Her First, His Last Read online

  "Knock, knock," Granny said before pushing open the door to my room. "Coraline dropped this off." Granny held out her feeble hand, and in it was a sealed envelope. "She wanted to see you." Granny eyed my unwashed hair and sleepwear, smudged with yesterday's dinner. "I told her you didn’t feel good."

  "Thanks," I said and snatched the letter from her hands as if it was a grenade detonated to explode. I wasn't ready for an excuse, and my heart couldn't handle goodbye. I shoved it under my pillow.

  Granny sat on the bed beside me and twirled my hair through her fingers. "I know it hurts. You love him, but you deserve better. He can't carry on any way he pleases and expect you just to accept it. You are worth so much more than that. Myles has money now. Fame and those things are magnets to most girls. Myles has proven he isn't capable of staying faithful. Don't misunderstand me—Myles loves you. He has loved you since the first summer you spent here, but as Pawpaw always said, if you lie down with dogs, you'll get up with fleas. Myles and those boys are the grungiest pack of dogs around," she deadpanned.

  I let out a big, long sigh. "Myles and I are over. As much as I love him, I could never be with him knowing he was screwing around. I am better than that."

  Granny snuggled under the blanket. Then I cried while she held me, letting the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the smell of Bengay soothe me off to sleep.

  Chapter 14

  T wo months went by, and each day got grayer, never sunnier. The comfort of burrowing in my home was my only relief.

  "Hey, will you grab my purse out of the car? I forgot to get it out when I bought the groceries in," Granny said while she slammed a kitchen cabinet closed.

  "Sure." I counted to ten before I climbed out of the cocoon I had created for myself on the couch. I had been fighting a migraine the last few days and refused to take anything stronger than an over the counter pain reliever. Drugs had already stolen too much from me without becoming an addict myself.

  I was reaching across the car seat to grab the purse when my world stopped turning.

  "Em, baby." Myles placed a snare drum on the ground and started to move towards me. "Damn, I'm so sorry, baby."

  He had been cleaning out his practice shed. His mother had been moved for a few months, so I found it odd he still had anything left in there.

  "Talk to me! Please, Em," Myles called out.

  A tidal wave of emotions crashed over me, nearly knocking me to the ground. "Why? I'm back in the trailer park. I’m sure you have had plenty of interviews from that long line of females waiting to take my place.”

  "I didn't mean that. I was hurting so damn much and just wanted everyone else to hurt too. Damn, please, talk to me? I just wanna talk." He pleaded. I didn't know what to do. My eyes roamed over the soft plane of his nose. There was a fullness to his lips. His all too perfect face was clear, almost glowing. He looked healthier, possibly happier.

  "I feel like I'm dead. I'm alive, but I might as well be dead," Myles said.

  Pain and betrayal crawled through my body like sticky syrup clogging the veins leading to my heart. I had been mourning him like he was dead. He ripped out my heart, yet I loved him anyway. I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady my mind before I asked him to stay.

  His eyes were wide and pleading. "Just talk to me. I miss you so much, so damn much."

  My pulse leaped from the feel of him staring at me. "No," I whispered.

  "Please, just five minutes, there's so much I need to tell you. I love you so much, Blue Eyes."

  "Stop with the Blue Eyes. You don't have the right to call me that anymore!" I screamed.

  Granny came barreling through the front door. "Get out of here. You've hurt her enough."

  My heart tried its very hardest to break into even more pieces, but I fought back the tears. I wouldn't allow Myles to see how much he had hurt me.

  "Please, Granny Abbie? I know I hurt her and don't deserve her, but I just want to talk."

  "Well, she doesn't want any part of you," Granny barked.

  "I'm clean. Shit, I'm so sorry. I miss you to the point it physically hurts."

  "Leave, haven't you hurt me enough." My bottom lip quivered, and my eyes filled with unshed tears.

