Sam

  Everything feels out of place to me anymore. It’s awkward, truthfully, when Adam and I enter the hotel room we’re supposed to share. I’m not sure if he picks up on it, but I’m so tense I feel like I might crack, so I go right for the shower. I need the privacy, the space often so difficult to get on tour. Normally I have at least some respite in my own room. I was so excited at first, you know, about this plan I’ve concocted and so hastily put in motion. Now that it’s happening, though, it’s making my belly hurt and my heart work even harder to squash this longing.

  God, my God this longing I feel.

  The hot water feels really good on my skin, and for a few moments, I’m able to focus on it. That is, until Adam comes into the bathroom, and it makes my spine feel rigid. I listen. I know what he’s doing, prodding for my response. He does that sometimes. Lately, it’s been often. Well, as often as we see each other anyway. There’s been less of that these days. It’s healthier for me to be far away. I can pretend he doesn’t live inside me the way he does. I can pretend that I’m whole when I’m on my own.

  I indulge him, though. I open the curtain and glare and cuss. He smiles, and I can see I’ve satisfied him. My heart is so far from this experience it’s difficult to explain. I feel detached and empty. I feel like I’m splitting into two completely different people. My mind, on the one hand, always trying to distract. My heart, on the other, always being pulled.

  I feel listless and depressed when I dry off and ready myself. I feel even worse when Adam leaves me alone to shower. I lay on my back. I stare up at the sky and the buildings beyond the window. My fingers cry out for a cigarette to hold. It’s a cruddy room, like usual, but not cruddy enough to get away with an indoor smoke. I roll the tips of my left hand against the inside of my palm. The feeling’s lost from playing guitar. It’s almost like someone else is caressing the skin.

  I bite my lip and slam my eyes shut. I feel a powerful headache manifesting between the eyes. I roll to the side and hold my forehead. I stay like this, fetal and helpless, trying so hard to forget about who I am, how I feel, and time loses meaning. I measure it by the quieting of Adam’s shower, the hairdryer fluffing up his hair. I pull myself together because it’s important to me that I hide this. I rise to my feet and ignore the sharp pain in my skull.

  We walk down to have breakfast together. I have to sit and socialize through this head and heartache...so many things can hurt me all at once. I feel attacked, like an autoimmune disorder of the soul. I vaguely register the conversation as things, tired and so predictable, unfold. Aiden, jealous of Adam’s latest squeeze, starts to vocalize Adam’s flaws. Adam, prideful, egotistical, and constantly living under the threat of Aiden’s condescension, retaliates with a gay joke. It’s not that he’s never done that before. It’s just that, I don’t know? Maybe it’s because I’ve been softly leaning into who I am it bothers me more than usual. I can’t help but drop my eyes. I don’t want anyone to see the truth. I don’t want him to see it.

  He does, though, to a degree. I notice from my peripheral that he’s identified something wrong with me.

  Yeah...there’s something wrong with me.

  My cheeks feel like fire when he quiets down. He suppresses who he is because, though he might not understand it, he does recognize something has cut. I want to tell him it’s okay. Hell, part of me wants to tell him what it is.

  I can’t, though, because that’s it...it’s the biggest secret I have, the one thing I feel like I can’t say. Not to Adam, anyway.

  I look at him. I know he senses it, but he doesn’t look back. It feels like rejection, but at least I can drink in the beautiful sight of his face. My stomach hurts the way it always has when I study him. I feel that pulling on my chest, the almost metaphysical forces at work on me, the ones that endlessly sweep me into fantasies about the softness of his lips, the morning stubble I want touching my jaw while I let my tongue get acquainted with his. The physical need I have to touch him, to let him rest between my thighs, to know what he’s like spiritually and physically joined with me.

  I want to sob when I indulge these feelings. It hurts. God, this hurts.

  I look away because I honestly just can’t anymore.

