Page 121 of Composed
I drop my knees as my board curves the bowl. Music blares through the speakers, the sound reverberating off the walls and drowning out the clink of wheels. If only it could do the same for my swirling thoughts.
Every time I close my eyes all I can see is Hendrix bolting.
Searing heat singes my fingers when I drag them along the cold metal. Blisters forming on the pads, I only push harder.
The room spins, my head aches, but nothing eases the storm raging inside of me. I should have said something.Anythingto get her to pause.
But once again, I just watched as she walked away from me.
The board slips beneath my feet.
My hands slap against the metal, shockwaves shooting through me when my arse collides with the hard, bitter concrete. I drop my head into my hands as heaving breaths tear at my lungs, each more painful than the last.
The room blurs, blood rushing through my ears.
Time ceases to exist as I sit in the darkened space.
I chew my lip, my eyes shuttering closed when a hand curls around my shoulder.
Quietening the music until it’s only a dull hush, I crane my neck.
“How’d you find me out here?” I ask Saint when he slides to the floor.
“Give me some credit.” Saint sparks a joint. “You really think I wouldn’t know where you’re hiding?”
“I’m not hiding.”
He grunts his disbelief as he stretches his long legs along the floor
My playlist shuffles, Steven Tyler’s voice curling around us.
“Aerosmith, really?” Saint chuckles. “Bit much even for you, you soppy fuck.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off.”
“What happened today?” he asks.
“I forgot.” I crack my knuckles, my gaze snagging on my wrist.
Saint doesn’t say a word.
He just sits quietly next to me, pulling the blunt in and out of his mouth.
“Did you know that she kept everything? And I do mean,everything. All our gig stubs, all our setlists, every lyric she and I wrote, every chord progression. Five years of memories, and she kept every single one.”
Saint offers me the joint but I wave him away.
“I think I’d convinced myself that the girl I knew no longer existed,” I tell him, “and that I had to get to know this new version of her. But then we were together, and it turns out she’s not new at all. She’s still the same Rixie Moore I fell in love with. Just a little older and a hell of a lot more beautiful.”
A ghost of a smile tugs my lips.
“And Iforgotwhat it felt like to miss her. Because for just one moment, I didn’t have to anymore.” I choke on a bitter laugh. “And then, she bolted, and every second I’ve ever spent missing her slapped me square in the face all at once.”
I tap my knuckles against the concrete as silence curls around us.
The scent of weed wafts through the air, warm and tangy.
I hug my knees to my chest, prop my head on them, and face my best friend. “What if I don’t want to miss her anymore, Saint?”
