Tracks (Rock Bottom) (18 page)

“No, Rich. Stay a while. I’m alone here.” I walk back into the hallway an
d see him standing by the door.

He nods. “Ok
ay. We can watch the press conference.”

“Oh,” I say in sho
ck. “That’s going to be on TV?”

Rich wattles into my livi
ng room, passing me. “You bet.”

He plops down on my couch and turns on the TV with the remote. He flips through the guide and finds a channel. I see Jeremy on TV, with gorgeous sweat running down his face, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He’s leaning back in his chair and listening to a ques
tion. The conference has already begun.

I sit down on the other side of the couch from Rich, putting my legs up and curling them under me. I take a small sip of the light
red wine, and listen intently.

“When is the next album due out?” I he
ar a woman ask from off camera.

A man in a suit, one that I’ve seen sitting in the wings, answers her. “Mr. Mason i
s currently working on new tracks for the album, which will be out hopefully next spring.”

Jeremy takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke from his mouth. H
e looks bored. Painfully bored.

“Why isn’t he answering anything?” I ask Rich, my eyes not leaving
Jeremy’s face.

“He
don’t like the press. Really, he’s very shy.”

I scoff. ‘There is no way that man is shy’, I think.
His cockiness alone is enough to disprove any shyness.

But then I think back to Jeremy the boy.
The boy who had to work all of his life for affection, and never received the approval. The boy who was too smart for his own good; who can’t relate to people of normal intelligence…who understands all too well the character of people. And I can understand why Jeremy might be so shy.

The sound of my name brings my focus back to the conference. “…Dylan Ackhart on tour?” a man’s voice from the crowd says.

“Miss Ackhart will not be accompanying Mr. Mason on tour. She will stay here in Boston. Any other questions not involving Miss Ackhart?” the man in the suit says.

The same male voice from the crowd presses on. “Will she stay here in Boston to s
tart her classwork at Harvard?”

I take a big gulp of wine. Rich looks at me from the corner of his eyes, and looks back at the screen. The man in the suit opens his mouth to speak, but Jeremy sits up and leans into his microph
one that’s placed on the table.

“I hop
e all of you understand that Miss Ackhart is to be left alone while I’m on tour. If she is bothered in any way, my lawyers and I will not hesitate to press charges, and I will never give you a press conference again. Not one.”

The room is suddenly silent. The man in the suit’s face turns red. “What Mr
. Mason means to say is that Miss Ackhart will not be in contact with him after he leaves, and therefore, there is no reason to bother her. But we appreciate all of your support.”

Su
ddenly, Jeremy gets up begins to walk away from the table. “This is all a fucking waste of time,” he scoffs. The camera shows the backside of him exiting through a doorway.

The footage cu
ts back to a news anchor, who looks caught off-guard as she babbles on about the sudden exit. I take another huge gulp of wine and finish my glass.

Rich turns off the TV. “I better go get him, if you still want.” He peers at me out of the cor
ner of his eyes.

Of course I’m devastated
, but I try to look bored. “Yeah, go and get him.” I stand up and walk to the counter in the kitchen, pouring another glass of wine. I put the glass to my lips and tip the whole thing into my mouth.

Rich clears his throat and stands up. He waddles down the hall. “Be back,” he says, opening the d
oor and shutting it behind him.

My cell phone vibrates from inside of my bra. I jump, then reach in and grab it, putting it to m
y ear without looking. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Ther
esa’s voice says, sadly.

“Yep,” I say. I have a head rush from the
wine. I’m such a light weight.

“Don’t let this get the
best of you. Stepping stones.”

I scoff again.
“Right.” How could you step off from Jeremy? Onto what?

Theresa sighs. “Have a great night together.
Try not to be too mad.”

“Ok
ay, Therese. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone, putting it on my kitchen counter. I see lights flashing outside from my front windows, red and blue. I walk up and open my door a crack to look outside. I see four or so police officers removing people from the sidewalk across the street. Some were professional photographers, I could tell from the cameras, and some looked like regular fans. All come to see my reaction to the press conference I guess. I sigh and shut the door, amazed that I’m no longer surprised to see photographers around my house.

I walk down the hallway and sit on my couch in the living room. As soon as I sit, I hear the door ope
n. I stand up again immediately, peering down the hallway. I see Jeremy’s back as he closes and locks the doors, and hear a few shrieks and cries for him. I roll my eyes, although my stomach tightens at the sight of him.

He turns and faces
me, his black shirt fully unbuttoned now, jeans riding low. He leans against the door, and smiles wryly at me.

I smile back. I figure that Theresa is right.
I try to be nice.

“Dylan,” he says, low and sexy.

“Mr. Mason.”

He struts down my hallway. “What am I going to do when I c
an’t see you every day?” he says, walking up to me. He stops and stands in front of me.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get distracted easily enough.
Especially since you won’t be speaking with me anymore.”

His eyes sparkle at me. “Don’t you know not to believe everything you hear?
” He puts his hand on my cheek.

My eyes
expectantly well up with tears. He smiles. “Dylan, if you want to be in my life, you have to accept certain things about my life. People are going to say nasty things. You have to harden up.”

I look down and take his hand off my cheek. “I didn’t ask
to date someone famous. I don’t benefit at all from it.”

“Well, that’s
a statement I’ve never heard.”

I look up at him. He still looks amused. I don’t like it, an
d my stomach burns and my heartbeat picks up pace.

“Well, I don’t! I wish you were just normal. I wish you didn’t have to go on long tours
. I wish you weren’t followed.”