  The confusion between us, the blossoming awkwardness that threatens to push us out of orbit, persists when we leave the dining room. It wedges itself between us, the secrets, the guarded source of all the tensions we’re carrying all the way back to the room and beyond. I know Adam expects conversation, but I’m so tired...I don’t know. I can’t really explain any of this right. It’s just a feeling, one that sticks. I pretend to be asleep until I hear his breath slow, indicating his loss of consciousness. I open my eyes and look at him again. There’s sun pouring through the window, lighting up his hair, the outline of his face. It’s easy to see why women love him, why everyone does, as Aiden complains. He’s like a movie star, at least to me. I know he worries about his weight, but honestly, the fifteen or so extra he carries drives me a little wild. I'd love to know what it's like to rest my forehead against it, like a pillow, while I'm doing things I know he'll never let me do.

  I think he’s sexy. I think he’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing about who he is.

  Not even the women.

  Maybe that’s weird, but...I don’t know...I know it’s not really because he’s a pig. I mean, in some ways, obviously. The objectification is wrong, but also, he’s pretty up-front about it. He sleeps with women older than himself, or at least in his range. He’s not the sort of pervert who prays on the innocent or young. It might be excessive and self-indulgent, the hookups, but at least they’re generally on equal footing. That's more than I can say, considering Oliver's twenty-five.

  Amy might be an exception to that norm, though. There’s something about her that feels really fragile to me, which is odd because I find her tremendously threatening. She’s needy, probably a little insane, but also...she’s tough to some degree, from what I can tell. I mean, just how amusingly pushy she was about holding onto Adam, and how she was able to play it off with a cute smile. I guess it’s impressive, her determination and sweetness. That scares the living hell out of me.

  What if...what if he does fall for her? Could he? I’ve never seen him fall in love before.

  Well, that’s not true. He did once, in our senior year of high school. It was fresh and new, and it ended in the most terrible heartbreak. I think she’d gotten in a day or so too late...he’d decided. He’d had a moment with her like I did with him all those years ago in the basement. Then, bam, out of nowhere, she told him she’d rather be going with Casper Reynolds, who was exactly as nerdy as his name makes him sound. Casper wound up being some hot-shot corporate guy, though. Last I heard, they’re well off in Beverly Hills. Not that Adam isn’t just as successful, but it’s different. Casper’s marriage material...a father, a stand-up, run-of-the-mill guy that punk rock star Adam Lee can never hope to be.

  That wrecked him, and I know damn well that’s why he’s so guarded with his heart now. I’ll never forget him calling me, so hysterical I could barely understand. I drove him then to the top of a hill overlooking the Los Angeles lights, making the minutia of our lives feel so distant and small. I remember him sobbing forever. I remember those sobs wetting the collar of my shirt as the name moved from Sonia, beautiful, gone Sonia, to that of his mother. Why do they leave, he’d asked me in a way that made my heart crack.

  It might seem cliché, but it is what it is. His mother abandoned him. The first woman he dared to love left. He learned from those experiences that women are not safe, that love is not safe. The only reason he has any level of intimacy with me is because I’m steady, and I came into his life before Sonia shredded him. I’m the anchor. I’m the center of his world.

  Just not in the same way he’s the center of mine.

  I’m tempted to kiss his cheek, to touch his hair or his chest, but I don’t. I force myself to close my eyes and fall asleep, too.

  When we wake, I feel a little less hollow. It doesn’t last long, though, because he’s at his usual business as soon as we get to the venue. I’m forced to watch while he lets Amy curl into his lap. I walk away, and I know it bothers him, but he does absolutely nothing to change his behavior...well, at least not for the better. He eyes me while I go and stand near the stage. I check on Stella, our folksy opening act. I smile while I watch her captivate an audience that isn’t in her niche. She sparkles like that, and it’s exactly why Oliver and I invited her into our band. We’re not like ‘The Panic’, my band with Adam. We’re more like the sort of thing Stella’s putting out: acoustic guitar work, pretty melodies, and lyrics about feeling haunted and broken. That’s what lives inside me. I don’t think I’m feeling as punk as I used to.

