CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BLADE
I slept straight through the night for the first time in a while. I woke up with the sun smiling at my window, sending me an invitation as she poured her yellow beams on the sea-green curtains of my bedroom. I took in the golden light that seeped into the room. I took a mental journey of the events that had taken place the night before. Nothing came up. I had no memory of anything else but her pretty face and her striking eyes.
“Pretty Kira,” I whispered and pushed the bedcovers off me then got out of bed.
There was no going back with Kira. I had made up my mind to be with her and I was willing to wait for her. I was ready to sacrifice everything for her, even my career.
Usually, the first thing that entered my mouth when I woke was a shot of brandy or whiskey, but I had given all that up for my baby. I wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted to be a better person for myself and for her.
My insides yearned for a taste of bourbon. I licked my dry lips and ignored the urge. I was determined never to go back to my old life. As a matter of fact, I had set a goal for myself, and each time I overcame the urge to drink, I’d write a new song for the band.
I hummed the notes to the newest song I’d penned.
My feelings sometimes brew like a storm, then drizzles into a light rain
It mixes with my salty tears as I release the pain
The salt from my tears leaves bitter streaks on my face
It left dark marks on my heart like tiny holes in delicate lace…
My smile on the outside hides so much within
As the nights go by and the days begin
The pain inside sometimes becomes too much
Like a volcano, I suddenly erupt
I am so tired of feeling…I am so tired of the pain
So tired of the ones from whence it came
Laughter is my nemesis, the tears keep me sane, from the storm that brews and drizzles away the pain…
I stared into the sunshine, thinking of the new song. I was making significant progress. I grasped a bottle of water from the table where I usually ate and gulped it down, then seized my phone.
I smiled and stared at the picture of Kira that I had saved from Facebook.
“I am going to love you for eternity.” I kissed her face, then went down my feed to read other news.
“Best performance ever from the Trash Monkeys.” My eyes grew wide. I spotted that headline.
“Seriously?” I laughed. How could someone even say that? We’ve been performing for a long time. Why tag the performance of last night as the best?
The headline had two million likes and ten thousand comments—it was hot. I quickly clicked the story link then rapidly scrolled down to read the comments:
“Blade did marvelously well, the band can’t do without him.”
“The Trash Monkeys are super monkeys! I loved Blade’s delivery the most.”
“I just want to marry Blade Benefield, but he’s already with Trisha.”
“Blade killed it! How many likes for the Trash Monkeys?”
I was awed by these comments and happy that it was my first time performing without drugs that got me all high and riled up. I had only taken the advice from Starburst: getting Kira back was all the motivation I needed.
“Getting Kira Back,” I whispered. That would be the title of my next song.
I was really excited about it. I would hit the shower, have some breakfast, then settle down and write down the lyrics. I wanted this song to be unique, I wanted it to be the best.
I dropped my phone on the bed and strolled toward the bathroom where I would have a warm morning shower, which was always refreshing.
***
After fifteen minutes in the bathroom, shaving and cleaning, I put on my deodorant and sprayed a light-scented citrus cologne then sent a call to room service for my breakfast.
I sat in a pair of well-worn, ragged jeans and a white tee-shirt. I took out my pen and a notepad and relaxed comfortably in my chair.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Getting Kira Back. I would be writing down lyrics for this song, so I needed all the focus and the quiet to write something profound.
I drew her brown face in my mind; I penned down her beautiful smile and the things that made her laugh. I spoke to the fire in her brown eyes. I saw her pure nature, the force that propelled me to her right from the first day we’d met.
I would sing about her, just the way I knew her. There would be no polishing, no additives. I just wanted to tell the world about the woman who had captured my mind, stolen my heart and imprisoned it.
“Prisoner of your heart, won’t you open wide…” I hummed a tune as I scribbled down the first words that came to my mind.
Then these followed; it was as if my thoughts and my entire being had been drenched in a pool of deep-seated inspiration.
Prisoner of your heart, won’t you open wide…
Open wide your arms, open wide your heart
A beautiful goddess, lovely and hardened
Won’t you open, open wide your heart…
Oh, baby, I am just a man, I am just a fuckin’ man
Oh, Kira baby, forgive me.
Rose with a million thorns, open wide your petals
And take me in, for everything I’ll get you back…
I couldn’t stop humming the tune and singing along the words I had just written, the melodious outcome pouring out from the thickest part of me.
“And take me in, for everything I’ll get you back.” This was a promise. I would fight for my baby with the last strength left in me.
The buzzing of my phone interrupted my songwriting. I moved to the bed and picked it up. It was Essie, the private detective I had hired.
“Speak…” I hoped she had called with the positive news.
“Hey to the hottest Trash Monkey,” she replied.
I couldn’t help but laugh at her description of me. “Come on, Essie, don’t tease me now.”
“Honey, I’m not teasing you. I heard you performed excellently last night, it’s all over the news,” she began.
“Um, I read that, too.” I was eager to know her findings.
As if reading my thoughts, she said, “I did find something on Daybreak Journal but I don’t think it may be of any use to you…’ She sounded like she wanted to say more but hesitated.
“Just tell me everything, Essie,” I spurred her on.
I heard her sigh; she’d just taken a deep breath.
“The Journal is breaking financially. Actually, it’s been in financial crisis for some time now, but it was once full of promise,” she informed me.
I was surprised to hear this. What did this mean for Kira? How was she surviving in such a place?
This made me feel guilty as I had not cared enough about her work in the past.
“A lot of employees may be let go soon, that’s all I could get,” she stated.
“Do you know who heads the Journal?” I asked eagerly. I felt I should do something, I should step in.
“Why?” Essie asked.
“I’m just curious,” I replied.
“Okay, Trash Monkey, I think the name is Penny Crisp. Sounds like chips and potato.” Essie snorted.
“Okay, thank you, Essie. Will you do me one last favor?” I realized I didn’t know much about Kira, and nothing could happen between us when she kept pushing me out and building a strong wall around herself.
“I need you to find everything on a certain Kira Martin who works there.”
“Aha! I knew this had something to do with a woman. Tell me, Blade, is she pretty like Cardi B or your band member Trisha? You know, the kind of women you usually pursue.”
“Just get me the answers, Essie, I’ll tell you everything later,” I said, ignoring her dig.
I was apprehensive about Kira. What if she was on the verge of losing her job? I had to do something!
A knock sounded at the door. I got up to allow room service in with a tray of French bread and a cafe of strong black coffee.
I would win my love back if it was the last thing I did.