Page 119 of Strum Me

My phone ringing at 7 a.m. a few days later wakes me much too early.

I debate ignoring it, knowing that Ben is safe in the next room. Not much else matters. The caller hangs up. Then rings back.

“Arghhhhh!” I scream into my pillow and grab my phone, answering it without looking. “Hello?”

“You fucking bitch.”

It’s Silas. And even with just those few words, he sounds drunk. At 7 a.m. I brace myself. I haven’t heard from him since the other night. I knew he’d be too careful to get in touch with me too soon, and I was taking advantage of the time to figure out my next move.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you would do this to me. After everything we’ve been through, this is low,” he spits.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“I don’t…”

“Like I don’t know you used your little contacts with the paper to print this? You make me…you make me into a monster. You send Brad here to make that deal and then this is your parting shot?”

“Silas, what are you talking about? What about Brad?” The mention of his name has my skin sparking into life.

“Shut up, you lying slut!”

“That’s it! Don’t you ever call me again, you hear? I have had enough of your fucking abuse. Don’t expect to see me for work. Don’t expect me to ever answer your call. I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, and I don’t care. I just care that I never see you again!”

I hang up. Scared and relieved and nervous all at once, shaking with the emotions running though me, my nerves like naked wires zapping with electricity through my entire body.

I dial a number on my phone and pull the covers over my head.

“Mom? Can you come over please? I’m scared.”

***

“That. That’s what he’s all strung up about.”

My mother throws a pile of papers onto the coffee table. I hand her a cup of tea and she sinks down onto the couch.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asks me.

“The incident or the headlines?”

“Both.”

I grab the tabloid on top of the pile. There are gray, grainy pictures of Silas and me, in the parking lot of the club the other night. It’s dark and the picture is pixelated, but it’s clear that he has a strong hold of my throat and I’m trying to push him away, looking scared. The headline plastered across the page read “Fallen Rockstar? Nothing Gentle About This Gentleman.” The article writes an embellished account of what must have appeared to an observer as Silas chasing me down and trying to force himself on me.

And only letting go when the bouncer intervened.

Seeing the picture brings back the experience. A shiver runs through my body. I drop the paper and wrap my jacket tighter around me. My mom notices and gets up, hugging me tight. Her warm touch penetrates the wall I’ve been building around myself, my feelings, and they come crashing down.

“Oh Mom! I made such a big mistake!”

“Oh honey. It’s okay whatever it is. It can be fixed.”

“I don’t know if it can, Mom. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe it was just never meant to be.”

“Hogwash. The only thing that’s meant to be is how much you want something. The rest is up to you.”