  I sense Oliver next to me. I look at him and smile, and having him near does something to my demeanor that I’m not sure I can articulate. I do feel settled, at least some, even as I glance over his shoulder and see Adam’s tongue down Amy’s throat. I ignore the pit in my stomach when I lay my eyes back on Oliver. He’s a bleached blond knock-out of a guy. He reminds me of Billie Joe from Green Day, but younger and less cynical. He grins, looking me up and down only briefly. I like it when he flirts.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “So...how’s it all feelin’?” he asks.

  He knows. He knows more of me than anyone else in the world. I haven’t told him I’m in love with Adam, of course, just that I’m in love with someone. Unrequited, of course.

  That’s what we’ve decided to name our band, by the way.

  I shrug, “I dunno. I don’t feel the way I remember.”

  I’m referring to the tour. I’m usually better than this. I’m usually a little more put together, more measured, more okay with the things around me. I’m softening these days.

  Oliver glances toward Adam. I haven’t told him, like I said, but I do suspect he knows.

  “I would kiss you if you weren’t closeted. It’d probably make you feel better,” he offers.

  His eyes are on stage, but all of his attention is obviously on me.

  “What would...coming out or kissing you?”

  He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me and laughs in that charming way of his.

  We’re quiet for the rest of Stella’s set, and when Oliver goes out and lights up the crowd, I feel pacified and light. Cute Brother Jayson comes and stands next to me. We don’t talk, but we’re close, and something about his presence feels good to me, too. That peace manages to fill me when I take my turn on stage, and it blossoms into nothing short of ecstasy when I start my physical stage antics with Adam. There’s something about the guitar, the lights, the adoration of the crowd, it’s like swallowing the sun. I feel ignited and powerful. I feel like I’m bigger than the slow deterioration of myself. I get as close to Adam as my secret allows, briefly and often, before backing away and smiling, holding his eyes like I’m in a seductive dance that he’s aware of. He’s not, of course, but it feels good to try and be tantalizing anyway.

  Sometimes, I wonder what he feels when we’re in this act, or even after. By all indications, it invigorates him as much as me because when we get off stage, it’s like the tension-fueled wall of silence between us has dissipated. He’s friendly, and I am, too. We put our arms around each other in camaraderie while we head to another bar for some drinks. We talk with animation about how well the show went. Everything’s fine, really. Amy isn’t too close but rather seems to be bickering with her brother in the distance. I figure he’s trying to keep her obsessive behavior under control, at least based on the short conversation we had the other night. Whatever it is, I guess I don’t care because Adam’s available to me, and I’m having a great time. I dare to be a bit handsy. I can use liquor as an excuse.

  I feel happy and high when we leave the bar and return to the empty venue. That feeling slips away because Brandy is there, and it’s obvious she’s expecting the full treatment from Adam. Adam gets too drunk entirely too fast then disappears with her. I wonder, briefly, where I’m supposed to sleep. The tension, sorrow, and sense of crumbling return to me. The haunted way my mind works threatens to bring me to my knees. I vaguely tune into the conversation at the table.

  “Doesn’t it bother you? He’s literally sleeping with another woman. He didn’t hide it from you at all...?” Aiden is whining.

  He’s had too much to drink, too.

  Nonetheless, I’m kind of interested in what Amy has to say.

  She shrugs and smiles, “He’ll fall for me. Men don’t like needy. I’ll stand back. You watch. By the end of this tour, he won’t be able to get me off his mind.”

  “Yeah, okay, but doesn’t it bother you...?” Aiden re-emphasizes.

  She shrugs again, “No.”

