Page 75 of Shame Me
So when the guys left for their room, I hoped to get in a state of mind to have a calm conversation with Zack…to kind of take his mental temperature and see if I could get him to open up. After he bolted the door when the guys left, he turned, walking straight to his bottle—but he glanced my way, flashing me a tired grin. Smiling back, I patted the bed next to me, hoping he’d lie beside me and let me ask questions. I was hoping he’d drink enough to loosen his tongue—but no more.
But after taking a long swig, he said, “I have a better idea.” He walked to the bed, extending his arms, palms up. I couldn’t help but smile back, not used to having Zack switch things up on me. And that was good. Even though we’d been on the road for three and a half weeks on the second leg, already we’d fallen into apattern—and much of it was dictated by our schedule. We slept, ate, and showered when we could. The remainder of the time, we tried to rest—and that was usually on the bus.
When I stood, Zack pulled me into his arms and held me close. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much I’d needed that. All this time I’d been fretting about Zack and our band overall, especially financially, and, although the guys were concerned about Zack’s behavior as well, I hadn’t felt their support.
And, until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I needed a tender moment.
When he loosened his hold, I looked up at him and saw, just for a second, a glimpse at the Zack of old—youthful, full of anticipation and hope. I had fallen in love with him back then—not the rock star young women were beginning to worship and crave, but the young man whose heart had spoken to mine all those years ago.Hewas who I was trying to save…trying to save from the man who was killing every facet of himself, one drink at a time.
“Let’s take a shower,” he said, his green eyes full of fire.
I couldn’t resist this man, not now that he’d finally given himself over to me. But had he really? Yes, I could have his body anytime I wanted, but the rest of him he kept to himself. Even that brief glimpse inside when he’d finally broken down and confessed his struggle had only been an act of desperation, a low point, and after that, he’d closed the door.
Still, I would take any connection I could get. Late at night, I’d awaken to his arm draped over my shoulder or waist and during the day when we weren’t onstage, he’d sometimes give me a quick squeeze or kiss—but, for the most part, I knew Zack tried to avoid a lot of overt displays of affection so as not to make anyone uncomfortable, myself included. We’d hold hands sometimes, but even that wasn’t a given.
So, regardless of how tired I felt, I nodded my head.
This hotel was one of the less expensive in Manhattan, Mick assured me. It was quaint but the rooms were tiny, with hardly any room to move around, and Mick had told us all that was what you got in the city. Still, when I saw the cost, I nearly choked—because it was more than double most other places we’d stayed at for smaller accommodations.
But I reminded myself that the hotels were few and far between on this tour—and at least I was with Zack. Braden and Cy had a bunk bed in their room, and I’d heard (but not confirmed) that a couple of the roadies had to share a bed…and that one of them wound up sleeping on a couch.
The bathroom too was tiny. There was no tub but a shower with glass doors and Zack turned on the water to heat it up. While he did, I pulled off my t-shirt, ready to feel the warmth penetrate my muscles down to my bones. The room was black and white with mottled gray tile, and every surface shone. Although this hotel’s rooms were small, they were tastefully decorated, unlike many of the generic hotel rooms we’d visited in the past two months.
But my eyes were focused on Zack. Looking at his back, I could have sworn I could tell how fatigued he felt, but I might have just been projecting my own feelings. And, although he still looked good, he was lean, having lost several pounds.
When he turned, his eyes reflected hunger and desire, and then I knew I’d been mistaken. We weren’t just going to hold each other.
We were going tofeelone another. But I hadn’t expected it to be soul-baring.
Taking me in his arms, he pressed his lips into mine and I invited him in…hoping, as always, that my openness would encourage him to reciprocate. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone here, that he didn’t have to bury himself in alcohol to makeit through. And as I tugged his shirt up and we parted for just a moment to pull it over his head, I stared into his emerald eyes, sending him that message.
As he moved to kiss me again, I thought I could almost see an almost imperceptible nod, as if he were agreeing, as if he were saying he knew I was there to help him through it.
Slowly, we removed the rest of our clothing as the room filled with steam, and I felt like we were as close as we could ever be, that our hearts were speaking to each other, even though I couldn’t always translate the message.
But my heart knew and understood as did his.
Soon, we were in the shower and I touched his cheek, again telling him with my eyes that I was there, that what strength I had I would willingly give him. That was how much he meant to me. But it was as if he were telling me no, that he had to do it alone—and I got that message when his lips touched mine again. His refusal was soft and gentle, but I felt it just the same. He was giving me everything he could and, even if it didn’t seem like much, it was all he had.
And I knew then that he did love me, even if he didn’t say it very often and even if his actions didn’t always show it—because here he was as bare as he could get. When he lifted me up and slid inside me, our eyes met again, and then I was able to see the depths of pain that seemed to be bottomless through his dilated pupils. It was as if he were saying,This is it, Dani. This is all of it—and I don’t want you to carry this burden.
My eyes told himI want to. It’s you and me…together.
But I couldn’t even thinkforever, even though I wanted to, even though I hoped against hope.
As he licked his bottom lip, his eyes continued scanning mine while he began moving inside me. My heart began thumping in my chest and I stroked his cheek again, telling him silently that I was here…that I was his. Water dripped off his head as ourmouths joined again, and he tasted so sweet, the taste of the alcohol having faded. His cock drove into me with force then, my back against the shower wall, and it was as if he’d left his body—as if he was mindlessly driving out the demons that haunted him.
And I wanted that. I wanted him to release them all, to come back to me unfettered, free of the pain he’d taken on over the past few years.
But, when we climaxed and he rested his head on my shoulder, I was afraid that he hadn’t quite succeeded.
Before I fell asleep that night in his arms, I realized that the only way we really communicated anymore was through the physical act…and I wondered if that was another case of being careful what I wished for.
It wasa couple days later that Zack shattered my heart again.
In Boston, we’d played a great show, and Zack’s voice was better than it had been in a while—but it was still not as good as it had been during the first leg of the tour. Still, we were celebrating a fantastic show in the green room while the road crew loaded up our equipment. After a while, Mick popped his head in. “Time to hit the road, guys.” He started to turn and then asked, “Where’s Zack?”
Because the green room was filled with several fans and we’d been talking with them, excited to know for a fact that people really did love our music, we hadn’t noticed he’d left. I said, “He’s probably in his dressing room.” Drinking, no doubt. And that made sense, because he wasn’t quite twenty-one yet, so he probably felt like he couldn’t drink in front of all these people. “I’ll go get him.”
