, Sara! It matters more than anything!" she cries after me and I pause before I go out the door.
"Go to Jamie, Tegan! I've given you the perfect excuse. Go and fuck each other all day long and you don't even have to feel bad about it!"
"Don't do that!" she shouts, coming up to me, angry now as well as hurt. "Don't fucking deflect like that! You fucked some dumb bitch, in my bed, using my. . . the. . . the same. . . the. . . that. . ." She can't even say it.
"The strap-on, you mean? I fucked you with it and I fucked her with it. Is that what's bothering you? And you think I should feel guilty about that, like I betrayed you, or something? Right?" Her brow creases the way it does, her mouth opens, wordlessly. "Well you know what? I didn't! I didn't feel guilty about fucking her. I felt nothing at all. You know what made me feel guilty? Fucking you!" Her face makes me want to cut my wrists. "Every time, when it was done, it made me sick! It shredded my soul! Sometimes, I wished someone would come and fucking murder me so I wouldn't have to feel that. . . fucking. . . soul-crushing shame anymore!" I shout, almost in her face, and she flinches, and the tears start, and I've done it. "If you love me, at all, you will let me let go! Let me escape from that fucking nightmare that we were in together!"
"Nightmare," Tegan repeats, stunned. "Nightmare. . ."
"Yes, Tegan. Nightmare." I look at her face once more, wet with tears, and the way she looks at me is like she's just found out that she doesn't know me, and if she doesn't know me, she doesn't know anything. I feel just numb, all over. I walk out and leave her, again, to cry alone.
*** End of Part III ***