I frowned when my notifications blew up, flooding me with messages and tags in pictures of theSwimming with the Sharksconcert. My socials were under my real name, but apparently it hadn’t been hard for the internet warriors to figure out who I was after Rick had dropped my handle at the festival.
Well, the cat was out of the bag, so there was not much I could do. If it was possible to put on a hazmat suit for mental protection from online content, I’d be wearing one now.
Bracing myself, I scrolled through the pictures. Against all odds, I smiled at how electrocuted my hair looked, but my face beamed, showing my joy at performing on stage. Other posts had close-ups of me mid-playing with a weird expression, my tentacles in the air. The comments varied from thirsty ones about my abs and my tentacles to puking emojis. Nothing I hadn’t seen before.
I should have logged out to save myself from another spiral into doom scrolling, but it was car crash viewing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it.
More pics of me followed, including a zoomed snap of Rick’s hand on my lower back as he whispered in my ear. The comment section was bursting with wild guesses as to who I was, and links to my old video over and over. Further down, posts from rock magazines I followed and suggested ones from garbage press appeared. Their headlines spouted speculations that had nothing to do with music.
Are tentacles Shark Man’s new fetish?
A boyfriend or only a fuck?
New low for the promiscuous rocker.
Is the blue hottie a new rock thirst trap?
I should have expected that after the concert. But for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t blue. The pictures included me on stage with Rick next to two old photographs of him: one in an embrace with two women, and another with him with a man on his lap and a woman sucking on his neck at some awards show afterparty.
From one post to the other, older photos popped up in the feed of Rick in similar situations, as well as posing at ceremonies and on red carpets. I’d had just a tiny taste of his life, one evening and one concert. In all honesty, I had no idea what his whirlwind life looked like. And how huge a burden fame must be, mask or not.
I slid to the floor, planting my butt on the kitchen tiles and my head in my hands.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I shouldn’t have let myself get so close to Rick. I was about to paddle down the River of Woe from now on.
The pull of fate, the mated bond I’d read about in old books and legends may not be true, but Rick had made me believe they were. From the first moment we’d touched, to my dreams about him, and the way we connected in music, something magical, metaphysical, and out of this world had to be at play.
Or was it love?
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stood up with resolve. Quietly, I padded to the living room and kissed Rick’s temple.
“Ner, come back to bed,” he mumbled, but didn’t stir otherwise. The small, sleepy smile on his handsome face hurt my heart even more when I knew what I was about to do.
I pulled the octopus sweater off and left it folded at Rick’s feet, then added his shark-tooth necklace on top of the pile. My stuff was already packed and I had young musicians waiting for me to help them with their New Year’s Eve concert.
I was ready to go.
Lies.
Playing withSwimming with the Sharkshad been the experience of a lifetime and I’d loved it. Way too much. Getting a taste of what was not meant to be had been almost cruel.
With a few taps on my phone, I ordered a lift to the airport. Rick had offered to take me, but I’d rather avoid bawling my eyes out in his car. I didn’t want that to be the last memory he had of me.
This way, I’d remember us laughing and falling asleep together, rather than a teary goodbye. I’d visit someday, I was sure of that, but I wouldn’t lie to myself that long-distance would work for us. It was a case of me being there for him and him being there for me in every way. Caging each other in a touch-less relationship over the internet would be a nightmare. Yes, I had to convince myself of that.
I’d promised to come home the day after Christmas so all the visiting family would still be present. Then, I’d rehearse with my class for the concert and my life would go back to normal.
I wasn’t looking forward to the thirteen hour flight with a layover, but my time in Miami was over. The length of the flight showed the distance between me and Rick and how we could never work as a couple.
I carried my suitcase to the door so as not to make any noise on the wooden floor. From the front pocket of my case, I took out the Christmas card I’d bought the day before. The sheer luck of the card section having one with a Santa with tentacles for a beard had been insane.
My chest constricted as I wrote inside, right under the printed holiday wishes:
You told me that road life is not for everyone.Thank you for giving me a taste of it. I’ll treasure our time together forever.
Yours,