  “Screw it, I’ve got a set of twins waiting for me back at my hotel anyway. You know, one of those job interviews.” Myles punctuated the statement with air quotes. Then he slammed his foot into the top of the snare drum, laying at his feet before turning and getting into his truck to leave.

  I pushed past Granny and raced into the trailer before collapsing onto my bed. Tucking my pillow into a large lump, my hand scraped across the letter. I traced my finger over the messy male handwriting of my name and brushed my fingers over my cheek, wiping away a rogue tear.

  Dear you,

  I'm sorry I hurt you. You were the part of my past I tried to hold on to. But our worlds are so different now. I can have whatever I want, and that is no longer you. Thank you for teaching me how to love, and I hope you find the man able to love you like you deserve to be loved. But that is no longer me.

  Goodbye, Myles.

  Saying goodbye was much harder to do than I dreamed it would be. Myles haunted my days at times.

  And every one of my nights. I had laid in bed for hours, staring at the poster of Manuscript’s last tour. I started to tear it apart more than once, but my heart wouldn’t let me.

  Granny desperately wanted me to attend community college, declaring it was an essential part of determining one’s future. I was in all honor classes in high school and knew that community college would be easy enough. The issue was I would be alone again. The last time I was genuinely alone was when my mother died. However, I needed to break the never-ending cycle of bleakness, my life's modus operandi.

   Deciding I couldn’t lay around for another second, I clumsily rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of daisy dukes and a vintage T-shirt. I needed to start my life sans Myles O’Connor.

  The one sure-fire way to break a family's curse of poverty was a good education. So, with the help of a Pell grant and numerous scholarships, I finally agreed to sign up for classes.

  I spent the next two years dedicating my life to studying, working at the Tasty Freeze, obtaining an associate degree in business management, and completely shutting out the rest of the world.

  One blessing college did give me was a friend who didn't even know I knew who Manuscript was, much less Myles O’Conner. Where I was denim and cotton, Sarah Banks was leather and lace. My natural red hair complimented her artificially ice-blue hair. My love for hair bands contrasted perfectly with her passion for punk.

  It was nice to have at least one person to talk to. She even asked me to go out with her but stopped asking when I nicely declined all one hundred and fifty requests. Okay, that was a rough estimate. She was a better friend than me. I was the friend scared to get close to anyone.

  My nights had gone silent. No music. No late-night calls. No longer hearing him sing his newest masterpiece.

  Sarah had made my days more bearable but no shorter. Despite the fact I had zero social life and only Sarah to talk to, I managed to keep busy and had little time to think about how dead I felt inside. I didn’t deserve the life I had been handed-the life of loving an addict.

  That simple truth had made my dating life easy. It sealed my heart from ever loving again. I went out once after I had left Myles. It was with a guy who I knew was jealous of Myles. He won the talent show in 8th grade, with the judges voting 3-2 against Myles. I later learned four of the judges were his family members. It didn’t matter. He thought he deserved what Myles had achieved instead of working at the nearby arsenal plant.

  His dirty blond mullet and half-smile were cute but nowhere close to what I was used to having, which was Myles. I reminded myself the entire night to stop comparing them. There was no comparison anyway.

  “You look nice,” he said as he flipped on the radio. I reached over instantly to turn it off.

  “You don’t
love music?” Beads of sweat dripped down his face and landed into his unusual smile.

  “I enjoy talking more.” I didn’t. But it was better than taking the chance of hearing Manuscript on the radio.

  He bought my hand to his mouth and stroked his lips over my knuckles. It took all my willpower not to pull away.

  The urge was even more challenging when his tongue found its way into my mouth. My heart screamed to eject the unfamiliar taste, but my body welcomed the warmth of someone for a moment. He inched his hand closer to my breast.

  “My place?” he asked before attacking my mouth again.

  I pushed him off me. “What?”

  “Come on, don’t play the good girl now. You dated the town’s damn Rockstar. Like this act would keep him around.”

