Fantasy, reality
Dreaming or awake
The division lines are blurred
The visions I can’t shake.
--Ataxia
Mac
It’s Sunday night at The Blackout, a week since my night with Rex. I’ve stayed busy every night, picking up extra shifts since I knew Ataxia wouldn’t be playing and I could avoid seeing Rex, but that didn’t stop me from jogging by his house. His truck was gone early most days, and on Thursday I noticed that his neighbor was back from her trip. I wonder if she could tell that another woman had been in her bed.
I wipe my palms on my apron and take a quick glance at the stage. He’s not here yet. I take a deep breath. My dodging Rex comes to an end tonight, and no matter how many times I pep-talk myself, my heart still leaps in my chest at the thought of facing him after our kiss. My kiss.
It’s getting close to opening, and I still haven’t stocked the backup for my well liquor. Grabbing the key, I head to the stock room to grab the bottles when the back door swings open. My feet are stuck in place, pulse racing, as my eyes adjust to the familiar face. Talon, Ataxia’s drummer, smiles as he walks past me to the stage.
Holy shit. I put my hand to my chest. Calm down. I drop my gaze to the floor and scurry to the back room. Rex could walk in at any minute, and the last place I want to be is welded to the floor in the hallway. My hand shakes as I slide the key in. A few male voices murmur behind me and get louder as if they’re headed my way. My heart kicks behind my ribs.
Thankfully the door opens just before they round the corner, and I rush in the tiny room, shutting the door behind me. I flick on the light and lean my back against the brick wall.
“Pull it together. You’re going to have to face him sooner or later.” I take a few deep breaths and move through the tiny room, loading bottles and supplies on the small cart that’s there.
What if he hates me? I could take his indifference, but his dislike I couldn’t bear. The morning after we were together I’d have sworn there was nothing that could stop me from confronting him. But tonight, at the club together in front of prying eyes, insecurity has dissolved my courage.
“Okay. Breathe. Focus. I can do this.” I grip my hands on the cool metal bar of the cart, preparing to leave the shelter of the supply room. What if I run into him on my way back to the bar? “Hey, Rex, sorry about that kiss. You made it clear you find me repulsive and I pushed myself on you anyway. Ugh . . . this is humiliating.”
Pressing my ear against the door, I hear only the faint sound of a few of the cocktail servers talking. No deep male voices. Perfect. If I can just avoid him until I get behind the bar, I should be good for the night. That’ll give me plenty of time to go over the speech I’d planned all week in my head. Yeah, then I can pull him aside after his show and apologize. Head down, beeline to the bar. I’ve got an entire shift to work out the rest.
I twist the handle and push the door, but it doesn’t move. What? I wiggle it and push again. It doesn’t budge.
“Stuck.” A flicker of panic ticks in my chest. I try a few different combinations of pushing and wiggling, but to no avail.
Dammit. A weight settles in my chest and chills race over my body. The walls seem to twist and shrink all around me. Breathe and relax. This isn’t the same. This is not the same.
I blow out a long breath and shove back my anxiety to pull up my rational thinking.
There’s no lock on the inside, so somehow it’s locked me in from the outside. Right, just like when I was a kid. Locked in the closet for days. No light. Cramped space. Little air. Fuck!
The panic ignites and floods my system. My stomach rolls, and dizziness has me bracing my weight against the door.
“Oh God, please. Not here. I can’t freak out here.” The familiar feeling of my racing heart and sweat-dampened skin mainlines adrenaline through my veins.
Let me out. I’ve got to get out!
My fist slams against the wooden door. Once, twice, and a third.
“Hello!” My one spoken word cracks with emotion. “Anyone out there?”
I press my ear to the door again. Silence. Shit!
A small whimper escapes my lips. The memories wash over me in waves. Stuck. Alone. Scared. Knowing that no one was coming to rescue me.
I knock again, this time with the driving force of my desperation.
“Help! I’m stuck. Anyone there?”