  Aiden rolls his eyes, not with malice but exasperation. Amy seems to enjoy it and engages in banter with him. I can’t help but think those two might be better suited for each other, but I also recognize that she’s determined and not easily phased by Adam’s cold behavior. It reminds me of how frightening I find her, and I suddenly realize I need some fresh air if I’m going to keep myself from throwing up. I abruptly leave the table and head out to the alley beside the bar. For Portland, it feels relatively quiet and secluded back here. I pull out a cigarette and the first drag makes me feel like I’m floating. I like the isolation. I want to be alone, but unfortunately, this solitude doesn’t last long. Before I know it, the door is opening beside me, and, lo and behold, Jayson is joining me. I smile at him, even though I’d give anything to make him go away.

  “Don’t want to hear what you’re sister’s got to say?” I ask.

  He groans and puts his hand to his head.

  “She’s harmless, I promise...”

  I shrug, “I don’t care. Like I said, Adam could use the lesson.”

  Jayson sighs and looks at the ground, “She’s a person, you know.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I look him over, and I suddenly recognize a familiar sorrow about him. I can’t help it, really, when I reach over and give his shoulder a squeeze.

  “I know, man. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

  Jayson bites the inside of his cheek and nods, “Yeah, okay.”

  I’m not sure what else to say. I feel shitty. I know better than this. I know better than to use people for my own purposes. I know better than to make assumptions about the circumstances and hardships that shape them into fully fleshed individuals with hearts and souls and guts. What’s wrong with me?

  It’s just another reason I’m better off away from Adam.

  “I’ll tell you something about myself...as an apology,” I suddenly say, pushing from the wall and standing in front of him.

  He straightens and looks at my eyes. He doesn’t flinch and I kind of admire that about him.

  “Okay, fine. So, tell me something then.”

  I grin and my heart skips. This is crazy, but...sometimes I’m impulsive, I guess. I glance toward the end of the alley to make sure no one’s around, then I look back at him. I step a little closer and he doesn’t move. I touch his neck. I watch him close his eyes, and then I kiss him. It’s mild. I don’t really know him. I’m not about to open my mouth or anything like that, but his lips are nice, and his body feels warm when it’s close. I pull back, and he’s surprised. I shrug again.

  “Gay? Bisexual? Just want a kiss?” he asks, releasing a breathy laugh.

  “Gay. Closeted. Don’t tell anyone, alright? This scene’s a little rough.”

  He nods, “Yeah, no joke. It’s almost like stepping twenty years into the past, hanging with all these punks or whatever y’all call yourselves.”

  “It’s a bro-fest,” I concede, “but the lyrics aren’t. It’s a funny contradiction, the patriarchal structure behind the protest.”

  He smiles softly.

  “Well, thanks for the kiss...and the secret, I guess. I’ll be quiet about it.”

  I nod and step back, watching him disappear inside the bar to monitor his sister. On his way in, Oliver comes out. I smile at him brightly, though he looks a little frazzled.

  “That guy likes you,” he quickly insists, leaning sideways against the wall.

  I meet him there, and face him. I flirtatiously grab his shirt and rub the fabric between my fingers.

  “Jealous?”

  He smiles, “Furiously.”

  I put my arms around his neck. He puts his hands on the small of my back, “I kissed him.”

  “Did you, now?”

  I bite my lip, “Mmmhmm.”

  “Well,” he sighs, “what are we gonna do about that?”

  I gently push away from and take the final puff of my cigarette. I squash it beneath my boot, then pick up the butt and stuff it back inside the box.

  “Let me get my things. What’s your room number?”

  “306."

  “306 then,” I casually respond, touching his chest when I walk past him back to the bar.

  I tell everyone I’m tired, to which I am given a healthy amount of protest. I manage to extricate myself anyway, heading toward my shared room with Adam. I’m fairly certain what I’ll find there, but I guess I have to see it, or I won’t do anything better with my night. So, in an act of deliberate self-torture, I enter the hotel room and find him asleep on Brandy’s bare, exposed chest. I'm quiet, and my heart is throbbing in a way that makes me feel like I can’t hear. I carefully grab my overnight bag and lift it, ready to take off. I should just leave, I really should, but I don’t. Instead, I step close to the bed and look at them for a while. Adam’s face is flushed like he’s been crying. I wonder if he was, and if so, what does that mean? I’m studying his face when, suddenly, I’m aware of Brandy. I meet her opened eyes, and abruptly look away.

