Page 6 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

So yeah, Phoenix probably doesn’t realize it, but I did him a fucking favor. He'd be ruined if I let it keep going and opened up even a fraction more. I don’t want there ever to be a day when that happens.

Leaving the bathroom, I stroll over to Leon and scoot onto the bench beside him. He smiles at me, and the familiar static that only comes from snorting my prescription has me smiling back. All his band members are passed out, so I grab his jaw and pull him in for a wet kiss.

Not much lights me up anymore. So it’s not surprising that the kiss doesn’t do what I want, but I try anyway because I need to feel something—a sliver of sensation to stuff in the hollow place inside me. I like Leon in a superficial way. He’s sweet and pliable, and he likes to be told he’s a good boy and all that fun stuff. I have been as honest as I can be with him, too. You can’t count on an end game when you date me. It doesn’t matter for however long.

There is no end game with me.

All I’m good for is midnight kisses and tour bus delights.

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” he murmurs huskily.

Blurring out Leon’s face from the video, I scrutinize the angle at which I recorded our blowie session from the tour bus bathroom last night. He agreed to let me film us occasionally, but only pov shots. He’s got quite a few tattoos that would be easily identifiable from any other angle. I won’t be able to use the video because, in order to blur his face correctly, it takes half my dick out of the shot, so I groan and delete it. Truthfully, I'm over putting in this much effort for strangers on the internet.

Slamming my laptop shut, I fish out my cigarettes and light one up. I’m on a dingy little balcony outside the hotel room we’re staying at for the night. Leon is at the venue with his band and…the other ones. He all but begged me to go with them, but I’m not ready to face Phoenix yet.

I know how nervous he gets when he plays for large crowds. Headhunter—Leon’s band—is more well-known, so a big following of fans will be there. If I show up, it’ll fuck up Phoenix’s whole pre-show ritual.

Snorting to myself while I take a drag, I realize that even after all this time, I still know him so well. Like how he calls Helios his baby. Or how he prefers boxers over briefs because he likes his nuts to hang freely.

Leaning back in the chair, I watch the smoke billow up and into the air while more of him floods my head.

I bet Phoenix still misses that spot under his chin when he shaves. I used to call it his devil’s patch. I bet he is wearing his lucky socks tonight—the ones with pepperoni pizza slices all over them. I know for a fact he had Kelly clean up his side cut a few days ago because healwaysscrews up the line when he does it himself.

I wonder if they’re going to play my song tonight. Sure, assuming it’s about me is vain, but I know it is. IknowPhoenix. There’s no way in fuck that Jorge wrote a song that’s essentially a eulogy of our romantic relationship. It’s their most popular song, too.

Without thinking, I pull it up on my phone and hit play.Isolatedsounds through the tiny speaker. If I hadn’t looked up the lyrics for myself, I wouldn’t have grasped the whole meaning of the song due to Jorge’s harsh vocals and growls.

The song starts slow, building in passion and angst until, eventually, it leads to a brutal breakdown and a bridge so powerful I can feel that pain deep in my chest.

I did that to him.

Every word, every emotion poured out into that song is because ofme.

So, I turn off the song. Hating myself every day doesn’t fucking change things. I did what I did, and there’s no erasing of the past. I wouldn’t put it past Phoenix to throat-punch me when we eventually cross paths.

He is the type of person who will stay quiet, simmering in secret until it eventually comes to a roaring boil and spills over the edge. I deserve to deal with that scalding water. After all, I broke his heart and ghosted him. So, I would take that punch. I’d take whatever nasty shit he wants to say to me because it would all be right. I'm a horrible person. I’m a coward and a fuck up, and everything else, so I won't be showing my face tonight.

And worst of all, I don’t know what I will do when the time comes.

Phoenix

Edge Of A Broken Heart

“Happy Anniversary,” I say into the phone.

“Fe, you didn’t have to call.” The sympathy in my sister’s voice dredges up the one thing I didn’t want to think about.

“Of course I did,” I tell her, wedging my cell into my shoulder and wiping my face.

It’s late, but I knew she’d be up. My niece is only a month and a half old. Veronica has already told me through our “sibling group chat” that mom life is hard. I guess Delilah is a poor sleeper most nights. I remember when she sat us all down to tell us she was pregnant. Still mortally wounded over being dumped, it had felt like the black clouds were parting a little. I’ve always liked kids.

“It wasn’t a happy day for you.”

“But it was foryou. How’s Deke?”

“He’s great. Tired, but great. Delilah has his curls,” she muses sleepily, then yawns.

I smile a little, eagerly awaiting the next picture she will send me. My bandmates are chatting in the background, still wired from the show. The loud bass of Headhunter beats against the backstage walls. Shuffling away from the noise, I go through the side door that leads into the very back of the venue so I can hear my sister.

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