No one’s there. They never were.
“Help!” I bang some more, louder, harder. “Someone help me!” My forehead beads with sweat.
I’m breathing too hard. Can’t get enough air. Darkness threatens my vision. “Don’t pass out. Breathe.” I count each breath, trying to make them slow. One-two-three-in. One-two-three-out. It’s not working. My muscles spasm.
“Please help me!” I slap with the heel of my palm. Nothing.
Helpless. Useless. God, I couldn’t save him. Protect him.
I bang again, but I’m emotionally drained and my hand slides down the wood to my side. “God, please—”
“Hey.” The voice comes from the other side of the door. “You okay in there?”
“Hello? Yes, please! I’m okay, but . . . I’m locked in.” I try to school my voice, but the terror is unmistakable even to my own ears.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. I’ll get you out.”
My body turns to stone. Rex.
The handle wiggles but doesn’t budge. “Um, shit. Let me grab Mario.”
“No!” I press my palms to the door and lean my forehead against it. The thought of being left alone in here for another second . . . I can’t. “Don’t go.”
Silence . . . Shit. Did he leave? My scalp tingles and my palms sweat.
“Mac?” His voice is soft and close, as if he’s pressed up to the other side of the door as I am.
Just the sound of his voice calms me. I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
More silence.
“It’s okay. I won’t leave you.” His voice is firm and soothing.
My heart seizes at his words. How familiar this is, being separated by a door and whispering words to console the fears. Does he remember? Is he riding the same déjà vu?
“Mac, do you have a key in there with you?” His voice is still soft, but now determined.
“Yes.”
“Can you slide it to me under the door?”
I don’t answer him with words but instead glide down the door to the crack at the bottom. And just like when we were kids, I press my cheek to the floor, looking through the crack. I see the white toes of his Chuck Taylors, and I feel the loss at not seeing his eyes. I push the key through the crack of the door, and his feet step back.
Time slows to a crawl as he reaches for the keys.
Our fingers meet.
Then still.
Skin touches skin beneath the door and something happens.
Neither of us move.
I can’t see him, but an urgency to connect with him pushes one word to my throat.
“Rex . . .”
~*~
Rex
Exactly like my dream.
I’m separated from someone important, wanting so badly to remove the barrier between us, but knowing it’s impossible. Hands braced together through a space that’s so small and yet feels like something bigger than my heart can take.
“Rex . . .”
My breath hitches. The way she says my name, sadness dripping off the word, makes her sound so young and helpless. So familiar and yet . . . not.
I stare at the space where our fingers are connected. Dark purple painted nails accentuate her pale skin.
“It’s okay.” Those two simple words reverberate in my head like a gong. It’s okay. The urge to lay my cheek against the cold floor and try to see her is overwhelming. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Again, the words feel as if they’ve been spoken before, but when?
Reluctantly, I let go of her fingers and stand. With a turn of the key, the door swings open. Mac is sitting on the floor, her knees tucked in and arms wrapped tight around them. She tilts her head back to look at me. Pain and confusion work behind her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Better now,” she whispers.
Bright light flares behind my eyes, and I see her: the flaming-orange hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. Before I can grab the vision and store it in my memory, it’s gone. I close my eyes, searching for it, begging to get it back, but it’s like trying to hold onto vapor.
“Holy shit.” I lean back against the doorframe and rub my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is close. “All the color drained from your face. Here”—her small hands grip my arm—“you need to sit down.”
“No, really. I’m good.” I wave her off and breathe through the feeling that I’m going to pass out. “I just need a second. Think I stood up too fast or something.”
Or something.
“Oh, right.” She backs away. “Take your time.”
That was the most intense déjà vu I’ve ever experienced. Not only were the visuals so real but the intensity of the feelings. Just like my dreams, but I’m awake. Is that possible?