  It didn’t keep him around. I jumped out of the parked truck and raced inside a nearby convenience store. On the wall was a payphone. I fiddled in my purse for the quarter Granny had me keep for emergencies.

  Sarah picked up on the second ring and didn’t seem irritated she had to pick me up on a Saturday night.

  She made me promise not to judge all guys based on that one night. I judged them all against Myles instead. And it made me say no to every request after that—all of them. I had forgotten what any intimate contact or even touched felt like. Except for maybe the occasional hug from Granny, touch was a void in my life. Sarah was correct. I needed to get out. It was as uncomfortable as I dreamed it would be, which was a lot.

  But it felt stimulating to finally give in and join the land of an ordinary college student as I tossed my food away at the food court in the nearby mall. Maybe, it was even fun until Sarah and I went into a clothing store that was blasting a voice I knew way too well.

  I remember you as I lay on this bed of pain.

  A replacement redhead still in my bed.

  I gripped the bottle of whiskey to numb all the memories.

  Baby, I don't want this.

  I want you.

  I want to wake in your arms and to smell the aroma of roses radiating off your skin.

  Well, this bottle of vodka is running dry

  and that groupie is giving me the eye.

  I know I will say hell and invite her to my bed of thorns.

  Because my heart is no longer pumping in my chest.

  I left it with you on that old rickety porch swing.

  I'm all alone in this pain.

  All alone in this pain.

  I still freaking love you, Blue Eyes.

  The tears cascaded down my cheeks as I rushed out of the store and ran toward a long hallway leading to the restrooms, telling myself those words weren't meant for me. Myles didn't sing on a track he didn't write. That song was all him. If Sawyer even sang a note, he was no more than a glorified backup singer.

  "There you are," Sarah said as she rounded into the hallway. "I didn't know where you were."

  I turned to face her and swiped at the tears on my cheeks.

  "It was that song. If you didn't know, when Myles O’Conner steps off his drum stand, it will always rip open your heart with the sting of a million tears and will make you want to look at pictures of old flames. I assume that song provoked some feelings in you. You should see the video."

  The shaking had me unable to bring my hand to my face. Myles had told me his goodbye, then turned his back on me. Those words weren't meant for me.

  "You know the girl in the video looks like you? Strange?" Sarah added.

  I acted oblivious to what she was saying, and I kept reminding myself that it was no way that song was about me.

  "You know they are from here?" Sarah informed.

  I nodded, having lost the ability to speak. Sarah had no idea how much I knew about them.

  "I guess you would. They are only a few years older than us. I wish I could've met them. You never know. I might've been the girl who knew them when."

  My heart had a twinge of pain for her because she will never know them like I once did. But she was the lucky one.

  Finally, finding the words to speak, I said, "A life of debauchery is no life at all. Glad I'm not the girl who ...." The jagged little tears of my heart bled. The fairy tales with happy endings in the songs Myles wrote didn't exist in the real world. His talent knew no bounds, but so did his lifestyle.

  "I guess you're right. How that band can take such two talented, but egotistical men is beyond me. Sawyer and Myles must hate each other."

  The hair prickled down my neck as steam rolled from my eyes.

  Hate each other? They were like brothers. She had no idea.

  Why her comment bothered me to that level unnerved me. I didn't know them anymore, and she might have been right. I swiped at the tears clinging to my face. "Let's get out of here. I'm tired of discussing someone who wouldn't give us a second thought.” Well, not anymore.

  When I finished with college, I obtained a job at a nearby playhouse managing their music department. It was an awarding job. I was able to work with children and help develop their musical talent. One of the small local bands named Totally Tubular reminded me of Manuscript when they started out in an old shed behind my trailer. I often prayed I could freeze time for Totally Tubular and keep them innocent and doing what they genuinely love—making music without the downfall of fame.

  It had been four and a half years since I had heard from Sawyer, Myles, or his mom. It was like they dropped off the planet. They had dropped out of my orbit anyway. It hurt like a festering wound eaten with maggots, and I had come to terms it always would. I had to think about something else, something less depressing. Work was all I really had, so I tried focusing my attention on that. I tried.

