We're back from the dead, with another chapter! #badeasterjokes Okay, too soon? Too soon. Hahaha... enjoy!
Part IV: Chapter 19 - And On The Floor
I call a taxi from my room and a few minutes later it's at the curb. We leave quietly; my father is still at work; my brother is out with friends; my mother is nowhere to be seen. It's a relief, anyway.
The taxi takes us to three different hotels before we find one with a vacancy. Tegan insists on checking us in under her name, and then we go upstairs to the room. It's a generic, three star hotel room with one king size bed that kind of makes us laugh, and then we stand in the room, a little awkward, because we've never been in this situation before. We've been in rooms with beds and we've always ended up in them together, but we've never deliberately gone somewhere with a bed where we would be alone. We sit our bags on the bed and just stand there, a little frozen, for a few seconds.
"I'm so fucking starving," Tegan says. "I could eat the ass out of a low flying duck." I snort at the visual image, and the tension is broken.
"Me too. There's a Greek place up the street a couple of blocks, and like some kind of fake Australian steakhouse. . . um. . ."
"How about Greek?"
"Sure," I say, and we're out the door.
Tegan orders calamari, which I compare to rubber bands. I order chicken souvlaki and we don't talk much at first, but it's an easy silence, a comfortable one. I don't know, but maybe the horrible scene with my mother has made us feel like accomplices. She has a couple of bites of my souvlaki and convinces me to try the calamari, which is less rubbery than I expected but still weird. There are so many things that I want to ask her, but after the blowout at my house, I don't think it's a good idea. I try to keep the conversation light, but in the end it's Tegan who broaches the subject.
"So," she starts, trying to pick the stray bits of calamari out of the tsaziki. "I guess you've seen, um, a video of the Amsterdam show?" I look up at her, surprised that she would bring up something like that at dinner. I glance around, but the tables nearest to us are all empty.
"Um. . . yeah," I say. "That was. . . I mean. . . I was really worried about you when I saw that."
"These are so good. They're all lemony," she says, dipping a piece of potato into her hummus.
"What, the lemon potatoes?" I ask, teasing, and she snorts.
"Yeah. Well, so you heard. . . all the stuff Sara said on stage?"
"Yeah," I say, remembering.
"Well, I got pretty upset. . . I mean, obviously. . . and left the stage and I just wanted to go back to the bus and then. . . out behind the venue, there were a bunch of people and this one guy was grabbing me," she says, methodically separating the cucumbers from the green peppers in her Greek salad.
"Oh no. . ."
"Yeah and sometimes, you just don't know if it's like, a fan wanting to hug you or like someone wanting to murder you for whatever reason but this dude was aggressively grabbing me and then out of nowhere, Sara like fucking jumps on the guy and just starts going crazy on him. Scared the fucking shit out of me because, like, she's just little. . ." Tegan takes a moment, pops an olive in her mouth, and I wait. There's too much food on my plate, and the work of getting the chicken off the skewers has sent a bunch of rice cascading off of my plate and onto the plastic table cloth. I gather it all together and hide it in a napkin.
"Holy shit. Did she hit him?" I ask.
"Yeah, she was punching him! In the face! I didn't see everything because security came out and kind of gathered around me and got Sara off of the guy, and got us onto our separate buses. Me onto the little bus and then Sara onto the big bus." I give her a questioning look as she takes the olive pit out of her mouth and sticks it under the edge of her plate. "Why do they serve food that has pits in it? It's just way too much work. . ."
"Did Sara move onto the other bus?" I ask.
"Yeah, after the video, um. . ." There's an awkward moment because it was my video and we both feel it. Sara moved out of the little bus, the only place they'd been able to be alone and safe together, and it is essentially because of me and I can't forget that. "So I went back to my bus and I was so upset but the guys convinced me to go out to eat so we went up the street to a pub but after a while I just didn't feel like being out and I was just so fucked up and I kept feeling like people in the restaurant were looking at me so I just left the boys there and went back to the little bus and when I got there, uh, Sara was on the bus, fucking some slut and. . ." She stops in the middle of her sentence, and now she's separating her rice from the rest of her food and pushing it over to one side of her plate. My mouth drops open.
"Holy fuck..." I say, staring at her, at a loss.