The flash of the little girl seemed almost like a memory. She couldn’t be a relative. If I had family, I wouldn’t have had to go into group homes and foster care after she died. But I must know the redheaded girl from somewhere. I get the feeling that she was important to me. Another orphan maybe? Why would I only see portions of her face? Even in my dreams, it’s only her eyes, lips, and hair, but only in sections.
“Dude, where the fuck have you been? We’re not your roadies, Justin Bieber. Get your ass out here and help us set up.” Lane shoves me and pops a cigarette in his mouth. He swings his gaze to Mac, who’s now behind her cart of bottles. “Mac, what’s up, girl? Mind grabbing me a beer, sweetheart?”
A possessive growl threatens to escape my throat, before I swallow it back. As much as I don’t appreciate Lane calling her sweetheart, she isn’t mine. I brush it off to me having respect for the girl. I mean she’s not a fucking groupie. Shit.
“Sure, Lane.” She pushes her cart past us, peeking up at me with a tiny smile. “See ya ’round, Rex.”
“Yeah, see ya.” I watch her until she disappears into the bar area then turn to Lane. His eyes are fixed at ass level where Mac just turned the corner. Fucking asshole. I punch him in the shoulder hard enough to knock the cigarette from his lips. “Call me Justin Bieber again, bitch, and I’ll break your legs.”
He rubs his arm, his jaw slack. “That’s my fret arm, dick!”
I shove past him with a frustration that is as misplaced as it is annoying. Reacting to a woman on any level is uncomfortable, but something about the black-haired motorcycle-riding barmaid is rocking my damn psyche.
~*~
It’s after two a.m., and I’m loading up the last of our equipment. Like most nights, the other band members have disappeared either to head home or hook up. Or both.
Usually I’d give them all a ton of shit for taking off, but the club was packed tonight, and we ended up playing an extra set. We all walked off stage to a crowd of chanting fans. The guys were on such a high that they needed to go blow off steam with the activity of their choice.
“Rex?”
I turn from where I’m strapping down our amps to find Mac standing by the tailgate of my truck. She’s fidgeting nervously.
“Hey.” I squat down to sit on the open tailgate. Her eyes dart around the dark alley behind the club, avoiding my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” She tucks a few loose strands of her long hair behind her ear. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me out back there. Another minute and I may’ve passed out from a panic attack.” She laughs, but the sound is unnatural, as if she’s trying too hard.
I nod. “No problem.” My arms ache to wrap her in a hug. What the fuck is that all about?
“I also wanted to apologize for the, um . . .” Even in the limited light of the alley, I see her light-skinned cheeks turn scarlet.
It’s so pretty on her, and again I have to wonder why I hadn’t paid more attention to her in the past.
Her hands knot together. “Last week, when I, uh . . . it was out of line.”
“By it you mean the kiss?” Saying the word in her presence, I watch her neck take on the same color as her cheeks. The innocent blush stirs up a nauseating wave of arousal in my gut. I swallow it back and tug at my lip ring to avoid smiling at her reaction.
“Yeah, that.” Her eyes fix on mine, her expression serious. “I had no right taking advantage of you like that. You helped me and I repaid you by making you uncomfortable.”
I don’t know what to say. As much as I know I should say thank you and reassure her it’ll never happen again, my body is begging to relive it, so much so that it’s overriding the rising bile in my throat. Maybe I’m still riding the high of the kick-ass show we just played. Or it could be all the extra testosterone that’s pumping through my veins because of the eight-hour training sessions I’ve been having all week. Either way, I’m enjoying the feeling. Again, what the fuck?
“I acted like a dick, got you alone on a bed with a bottle of booze.” I shrug. “What’s a girl to think? I set you up and then treated you like shit for taking the bait. I’m sorry too.”
A tiny smile lights her pretty face. “Thank you for being so cool about it. And for the record, I don’t go around, you know, kissing any guy who helps me out of a jam.”
Damn if this little shy-girl routine isn’t fucking adorable.
“Mac?” I draw out her name. “What is it with you?”
