Page 13 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories
Nyx says I fell in love with a narcissist. But I’ve googled it, and Eli doesn’t check the boxes. My baby sister is trying to rationalize it all, too. She may be the youngest of us, but she’s fiercely protective. I love her to death because of it.
I wonder if this is how Oliver’s exes feel. Do they hate him? Sympathize? Or hold out hope like a pathetic fuck that he’ll one day get his shit together and seek them out? He’s only three years younger than me but looks older than Darien. It hurts to look at him sometimes—even before Eli.
There’s a deep resentment inside me towards my brother because instead of dealing with his issues like the rest of us, he took the coward’s way out. Relying on any drug he could get his hands on, stealing from us, and lying to our faces. I wonder what happened to him. What made it all go wrong? I don’t think I’m all that messed up—maybe alittle—and I’m not an addict. At least, not with anything illegal. I’m addicted to my drums, my vape…my cat.
And before this last year, I was addicted to a man I should’ve never met. But fate is a tricky bitch.
The cool air hits my face as I calm down enough to know I won’t go back in there and get in a fight. The last thing I need is that shit ending up on TikTok. Been there, done that. A shiver runs down my spine, probably because the sweat on my body has dried, and it’s hitting me that we’re in the Midwest in the middle of November. I should grab a jacket. Standing up to do just that, I walk over to the bus, pulling out the key I swiped from Terry before coming here. I get it in the lock, fingers gripping the handle, when I see movement in my peripheral.
Black jeans, slip-on black Vans, and legs that look longer than they are approach me. I close my eyes, feeling his on me like lasers.Not now.I jerk the door open, ready to slam it in his face, but he speaks.
Soft, barely there, he says, “Phoenix, can we talk?”
My back stiffens as I pivot just enough to see his face.
The whites around his dark blue eyes are red. His skin is lighter, more sallow. I spot the purple bags telling me he’s not sleeping. With his hands in his pockets and his black hair pulled into a low bun, I know he didn’t plan on doing this. If he had, that hair would be down and blowing in the wind because I'm a whore for men with pretty hair. No, this shit was a spur-of-the-moment idea. I doubt he even knows what to say to me, not after this long, not after a year of fucking nothing.
I stay quiet, my grip on the handle tightening. I need to get inside this bus. I need to walk the fuck away. But my legs won't budge. I hate that I want to hear what he says, even if it isnothing.
The two rings on either side of his bottom lip glisten as he swipes his tongue over them. “How are you?”
I blink, my brows wanting to furrow, but I keep my face blank.How are you? Seriously?Narrowing my eyes a touch, I almost laugh. God, how fucked up is he right now? “Perfect,” I bite out, then escape into the bus. I slam the door, flipping the lock, and glare at him through the little window.
His eyes harden, rejection not something he’s used to with me, and he spits on the ground. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, never breaking our stare-down. What does he want? Why is he out here playing this game when his new guy is back inside?
“I can wait out here all night,” he muses, blowing out his smoke. I don’t reply, so he continues, “I did you a favor, so stop acting like some victim.”
I catch myself looking at the tattoo on the right side of his neck. The pink flower petals were deliberately tatted there to look like they were blowing away right off his skin. He notices. Even high, Eli can be observant, and it’s annoying. “He kisses them, too.” Tilting his chin up so more of the tattoo is visible, he taps it lazily. “Just like you used to.”
Move. Walk away. Get to the back where he can’t see you.
I’m rooted on the step, slightly hunched due to the shallow roof in this spot of the bus. “It all worked out, though. Didn’t it?” He’s determined to get a rise out of me again. He wants it that badly. “Everyone forgot all about it. I’m working like it never happened. You’re on tour with fans ready to worship you. Wasn’t such a big deal.”
Biting my tongue so I don’t speak, I simply stare at him. Every inch of me is wound tight.Walk the fuck away.
He ashes his cigarette, looking up at the sky and spinning in a slow circle. “It’s pretty out here.” His eyes drop back down to mine. “You’repretty.” I watch his throat bob.
Yeah, I'm not doing this.
“Bye, Elijah,” I say loud enough that I know he hears it, and then I disappear.
Falling into one of the benches set up like a couch, I hold my head, breathing all jacked up. A few times, he’s done shit like this. Usually, after he’d vanish for a few days, he would send me a text or request a video call. If I didn’t respond, he’d send a video. And, of course, I’d watch it. He’d tell me that he missed me, that he was sorry, that it wasn’t a big deal. I’d hear the added rasp to his voice, see the hunger in his eyes, and cave. I always fucking caved. I grab at my hair, my gut sloshing with unease. The dead, rotting chunks of my heart are trying to string back together like a zombie because he’s right outside. I want to run out there and touch him.
I want to be that guy again.
But I’m not that guy anymore, and I certainly won’t be him while Eli is fucking someone else. So I stay holed up on the bus until the rest of my band comes, and we pack up and leave. Eli didn’t stay out there all night like he threatened, and I knew he wouldn’t. It’s all a game to him. It's a way to see if I still want him. Or worse, he’s trying to make me truly hate him. To sever the bits and pieces of my love for him that I still cling to. That thought eventually carries me to my bunk, sleep never coming.
I toss and turn, the soft hum of the bus engine doing nothing to recreate the white noise of my fan at home. All the therapists in the world couldn’t explain Eli’s behavior tonight, and not a single one of them can fix me either. Before him, I thought I was pretty normal. A bit weird, but normal. After him, though, I know that I’m not. Normal people would’ve moved on. Normal people wouldn’t have let him speak, let alone gawk like I did.
What the hell was I thinking looking there? Giving him another knife to stab in my back.
Of course, Leon kisses him there. It’s his fucking neck. But there’s no way in hell that he kisses each petal to hear the breathy moan Eli makes. Or run his tongue over every one because he likes how Eli’s skin tastes. And what about the other tattoos? His scars? Does Leon kiss those? Does he whisper words of worship, promising never to be the reason Eli hurts? No the fuck he doesn’t, and I know it because that’s all me.
My phone vibrates beside my arm. I flip to my side, hoping it’s Veronica sending me a cute picture of my niece. I frown when I see it’s just a Snapchat. I pull down the notification, yawning a little, and then choke.
Camboy89.
It's the most generic name ever, but I know it’s him. It’s always him with those numbers attached to it. Hovering my thumb over the screen, I fight with the urge to swipe it away, not bother even looking. Am I going to entertain it? Even if all I do is look? My head says fuck no. My gut flutters wildly, and my dick twitches in my sweats.