“Please, Dylan,” Jeremy says, collapsing gracefully on my couch. “Like you’d give a damn about me if I wer
e ‘normal’,” he spits the word.

I roll my eyes. The burning in my stomach makes words come out of my mouth that don’t touch my brain. “Jeremy, don’t start that crap. I’m not your parents. I don’t want to be famous. I’m a normal girl who just wants a normal boyfriend. I’m not some smut who’s going to fuck you whenever you want and let you go off on tour and not speak to you for months. I don’t want that part of your life.
Maybe I
should
just go and get a normal boyfriend.”

I look down at him as eyes burn into me, like dark blue storm clouds.
He stands, and grabs my arm roughly. “You won’t leave. I want you. I want you here for
me
. And I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

“So, what then?
You just want me to sit around and wait here for you while you get to do whatever you want? You think you get to do that because you’re a big hot-shot rock star? You need to learn that sometimes things won’t go your way.” I struggle to get away from his hand, but he tightens his grip even more.

“I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else!” he almost yells. His voice is low and rough. “I do what I do just for
physical pleasure. I know you aren’t like that. It would mean something more to you. I don’t know how to be any other way. My whole life for the past 10 years has been about making myself happy and doing what I want, and I don’t have the energy to change now. I will fucking lose it. So what do you want?! Do you want me to lose it?!” he shakes me as he talks. We pause.

His words from earlier flash in my mind.
‘I’m fucked up. Completely.’

Suddenly, I feel a little afraid. His eyes are angry and glassy.
I feel the fire in my stomach start to lessen. I put my hand up to his face, stroking his cheek. His hand loosens on my arms and he closes his eyes. “I want you,” I begin, slowly. “And I don’t want anyone else to touch you.” I repeat his words, but in a sweeter way. His eyes open when my hand falls from his face, and they are calm again, bluer than the sky.

He sighs.
After a few quiet minutes, he opens his mouth to speak. “Okay. Okay, Dylan. I’ll try for you,” he surrenders. “I don’t know how to have a relationship. I don’t know if I can handle a relationship. But I’ll try. But Jesus Dylan…” his voice cracks. “I’m so close to the edge here…”

I am taken aback by the swelling in his eyes.
I don’t understand why he’s so unhappy and hurting. I realize that I am beginning to see Jeremy the person, not Jeremy Mason the legend. I know now there are a lot of things I haven’t discovered about him yet. He’s not a tough as nails playboy. He’s a mentally ill, sad little boy, who can’t connect to anyone. A thought crosses my mind suddenly. I’m trying to force him to be ready, but am
I
ready to take responsibility for someone like
him
?

I wrap my arms
around his neck and pull myself near to him, feeling his body close to me. Do I even have a choice now on whether or not to continue this? I don’t think I could breathe without knowing I could speak to him again or be with him again. I put my cheek against his. His breathing is hard and heavy; obviously he’s trying not to cry. “I’ll hold you together. I won’t hurt you.”

He sighs. I feel wetnes
s on my neck. “Take me to bed, sweet Dylan,” he says, and runs his fingers through my hair.

I stand back and look at him. His face still has
a sheen of sweat, his eyes beautiful and glassy. His cheeks are so chiseled looking today, aided by the dark black scruff on his face.  His lips are pale pink, and I see them turn up in a smile. The realization hits me that this brilliant, gorgeous man is somehow now officially mine.

I run my arms up his bare chest and push the shirt off from his shoulders. It fall
s to the floor. I lean over and kiss along his collar bone. He sighs, grabbing my hair. I trail my fingers down his chest, letting my fingernails dig into him.

“Careful,” he says breathlessly. “We won’t make it to bed.”

I stand up straight and look in his eyes, undoing my zipper and letting my dress fall to the floor. I step out of it. “Good,” I say, low and deep.

He grabs my chin hard.
“Oh, Miss Ackhart.” He kisses me hard, biting my bottom lip. He pulls away. “You’re in trouble,” he says, his eyes burning with desire. He releases my face and grabs the side of my bra, ripping it. I gasp.

He grabs my arm and leads me into the kitchen, throwing me against the counter.
I stumble and catch myself on the edge, holding myself up on my outstretched arms. I feel him press against the back of me, and he runs his hands down my back. I moan. I feel him fiddle with his pants and hear them hit the ground. He grabs the side of my underwear and rips them open. I see them tossed into the dining room.

I’m so excited, I could burst.
He grabs my hips and enters me.

The next few days go on much the same way. We either sleep at his house or mine. Although we prefer to stay at my house, on the rare occasion Theresa is home, we stay at his place. The idea of her hearing us carrying on is deathly embarrassing to me. Although I’m sure she wouldn’t mind it.

We really don’t go out much, and I wonder if it’s because Jeremy is trying to spare me from the reporters. They’ve been relentless lately. I’m constantly in the paper. They even went so far as to get my old high school photos. Ugh!

We would lie around pretty much all day. Cuddling, watching TV…it all seemed very normal. I would read as he would compose on the piano or play his guitar. We cooked dinner together. I was surprised he was a good cook. He constantly sang, and the home was filled with music all the time. My favorite would be when he would walk up to me, still singing, and pull me into his arms, dancing with me. It was all very romantic.

Sometimes, though, he felt distant from me. He would take long showers- an hour or so- at least 3 times a day. He would wake up at night and leave the bed, thinking I was asleep, and not come back for a few hours. I wondered how he could be functioning on such little sleep, but when I questioned him on his insomnia, he simply told me that he had always been that way. I attributed it to him having bad dreams. I even caught him one night sweating and twitching in his sleep, and when I woke him up, he had immediately left the bed and gone into the bathroom to shower.