Page 3 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

I feed my cat, plate some pancakes, and sit on the couch. Deciding to check my socials while I do so, I flip through the various apps I’m on kind of absently. Kelly’s pancakes are theshit, I swear. She smirks when I moan a little, catching some dripping syrup with my plate. I think she’s going easy on me because she puts on her “house cleaning” playlist, which is all rap.

She could put on Mozart for all I care as long as it isn’tthatsong.

Helios wanders to me, jumping beside me and cuddling into my hip. I balance my plate on my lap so I can pet him a bit while scrolling. He’s an all-white cat with big blue eyes. I almost called him Ghost, but the kid giving him away six years ago had already named him after this unicorn dude in Sailor Moon—or something. So, I kept the name. I have gotten a few side eyes from vets when they read his name on the chart over the years.

“Was that good breakfast?” I ask him.

“It’s strange that you check,” Kelly adds from the kitchen, where she hoovers in her food.

“It’s only polite. Isn’t that right, baby?” Helios purrs as I scratch his chin.

“That is unhealthy.” She stabs her fork in our direction.

“She’s wrong about us,” I whisper to him. “We’re forever.”

Ignoring her cackling, I glance at my phone. The smile falls off my face instantly—one of the bands we're touring with posted a picture of their tour bus getting loaded. The caption reads:Hire the pretty help.And there's a tag with averyfamiliar screen name attached. I choke on my spit, scrambling to close out of the app as fast as humanly possible. My eyes slam shut like that will help erase what I saw. It doesn't.

What is he doing with Headhunter?

“You alright over there?” Kelly's voice is muffled by my pulse beating against my eardrums.

I knew he was dating someone. A person like Elijah Hawthorne doesn't stay single. There's been teasers ‘n shit on his Instagram accounts, but I didn't know who or if they were an actual boyfriend or just a collaborator. But I should've known better.

Rockstars and Pornstars go together like Yin and Yang.

And now I know.

Elimoved on.

Phoenix

Kissing Someone Else

Ilay in my bed, spooning Helios, trying not to sniffle. It’s pathetic tostillfeel so heartbroken after all this time, but I am.

For the first few weeks after our terrible breakup, I was beyond angry. Like…I seriously debated killing Eli. Jorge said his uncle has a few pigs that might eat a body. Kelly tacked on that, saying that heroneclass in human anatomy qualified her to chop up said body. Devon said we were all insane. Michael didn’t have anything to say, but he judged us. It was easier to be angry when it all happened.

But once that fizzled out and I didn’t commit murder, the pain quadrupled in my chest. I swear my heart seized like a dying animal before falling somewhere in my lower abdomen to rot. It all seemed so real to me when I was living it.

People warned me; of course, they did.

Those people didn’t understand what it is like to date someone who makes a living off their body. I act like I have such a vast group of confidantes who advise me. No, it was just my bandmates. Well, my parents did, too, when they eventually found out what Eli did. And my siblings.

The first thing you must remember about dating an adult entertainer is that you can’t get jealous. It’s business, not cheating. I struggledveryhard with that in the beginning. It’s not like me to be territorial, and for months before anything ever happened, I considered letting my blossoming feelings die. Eli is one of the top-grossing content creators on numerous porn sites, including OnlyFans. I mean, he’s just that hot. And charming. But he also has this dark, broody energy, too. It’s ensnaring and addicting.

One look was all it took for me. And it was through a fucking laptop screen.

I saw him and jerked off like some crazy dude. But then shit got weird. I got tomeethim. I’m not exactly Mr. Social Butterfly, so I was ridiculously shy and quiet—more so than usual. Somehow, that caught his attention, and before I knew it, I had his phone number. Obviously, a lot more happened, but I’m reminiscing and licking my wounds right now.

It isn’t just the fact that we had more sexual chemistry than an oxygen and hydrogen molecule. It isn’t the fact that when we were together, I felt like a different person. Or maybe those play a factor in it. I don’t know anymore.

Eli and I were one of those couples that spoke with our eyes. We checked in with physical touch. I could pick up on his energy; he did the same with mine. We had the kind of relationship that people write in fiction. I swear I didn’t need tobreathewhen we were together because his presence gave me life.

Ilovedhim.

In many ways, I still do. So, I sniffle and mope, knowing that it was one-sided. That I must’ve imagined it all. Don’t people say that time makes memories sweeter? Blurs all the ugly shit, and you cling to the good? Or is this just a trauma response?

I tuck Helios tighter to my chest, burying my nose in his fur because I’m thirty years old and crying in my room like a lovesick fourteen-year-old with his first unrequited crush. I hate that I can’t move on. I hate that one moment of unchecked aggression and pain aimed the spotlight onmewhile he’s off living his Eurotrip dreams screwing half the metal genre. I keep telling myself that I need to get angry again. I need to harness it into motivation. But I can’t. It feels like a thousand rocks live inside my chest cavity instead of my heart. Cold and heavy, weighing me down to the bottom of this ocean, a graveyard for love.

---