"Yeah, I walked in on her like, doing it, um. . . the girl left and Sara said a bunch of stuff to me like. . . uh, well, it's over, never again. . . said it was a nightmare being with me, how it made her feel sick every time, um. . ." She takes a small bite of Greek salad and chews thoughtfully; I watch her face because she's just trying to be fine. "You know, I don't really think I like green peppers? I think I'll stop eating them."
"Tegan, there's no way she meant it like that. There's just not. However she meant them. . . I mean, there's no way to make it into a good thing but she didn't mean um. . . that uh, sleeping with you was a nightmare and made her sick. No way."
Now Tegan is pushing all the green peppers off to one side. She shakes her head a little.
"You don't know. . . I mean, if you'd heard her. . ."
"No, but. . . I've seen the two of you. . . together." I let those words sit between us. Tegan's face reddens. She looks at her plate. Now her olives are forming a perimeter around her green peppers, which have been isolated from the rest of the salad, the olives standing guard over them. "There's nothing. . . um. . . I mean, you should never doubt that she feels the same way about you that you feel about her. I mean, that was obvious." Sure, maybe it embarrasses us both a little bit to remind each other of what happened those two nights on the bus, but it's a point I really want to make.
"Well. . . either way, it's finished and like. . . I didn't get a vote. You know? It was just like, she decided it was finished and that's it. I couldn't be like, 'Actually, I object to that.' She doesn't want me and so it's done and I. . ." she struggles with the end of the sentence, abandons it. "I'm sorry. It's really fucking unfair of me to talk to you about this."
"It's fine. You can say what you want to me," I tell her, meaning it.
"You're too good for me," she says, and her eyes only meet mine for a moment, uncertain, pained, needing my contradiction. I don't hesitate to provide it.
"No way," I reply, because that's just ridiculous. She chews on her lower lip for a moment and speaks again.
"Well, she took off the strap-on that we, um. . . our. . . she used it on that fucking whore and seriously just took it off and dropped it on the floor and left it right there on the floor next to my bed. . . I threw the sheets away. Second set of sheets I'd thrown away that week." Well, that explained the use of my strap-on in the van, but. . .
"What happened to the other sheets?" I ask, and almost want to retract the question as soon as it's out of my mouth. Tegan sighs a little and leans back in her chair. I'm afraid I've upset her but it's too late.
"I'm sorry-"
"No," she says, waving away my concerns. "It's okay but. . . I came onto our bus one night and Sara was in the shower. I mean, I didn't know but I assumed it was her but I went back to the bedroom first and the bed was all messed up and the sheets were. . . they were bloody. Like, there was blood on the sheets," she explains, unnecessarily, but it's almost like she doesn't believe it herself. "I fucking like. . . my heart almost stopped. I went into the bathroom and Sara was crying in the shower and. . ."
"Oh Jesus," I say, putting a hand over my mouth. Tegan shakes her head but now her eyes are gleaming a little again.
"Yeah I mean. . . what would you think? But she just said like, no, nothing happened and, but, um, she couldn't explain to me why she was crying in the shower? Like, she said she got her period or whatever but what was she crying about?" I can't tell exactly whether she's really asking me or just thinking out loud.
"Didn't she tell you?" I ask.
"She wouldn't, she just told me to get the fuck out, and like, pushed me off of her but. . ." I wince, because she does that little laugh she does when she's hurt and the words leave her too exposed, when laughing is the opposite of what she feels. "So I still don't. . . I mean. . . maybe it was true but it was like, I don't want to be too much like. . . while we're eating. . . but no, I don't believe that's what happened." The words are heavy.
"Oh my God," I say, searching for other explanations, other than what I know Tegan is thinking. It's hard to know what to say.
"Because, holy fuck, I mean, haha. . ." she does the anxious laugh again, shakes her head, her eyes on her plate. "If somebody hurt my sister I will. . . like. . . cut. . . his. . . fucking. . . throat." She puts her fork down and presses her hands against her eyes, takes a deep breath.
"Oh man. Oh, Tegan, no. . . I mean. . . it might not be that. It could. . ." I stop, because if it wasn't that, it was something less bad but still bad. She is fighting it so I shut up for a minute because when you don't want to cry, you just need people to stop talking. She's sitting there thinking someone had raped her sister. Her lover. Something more than both of those things combined.
