“Cavetown, hello again!” Cheering. “We’re Phoebe and we’re gonna cover some songs for you. Alright cool, this is ‘Powerslide’ by Ryan Beatty. Let’s kick it.”
There’s a beat or two of instrumental then I lay a hand on the mic, letting the other tuck into my back pocket so no one sees it shake.
This song is inherently sexual—falling into pleasure with a lover and feeling that intense desire when you see them. It’s sexy and erotic in the tamest way.
Everything I sing even now makes me think of Aaron.
Everything I do—everywhere I go.
Even when my body is terrified of every hand that comes upon it—even when my head knows he’s here to hurt me, here to get to me—my heart craves him. So desperate I am to fall into him.
I take my hands and place them on the front of my hips as they move—letting one drag up my body to lightly hold my neck, and the other slides right to that little place Aaron loved so much. Where I could feel him—wherehecould feel himself. Our deepest point of connection. He always said that’s where our souls intertwined—every time he fills me so deeply, we fuse into each other more and more.
I can feel his hands on me. I can taste him, smell the flowers. I can see him hot and sweaty—laid out by the pool. Leaned over me in his room like a fucking predator. His tongues in my mouth and I can’t breathe.
My hands are in my hair as I sing the chorus again to end the song. When the instruments die the crowd goes wild. Nothing sells like sex—and a hot guy touching himself is a close second.
“Ha—right on.” I’m grinning because I love that they love me, and I feel like I’m floating. Thank you, alcohol. “Next, we’ll get a bit more emotional—this is ‘Hope Is a Heartache’ by LÉON.”
As the crowd cheers I take a drink of my water bottle that’s actually just vodka. Felix is grinning at me, so I go give him a little kiss on the cheek. He chuckles—shaking his head as the girls in the crowd lose their shit. See? Sex sells.
This next song really gets to me. Really makes me think of Aaron and how we can’t escape each other—of the last few years. It’s a belty song too—I get to vent the feelings out, give them to the crowd—go home without them. They’ll return in the morning.
The countdown clicks and on one I sing, now holding the mic with the stand out of the way.
I loved him. I loved him so much. I loved him from the beginning—I even loved him when I was with Drew. Through every fucked-up thing—I loved him. I grab at my aching chest. Iwish everyone would stop talking about him when I’m around—I wish everything I want to say, every memory I actually want to remember didn’t involve him. Those fucking eyes.
Does that guy you’re fucking know you were my god, Aaron? Does he know that you told me we can’t live without each other? That you’d do anything for me—forever? That fucking hotel room will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I know I have to look vicious—so heartbroken, so tortured. I bend slightly at the waist, giving it everything I have.
I still hold onto some small piece of you—the version who held me together—fixed me, kissed the pain away every time I fell apart. You were my last thread of hope. And you were so careless with it.
We’ll forever share this. These scars—these memories, these places. We’ll never get away. And for as long as I can’t love anyone the way that I love you—I’ll worship you. You just don’t deserve to know.
The song’s coming to a close and I think I might have a tear or two on my face, but I don’t want to wipe away the glitter. The crowd erupts and another night of therapy has proven its effectiveness as I stare out into the club. My chest feels a little lighter as it rises and falls in a hurry. I stare into the lights.
???
About an hour later I’m walking up to the bar. The rest of our set was pretty poppy and energetic so I’m thirsty and sweaty. I order whatever their strongest mixed drink is and lean against the bar top. People stare from different spots in the club—others pay me no mind. The bartender hands me my drink.
“Thanks.”
“Can I get your next one?” I turn around, leaning my back up against the wood. He’s got an inch or two on me and definitely a few pounds of muscle. He looks kind of like a young Johnny Depp in this lighting, but I’ve been bamboozled before.
“If I’m still standing.” I say, giving him a little smile. He could be fun. I really hope he’s fun.
“Aw—and what am Isupposed to do if you’re not?” Mr. Depp is grinning down at me like I’m the freshest cookie here—eyes roaming over my bare chest, my nipple bars, my lips.
“I guess you’ll have to carry me home.” I sound sweet—like a perfect little peach. He likes that answer, placing a hand beside me on the bar and leaning down a bit to whisper in my ear. I can see the absence of a stamp on his skin.
“Tell me—will your voice still sound so angelic when you’re screaming my name?” That’s a new one. This guy actually has some moves—I’m thoroughly impressed.
My smile is growing as I prepare to ask him—wanna find out—but I don’t get the chance.
“You can’t take home and fuck a drunk nineteen-year-old.” Mr. Depp’s eyes widen—turning to look at Aaron who’s glaring at me from behind him. Motherfucker.
“You didn’t seem to mind fucking thisnineteen-year-old.” I tell him, sneering at him over my drink. Mr. Depp removes his hand from beside me.