  Chapter 15

  F inally in the Summer of 1992, Sarah stormed into my small trailer with an overdramatic sigh to talk me into ending my self-imposed social isolation.

  “You can’t wear that,” she said and eyed my stained t-shirt. “Good thing I thought to bring you something.” She tossed a garment bag in my direction.

  “What’s this for?”

  “The music festival you have been planning for months.”

  The organization I worked for held a small music festival every year to raise much-needed funds.

  I rolled my eyes as I shook my head. “I’m not going.”

  “Please,” she begged. “You work with music, yet you refuse to listen to the radio. What is your beef with the whole music industry anyway?”

  It stole everything I ever loved.

  “If I didn’t know you, I would say music never crosses your mind,” Sarah said.

  You don’t know me. Not the real me. Not the me where music lives in my soul. Music didn’t occasionally cross my mind but lived there. But he took that too.

  “I don’t have a beef with anything besides being forced to do something I don’t want to do.”

  ‘’I’m not forcing you. I’m begging you for my sake. Please go with me tonight?"

  I tossed the garment bag at her. “Okay, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to enjoy myself.”

  Sarah threw her hands up in frustration. “But remember, if you meet your prince charming tonight, it was because of me.”

  “Deal, fairy godmother, but my prince is anywhere but in Bell Mills.” I gripped the clothes Sarah was holding. “Thanks for the new outfit. I need a shower.”

  Sarah held back a grin as I ambled toward the bathroom. I showered and brushed my teeth before even checking out what Sarah had bought me to wear. She did good—a pair of high-rise jeans and a graphic tee. Maybe Sarah did understand me, and I would meet a prince. Myles might have stolen my heart, but I still had a few shattered pieces to give away.

  ***

  I didn’t even take the time to look up the lineup. Despite working in the music field, I hadn’t listened to the radio since Myles walked out of my motel room to avoid ever hearing any news about the band. My heart ached as much as it always had, but I had gotten better at lying to myself.

  "I can't believe they are
actually playing a venue this small," Sarah said as she held out her arm to show them her wristband —the festival’s entrance ticket. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you all put it in any of your ads?"

  "Who?" I asked as a raindrop plopped on my forehead.

  "Only the hottest band that ever came out of Tennessee.” She pulled me to stand on the floor, left of the stage.

  Before we found our spot in the crowd, the arena grew dark, and bright, colorful lights started swirling around the stage. Fans lifted lighters in the air, waving them in time with the music. It had only been five years five long and lonely years since I last heard the familiar beat of our song.

  Center stage was the man I still dreamed about. The blinding lights didn't take away the fact that all eyes were on him. My stare roamed over his beautiful face. I know beautiful wasn't the manliest adjective used to describe a guy, but it fit him. In my mind, it always would.

  My heart fractured into a billion painful fragments, pulling at the fibers I had held it together with. Damn, I had missed him so very much. His hair had grown longer, and it perfectly curled as it flowed past his shoulders and down his back. It was the simplest of observation, but one that made me realize he was no longer the boy I had known. He had grown and changed, all without me. Still, I felt that invisible string pulling me to him.

  I turned to bolt when I heard a voice call for me. "Hey, unicorn, I hope you are out there because this is all for you. He misses and loves you. Your name is on the list if you want to come backstage at any time. If you're wondering, I love and miss you too. This is for you, Blue Eyes." Sawyer, my buddy, no longer seemed familiar to me.

  It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to stand there. Real loneliness is being in a crowded room and feeling totally alone.

  "Watch it, bitch," some woman with pink hair said as she rammed into my side. I didn't move as various pictures repeatedly played in the prism of my mind. Myles tapping out a beat on his pants leg, eating a butter cookie, winking at me as he walked off stage, him between someone else's legs. Images of him, of us.