Very Bad Things

On the day she finished it, I sat there in her shop, staring in the mirror at the ink gracing me from my shoulder blade all the way to the back of my waist. The phrase was written in a pretty scripted font and sat between the wings and near the top of my neck. It was exotic and perfect. I laughed at the irony in that word.

I thought of Leo and how he’d wanted me to have them.

I felt invincible with these wings.

Club Vita had officially opened and was suddenly filled with affluent, health-conscious people. The Dallas Herald had even come out and done a story about Leo and his climb from struggling musician to businessman. I never saw him when I worked the desk, and I wondered if it was by choice. I only saw him at practice, and those times he looked either pissed or oddly despondent, and I figured the stress of the opening was getting to him.

Is it true that soulmates always end up together? I didn’t think so, but I hoped that if there was such a thing as reincarnation, we would meet again in another life and try again. If it was possible, I’d find him, for another chance at love.

Sometimes I’d catch him staring at me with his hungry look, his pale eyes seeming to devour me as he ran his eyes over my face. On those times, my heart would beat furiously, and I’d have to leave the room for a few moments to catch my breath.

Once, after a long practice, I’d broken down and asked Sebastian about Leo and Tiffani. He’d told me that Tiffani had come by the gym some. He didn’t elaborate on the rest, and I think that was an answer enough for me.

That night when I’d gone to sleep, I’d dreamed of him. We’d been in the music room alone and when I demanded he stroke himself for me again, he’d told me he had a lesson for me in mind. He’d stripped off his clothes and then mine. He’d taken my hand and licked my fingers and told me to rub myself until I climaxed while he watched. I’d lain on the couch for him, opened my legs and touched myself slowly, etching little circles on my aching nub. He’d stood above me, panting and watching, calling me Buttercup and pumping himself. When I’d gotten close to coming, I told him, and he licked his fingers and plucked my nipples between his finger and thumb. I’d writhed on the couch, crying out his name as I came.

“I’d lost her.”

–Leo Tate

THE DAYS DRAGGED miserably into weeks of hell. Sebastian told me she was seeing Drew, and I’d flinched, hating the thought of her with him, telling him about soulmates. I tormented myself with images of them together, sharing epic kisses.

At least it wasn’t Sebastian she was with. He’d admitted to stringing me along and making me think he was in love with her. I couldn’t be angry because I think he’d done it because he thought I was making a mistake by not admitting my feelings. He wanted me to find someone and be happy, like our parents had.

The gym opened successfully, so I immersed myself in work, pushing her from my mind. I never went to the front desk when she was there. I’d stay holed up in my office, planning the opening, handling calls, and picking at my guitar.

I finished my song for her.

At practice, my eyes ate her up. Her vulnerability and strength combined made me want her more. I watched her share little jokes and smiles with Teddy and Sebastian. I watched how she’d swing her long red hair behind her when she played the piano and sang off key. I watched her be happy, and I knew it was too late for us.

She’d said we’d shared an extraordinary moment, that it’d been our chance to have a once in a lifetime kind of love, and I’d fucked it up. She’d moved on to someone else. Someone better.

At night, I’d dream of her. I’d dreamed she’d come in my room and stand in front of me, telling me she was my soulmate. She’d strip for me exactly like that night in the bathroom. Only this time instead of walking out, I’d sweep her up in my arms and carry her to my bed, vowing to never let her go. She was mine forever. We’d make love and fall asleep holding hands.

ONE SATURDAY NIGHT at ten o’clock, I locked the doors to the gym after the last client left. Sebastian was spending the weekend with some of the football players at Lake Travis, and I was alone. My head was killing me, and I wanted to tear into someone, but most of all, I wanted to stop thinking about Nora.

By eleven, I dripped with sweat from running ten miles on the treadmill. I made my way to the shower, swearing I wouldn’t jack off to her.

By twelve, I’d had two glasses of Lagavulin while, like a lovesick schoolboy, I pored through about a hundred snapshots Teddy had taken of us in band practice. Pictures of Nora smiling as she played the piano; pictures of me sitting beside her on the couch, both of us laughing at something someone had said; pictures of her dancing around the room with Sebastian, doing goofy things like jazz hands and high kicks; pictures of her being happy.

They sent me over the edge.

By twelve-thirty, I had the music blaring, listening to the shittiest, sappiest songs I could find, and believe me, there’s plenty of them out there. Isn’t that what most people sing about? Sad, broken-hearted people who have no one to love, because they ruined whatever chance they had by being an asshole to the one person they were meant to be with.

By one, I’d had two more drinks, and I finally felt at ease. Hoping I could sleep, I made my way upstairs and crashed. A bit later, I heard banging on the gym door. I groaned, angry at being woken up from what I thought might be a fitful night. More banging and buzzing ensued. I jumped out of bed and swayed on my feet. Carefully, I made my way downstairs.