Page 6

Sebastian:

We eat as fast as we can. There isn’t much to it other than fueling our bodies for what we really want to be doing. And now that we’re back up in my bedroom, I’m feeling the weight of my failures pressing in on me as I watch Alina French braid her hair in the mirror on top of one of my dressers. She took the sweats off and is only wearing my boxer briefs and baggy shirt. Her thighs look milky and smooth next to the dark material. Most of what I own is black. It’s always been my favorite color.

Her purple hair is gathering quickly as I nervously fist the blanket below me. She’s almost done. I’m freaking the fuck out. It’s been a long ass time, not counting earlier, since I’ve had sex sober, and my thoughts are becoming intrusive as she ties off the end of her braid.

She’s watching me in the mirror. I look away, only to hear her sigh as she approaches the bed. “I’m nervous too, Bash.” I nod but refuse to make eye contact as I turn the tv on and search for some music for us to listen to. “Actually, I was hoping you’d play for me. Anything you want. I just miss it…” Her voice trails off as I sit up in bed.

“Really?” Even if it’s only for one person, I was born to perform. And knowing it’s something she’s missed about me makes it that much sweeter. She nods her head. I smile and glide over to where my Fender Stratocaster is set up on a stand in the corner of my room among a few of my other guitars. “Lay down, Lina Girl,” I gently command as she crawls into my bed, looking like a fucking punk rock angel as she crosses her legs and pulls the covers over herself. She grabs a pillow and leans forward on it as I pick up my guitar.

It never gets old how right this instrument feels in my hands, underneath my fingers, slung across my body. It’s erotic and emotional, much like sex. I treasure my guitars. I throw the strap over my shoulder before I begin to tune it, then start to strum a few random cords. I turn on the amp and Alina’s smile lights up her face as she waits for me to choose a song to play.

I begin the intro of Yellowcard’s Only One to her squeals of approval. I feel like I’m having an out of body experience as I walk to the bed and sit down next to her, perching my ass on the edge. I knew exactly what this song would do to her. How true the words are for both of us. She joins me and helps me to finish the first verse before I allow her to take the bridge, and she starts to belt it. I accompany her with the backup vocals until we scream the chorus as one. Time freezes around us as our problems fade away. Music has always brought us together and it’s doing it now as we forget about everything separating us, one of our favorite bands highlighting all that we still have. My heart breaks open for the first and only girl I’ve ever loved as she smiles genuinely and serenades me like she used to back in high school, the sentiment only meaning more now that time has passed and brought us back to each other. I commit every movement she makes and flutter of her lashes to memory. The way her tongue forms the words and how she licks her lips in between breaks she takes to breathe. How her eyes crease from happiness as she gazes longingly at my fingers working the fret board. It feels beautiful to be doing this with her again so casually. She’ll never be singing to packed stadiums like me, but I don’t love her for her voice. I love her for what she’s always brought out in me. And even now, after all this time, we’re laughing as we sing, when earlier the world was crashing down upon us.

Maybe I should be more concerned about our situation as a whole, but it’s hard when Alina starts to throw out requests and before we know it, two hours have passed. My fingers feel raw. It’s been a little bit since I’ve played, my mood being dark and my motivation lacking as all hell in my forced sobriety.

But it’s the perfect night. Just like her birthday all those years ago when she saved me from taking my life.

Alina:

We’re both getting tired. My face aches from smiling. I’m rubbing Bash’s back as he begins to play another song. One that reminds me of my all-time favorite birthday.

“Mind if I play one more?” he asks quietly. I faintly shake my head no, already recognizing the notes. My eyes are watering as we stare at each other silently.

Hold On by Good Charlotte.

I’m suddenly back in my car in high school with an eighteen-year-old Bash frozen in place listening to this exact song. I had a feeling that day he had really needed that message. I don’t take it as a coincidence I’m hearing it now when I feel like my life isn’t worth holding onto. And just like that day, when I sensed in him something deeper was being activated by the song’s meaning, he knows I need it now.

And fuck , is he right.

His fingers lag as he stops for a moment, leveling me with his penetrating stare. “I just want you to know, Lina Girl. I will always fucking care. No matter how angry I might seem…” He trails off and silence settles between us. I’m sobbing as Bash leans forward, touching his forehead to mine. He picks the song back up from where he left off. We stay this way until he’s done singing it softly to me.

And when he finishes, he puts the guitar against the wall before climbing into bed with me.