  “I’m sorry...I wasn’t looking at you,” I feel humiliated.

  She’s quiet when she answers, “Look at my face.”

  I hesitate, but I do what she’s asked.

  “I’ve always seen it, you know,” she quietly informs me.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “What?”

  She sighs, looking at me like she feels beyond sorry.

  “You should tell him. He’s not doing so well,” she elaborates.

  I continue to pretend she’s not acknowledging anything. How could she possibly know? As if reading my mind, she speaks up again, “It’s in your eyes when you watch him. People’s eyes give everything away.”

  I look back down at him, tears threatening.

  “So, what are my eyes saying now?” I plead, realizing I’m feeling more helpless than I want.

  She studies me like she’s really considering the question.

  “They’re telling me you’re tired.”

  I sigh because it feels like the understatement of the year. I wipe the tears away and let my shoulders fall.

  “I am.”

  “So, tell him. If you’re tired of the way it is, the only thing you can do is tell him.”

  I stare down at him again, like something might be different somehow, even though nothing’s changed.

  “There is one other thing.”

  She looks at me quizzically. I swallow and directly address her when I explain.

  “I can walk away.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  I look at my feet and blink. More tears fall. I sniffle and furiously wipe them away. I feel like such a child.

  “No,” is all I say before I do exactly that.

  I walk from the room, and I make my way to Oliver’s. He’s waiting, and as soon as my bag is on the floor, his mouth is on mine. It makes my stomach flutter, and it’s such an easy, familiar thing to fall into. We make out on the bed so long my lips feel numb. His hands tease me to the point I’m certain that when we do strip down, I won’t be long beneath his touch. He pulls from me and it drives me mad with desire.

  “Don’t stop...” I whisper, pulling his hips closer to mine.

  I’m on my back, and he’s got himself well positioned on top of me.

  “You kissed Jayson...kind of fucked up, Sam...considering.”

  I whine and keep pressing his back. I want him. I want him so, beyond bad.

  “I told you, Ollie...I can’t love you. I can’t be with you. I’m not good for anything like that.”

  He presses his tongue in my mouth, then bites my lip before pulling away again. I whine some more because I’m buzzed and in desperate need.

  “I’m not asking for love. I’m asking for a little kissing fidelity.”

  “What about this...?” I ask, rubbing my palm against his jeans.

  “Fidelity, please. Not a relationship, just safety. If we’re having sex, I need to know I’m safe with you.”

  I look into his eyes. I feel like he’s some kind of riddle, something I have to figure out, but my mind is too clouded with sex to do it. I shouldn’t agree to something like this under the circumstances, but also, if I don’t do this with him now I might just die of the frustration.

  “Fine. Fidelity.”

  He smiles and kisses me. He tells me I’m good, and he gives me what I want. I feel hopeless and needy, and though we’ve had sex probably a hundred times by this point, I feel this opening of my soul I’ve never felt with him or anyone else before. It’s a bond of sorts, I guess. It’s the beginning of the feeling that, I don’t know...maybe I kind of...care?

  I hold that thought when I cry out beneath his weight, his kiss, the lovely pressure, and roaming touch of his hands. He holds onto me in ways I can’t fully understand while I try to slow my heart and my breath. I take care of him, and then we fall into each other, a tangled mess of bodies and pillows and sheets.

  I realize I’m grateful for the familiarity of Oliver.

  I also realize I’m in something definable, despite how obstinately I try to refuse defining it.

  That thought scares me almost as much as Amy while I gently rub his back, and he rubs mine.

  Fidelity.

  Fidelity sounds a lot like something I can never fully give.