"Why wouldn't she tell you what happened? I mean. . . why she was crying?" I muse anxiously, and Tegan shakes her head, lowering her hands. Her eyes are red but she's managed to stop the tears from spilling over.
"Exactly. If she wouldn't tell me why, then it must be something bad," Tegan points out, and it's hard to disagree. We stop talking for a moment while the waitress fills up our water glasses. Tegan takes another couple of bites of calamari but appears to have lost her appetite.
"Well," I say, "maybe she. . . had sex with someone," I say, which is an awful thing to say to Tegan but really, better than what she was thinking, and maybe she was too shocked by the scene to think of that possibility. "Just really, I don't know, rough sex?"
"Blood," Tegan says and I nod.
"Uh, remember this morning in the van?" I say and the recollection makes her pause.
"Then why was she crying?" Tegan asks and think about it.
"Well, about you. Maybe she was crying about you," I suggest gently. Tegan blinks, looks at me. Bites her lip and pushes out her labret piercing. Nods.
"Maybe," she says, and she's fighting it again but there is a sliver of relief. "Thank you." I smile at her sadly.
"I think. . . if somebody did. . . hurt her. . . she would tell you," I say, wondering if it's true after I say it.
"I used to think that," she says.
"Well, if somebody hurt you, what would she do?" I ask, and she answers without hesitating.
"Oh, she would lose her shit. Even if people speak negatively about me she does."
"And would you tell her if something bad happened to you?" I ask and she looks up at me again, for the first time since building the wall of olives around her green peppers.
"Yes," she says.
"Well, right?" I say and she shrugs a little.
"But she's not me," she says, and it's sad.
"Yeah," I say back, because it's true.
I am outside the restaurant a short while later, waiting for Tegan, who has run back inside to use the washroom. I'm only there for a few minutes when I hear a familiar voice and it takes me a moment to place it and when I do, I freeze. I turn to see her approaching, with not quite a smile on her face.
"Kim told me you were in town," she says, managing to make it sound like an accusation. If I ever see Kim again, I will punch her in the face. Plus, she has my camera.
"Oh, hi Lane," I say, and my knees start trembling. I'm small, a tiny tiny girl and I'm all alone. I hate it. "How are you?"
I don't want to know how Lane is; I want her to not be standing in front of me, nearly six feet tall, with a weirdly smug grin on her face. The last time I saw her, I had a lawyer next to me and if there hadn't been an armed police officer in the room, I don't know what she would have done.
"Oh, fine, thanks for asking. Oh, but don't you owe me about three hundred dollars for that ski trip?" My heart has accelerated; it galls me that she would say that, but that's why she's saying it.
"Well," I say somehow, "I paid you back for that trip from the money I got from my grandpa, remember? And then I paid for your flight to San Francisco in the summer, as well as the hotel. And the concert ticket."
"What concert?" she asks, immediately defensive. Her energy puts me on edge. Her hands are in the pockets of her jacket and she is five or six feet away from me. I'm pretty fast so I think I'd be able to dodge her at this distance.
"Uh, Tegan and Sara. . ." I say, and the surrealness of it is not lost on me. When will Tegan be back from the bathroom?
"Bullshit, I didn't even go to that concert," she says, hostile, irrational already because she went to several Tegan and Sara concerts with me and she's just dismissing me on general principle because she doesn't like what I'm saying. I shrug.
"Well, I don't care about the money anyway, so-"
"Oh, of course you don't because you owe me," she says, and I should shut up but something inside of me won't let me.
"Well, if you really want to talk about money and owing people, I'd say you owe me about five thousand dollars." Her face goes blank for a second, and then she's ready to be mad again.
"What the fuck for?" she asks, her eyes narrowing, and I feel another wave of disbelief that I ever loved her. In my memory, I feel Tegan's hands on my skin, her lips on mine, and I almost laugh.
"Well, for the ambulance ride, the stitches. . . I mean, most of it was covered by my insurance but the deductible was about five thousand. Give or take." She's furious. Her face reddens. How can she argue with that? "Oh, and I guess I could also add on the crown for the tooth that you broke, so that's another thirteen hundred. So let's just say six thousand three hundred. Oh, and then there's inflation."