Her head jerks a little and she lifts her chin. “Me?”
“Yeah. You ride a motorcycle, take punches meant for a man and don’t even cry. And now, you’re confronting the guy who treated you like shit.” I fight to keep my shoulders up through the weight of my guilt. “Even though I’m the one who owes you an apology. And yet”—a slow smile curves my lips—“you blush talking about a kiss.”
She props her hands on her narrow hips, glares at me, and smiles. “I am not blushing.”
I nod and fold my arms over my chest. “No?”
“No.”
“All right, fine. Let’s put it to the test.” And satisfy my insane fucking urge to recreate it. “Tell me what happened between us a week ago tonight.” The fact that I know it’s been a week probably gives away that I’ve been thinking about our kiss, but there’s no taking it back now.
She lifts one eyebrow and bites her lip. “Hmm, let’s see if I can remember.” Her gaze slides to just over my shoulder and her lips purse in thought. “You gave me a ride to my place, I took a punch to the cheek, we went back to your neighbor’s place, and you tried to get me drunk.”
“Not the most accurate retelling of events, but I’ll accept it. You’re still missing the most important part.” The part that makes my blood feel as if it’s itching to relive it.
She takes a step closer and tilts her chin back to look up at me. “I was grateful for all your help, so I . . .”
I quirk an eyebrow, waiting and watching for the light of her cheeks to flood pink. “Go on; you’ve come this far,” I whisper. “Say it.”
Her eyes roam my face from my eyes to my neck and back up to my lips. Her smile falls. “I kissed you.” She blushes.
My dick swells and queasiness rips through my stomach. Her words affect me in such polar opposite ways it’s intoxicating. And even now, after she’s apologized and I’ve promised myself to avoid her at all costs, I’m gonna do it again.
I drop down from the tailgate and take a step toward her, dissolving the little space left between us. With the tips of my fingers, I hook her beneath the chin and tilt her face up to mine. Her eyes flutter, as if she’s trying to keep them open, and her lips relax. The bursts of air from her mouth prove that I’m having the same effect on her as she is on me.
“This looks better.” I run my thumb along the healing split on her cheek. It’s no longer scabbed and only an angry red mark remains. With a gentle pressure, I run my finger against her skin. “So soft.”
Her breath hitches, and my stomach threatens to unload. I’m wound up tight and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“You kissed me because you were grateful that I helped you.” I move my hand from her face to the nape of her neck. “Don’t know if you remember, baby, but I did it again tonight.” I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to want it. But fuck, I need it. “I’m thinkin’ you owe me another kiss.” My lips burn to feel hers again. I tug on my lip ring with my teeth.
Her neck stiffens and her eyes narrow. “But . . .?”
“Told you I was a dick.” I flex my fingers into her tight muscles. “You caught me off guard. Won’t happen again.”
She gives a tight nod and lifts up on her tiptoes.
I groan at her willingness to give me what I want. What else would she do if I asked? I swallow back the saliva that floods my throat and pull her up to meet my lips.
Just like the first time, we meet with a tentative brush. The warm, pliable flesh of her mouth runs along mine and lingers at my lip ring. She curls her lips around it and pulls away with a tug that makes my dick throb.
“There.” She backs away and smiles. “Goodnight.” Turning on her heel, she pulls open the back door and disappears into the club.
My heart pounds in my chest, half of me screaming to go to her and fuck her senseless and the other half looking for a safe place to puke.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’d gladly take the vomitous reaction if it means even ten seconds between Mac’s thighs.
I scrub my face and fist my hair. What the hell is this woman doing to me? My appointment with my therapist is tomorrow. Maybe it’s time we work harder to get to the bottom of all my shit, if for no other reason than to be able to hang out more with Mac without having to run off every time things breach the make-out level of an eighth-grader.
The memory of her soft skin beneath my hand, her rushed breath, and the honeyed taste of her lips. . . Huh. Thinking about it now is only mildly repulsive. Progress.