CHAPTER FIVE
Presley
“You look beautiful.”
I meet Phyllis’s eyes in the mirror for a moment, wanting to believe her.
Do I?
Or do I look like I’m trying too hard? Or not hard enough?
I can’t tell, and I don’t trust my rattled brain enough to sort it all out.
Starting at my toes, I scrutinize every inch of me, more critical than the meanest mean girl could ever be. I’d never been self-conscious of how I looked, but I’m self-conscious now.
I’d found a pair of black canvas Louboutin espadrille wedges for the steeply discounted price of one hundred and twenty dollars. I immediately fell in love with them, knowing they’ll give me needed height to feel more powerful, while the wedges will provide comfort and keep me from teetering around like a fool.
Ankle length skinny black pants in a soft cotton help to camouflage the ten pounds I’ve gained since Kace last saw me. I like them so much, I may go back for every color in the store.
I refuse to wear the hideous orange Vol Nation favors and opt for an elbow length white jacket over a gray floaty tank. A long silver chain is my only accessory, although I put on and took off a dozen different earrings.
At least my skin glows, the facial I’d gotten yesterday still shining through the carefully applied makeup I’d just finished putting on. I’d also gotten a trim, and my stylist had slathered on a deep conditioner that was making my halo actually almost glow. So far, the ringlets were in place, which could change the moment I step out into the humid air.
Overall… I look okay.
I feel fairly confident.
Then why do I want to vomit on my new shoes?
I know why.
“What about these earrings?”
I glance over at Phyllis, who is digging through my jewelry box. I shake my head at the small hoops she is holding up. “My hair gets caught in the rings and I don’t want any distractions.”
Taking the box to my bed, she upturns the entire thing onto my gray duvet before I realize that’s her intent. The false bottom falls out and yep… so does the ring.
The ring.
The ring of waterfalls and rain showers and thunderstorms. The ring of love and hope and happiness. The ring I’d accepted with all the belief that fairytales could come true. The ring I’d given back when my bridge to happily ever after had not just one but several dangerous trolls underneath.
Who’s that trip, trip, tripping on my bridge?
Booze. Drugs. Women.
My heart squeezes as Phyllis slowly picks the sparkling diamond up, her dark eyes turning to me. “You kept it.”
Kace bought that ring with his first royalty check from Lie with Me… the song he wrote for me. Within those lines, he promised to never lie to me, but what neither he or I understood clearly at the time is that an addicted mind doesn’t listen to promises. It wants what it wants, and it tortures the body it inhabits until its fed… no matter the cost.
“I actually gave it back to him numerous times, but each time I did, he sent it back. Finally, I just kept it. Hid it away. I had forgotten it was even there.”
That is a lie, and from the look in Phyllis’s eyes, she knows it, but lets it slide.
“Will you be okay today?”
I turn to the mirror again. I’ve armored up the best I can.
“Yes.” I meet her gaze again. “And it will be good to, you know, face the past. I still have all these fantasies about what could have been… should have been in my mind. Today, reality will set in and I can put those fantasies to rest.”
Phyllis shoots me a bright smile, her white teeth gleaming against her mocha skin. “Yes. That’s the exact right way to look at it. You’ll face him and then you can put him behind you once and for all.”
I nod. “It’s just so strange that it’s happening today of all days.”
She sighs and looks back down at the ring she still holds between her fingers. “It feels like some kind of weird fate or karma is at work, doesn’t it?”
Yes. Yes, it does.
“It’s called closure, I think. At nearly the exact same time I would have been walking down the aisle ten years ago, I’ll be walking to face him one last time.”
“You really loved him, didn’t you?”
The backs of my eyes burn as emotion claws its way up my throat and into my face.
“Like I didn’t imagine possible.”
“What about now?”
I let the question sink in, swirl around in my mind. Hoping it will land on the appropriate answer.
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
Sometimes.
Forever.
The truth is, I do still love him. The boy I met my freshman year. The boy who rocked out in his parents’ garage. The boy who’d taken my virginity with such innocent care. The boy who’d taken my heart so completely.
The thing is… even as the drugs and alcohol became the third person in our relationship, I still loved the core of him. Even when I took my own sniff of coke as he held the straw to my nose, I still loved the core of him. Even when I found him naked between those two other women, I still loved the core of him.
Because the core of him was — is? — good and loving. The core of him was — is? — full of laughter and gentleness. Full of deep conversations and emotional insights. Full of a deep caring about other people.
It just got pickled. Literally.
“I wish he’d never written that song.”
It isn’t an answer to Phyllis’s question, but it’s an admission I’ve never articulated until now.
Her eyes soften further in compassion. “Lie with Me?”
The song that turned him into a rock star. The song that caused all the money to come rolling in. Followed closely by everything else.
“Yeah. We were so happy when we were eating Ramen and scrabbling money together to splurge on one-dollar Taco Tuesday.”
Phyllis lifts a shoulder. “Most people can’t handle fame.”
“And that was ten, eleven, twelve years ago. Back then, we had Facebook and MySpace, but YouTube was still a toddler, and Twitter an infant. No one had heard of Snapchat and Instagram and all the other stuff. Gossip magazines were only on grocery store racks, not at everyone’s fingertips twenty-four seven.”
I shudder.
It was bad enough having the gossip magazines print Kace’s drunken nights on a weekly basis. It was bad enough that he was caught snorting coke. It was bad enough that there were pictures of him with other women. Most of those were innocent, I knew, because I was there when they were taken. The photographer would capture the one moment when a woman launched herself in his arms, and it was that image that would be front page news.
It fed his rock star image.
And they were lucrative. With each photo, more albums were sold.
Seems like every woman secretly wants a bad boy. Even if it’s just his voice crooning to her in bed.
I’d begged James, his best friend and manager at the time, to protect him more. Get him help. Or keep him from the public eye. Something. Anything.
But James would just laugh it off, calling me a possessive neurotic.
And I’d begun to feel like a possessive neurotic. Then started acting like one.
Then… it was over.
And while the peace and calm of being away from the rock star life should have been healing, I still carry the scars.
With what appears to be infinite care, Phyllis puts the ring away then fits the false bottom of the jewelry box back into place. “There,” she says, looking back up at me. “It’s exactly where it belongs.”
Hidden away. Buried.
I shake my head. “No. Let me have it. I’ll give it back to him personally this time.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
No.
“Yes.”
She takes it out again. With shaking fingers, I take it from her palm and almost slide it onto my finger. Instead, I push it deep into the pocket of my new pants after feeling around to make sure there are no holes that it can accidently fall through.
Glancing at the clock, I see I’m out of time. I can’t procrastinate anymore.
Grabbing my bag with my little recorder and notepad already tucked inside, I tuck my phone inside and snatch up my keys. “Wish me luck,” I say.
Her smile is as hesitant as mine. “No, Presley. I’d rather wish you peace.”