"Just fucking stop your bullshit," she snaps.
"Or what? You'll punch me?" I can't even believe my own mouth. Maybe I'm still high from fighting with my mom. "Then kick the shit out of me on the side of the highway and drive off? You fucking coward."
Well, she is faster than I expected, I guess; I have time to duck and raise a forearm to fend her off, but I catch a glancing blow across one cheek. It was open handed, though, which is a nice change. She grabs the front of my jacket and in slow motion my brain tries to work out a way of dodging a direct hit to the face when I hear a voice behind me, shouting.
"What the fuck!?" Tegan yells, and she flies at Lane, shoving her hard with both hands. Physically, Tegan would be no match for Lane, but the element of surprise is on Tegan's side. Lane stumbles back into the wall, but she's strong and athletic and quickly regains her footing. I step back, too stunned to really react for a moment. Lane takes a step towards Tegan, hand raised and then, almost comically, her face is plastered with disbelief and her aggressive stance goes somewhat limp.
"Jesus, fuck-" she stammers, recognition mixed with confusion.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Tegan shouts, and I grab her shoulders from behind.
"Tegan, this is Lane," I tell her. "Just stay back, okay?"
"Tegan. . .?" I hear Lane repeat. She is, as the Brits would say, gob-smacked.
"This is the motherfucker who slapped you?" Tegan asks intensely, enraged, and she doesn't even know the half of it.
"Yes, but you aren't going to do anything, okay? Don't," I say to her, holding her. She is uncertain, not really generally one to get violent with people, of course, but Lane is capable of hurting her. The only thing stopping Lane is the fact that she's Tegan.
"What the fuck is this?" Lane asks at last, incredulous, almost forgetting that she just slapped me in the face.
"I'm calling the police," Tegan says, pulling out her cell phone.
"Tegan, can we just go back to the hotel? I don't-"
"Hotel?" Lane repeats, and it's weird because it's almost like she thinks she has some claim over me still. "Wow. Well done, Jamie. Just what you always wanted," she says spitefully and I laugh.
"Yeah, that's right. I got an upgrade. So?"
I swear, she takes a step towards me and five foot tall Tegan intercedes.
"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Tegan says, as red as the tomatoes in her Greek salad. "You need to fuck off, right now."
"Fuck you," she snaps back, but she's backing away.
"Jesus, you need help," Tegan says, her voice dripping with disgust.
"Tegan, please," I say, starting to get anxious. Lane starts walking away, but stops to take one last shot at me verbally.
"Be careful of her, man. She like, fucking stalked you for years," she says snidely and Tegan laughs.
"Well, she got me. So no need for stalking now, I guess," she says, and I love her so much it almost chokes me. Lane glares and leaves, cutting quickly across the parking lot. Maybe Tegan's threat to call the police worked, because she's been arrested before. We stand quietly for a moment, watching her get into her grey Jeep and peel out. My hands are still on Tegan's shoulders and I loosen my grip when I realize how tightly I'm holding her.
"Jesus, does she have a fucking Jeep?" Tegan asks.
"Ha, yeah."
"Such a cliche."
"Seriously. Can we please go back to the hotel?"
She turns to me then and looks at my face, gingerly touching the place that still smarts from Lane's slap.
"Baby, are you okay?" she asks me, her brow knotted. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline; Tegan's face is still pink. I pause in the middle of looking up at her.
"Did you just call me baby?" I ask her, grinning despite the cold sweat drenching my shirt. She looks slightly bewildered.
"What?"
"Baby. You said, 'Baby, are you okay?'" I shouldn't tease her but she's never said anything like that to me before. She blushes more deeply.
"Okay, okay, give me a break," she murmurs, embarrassed. "That fucking asshole slapped you," she says. "I should have punched her teeth in."
"Yeah, she's twice your size and was training for the national team when she got arrested," I explain as we start to slowly walk back to our hotel.
"What national team? National douchebag team?" Tegan asks, angry.
"Soccer," I say.
"What did she get arrested for?" Tegan asks me, and I swear I can smell the inside of the ambulance.
"Can I tell you when we get inside?" I ask, and she agrees. We walk quickly back, Tegan squeezing my my hand until it's practically numb..