Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2) (29 page)

“Why?” I gasp, and he shrugs
smiling.

“Fuck knows. That Bill bloke
winds me up too but I’ve never smashed a room up. Thank God we don’t deal with
him on a regular basis on tour, or we’d have to buy stock in Currys.”

“Bill was here?” I ask dumbly,
and he shoots me a questioning look.

“Yeah, this morning while you
were out. I’m only joking though. Perhaps they both just decided to
simultaneously embrace their inner rock gods.”

“Maybe.” My brain is working
frantically and I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. Something obviously
went down this morning, and I hope that I’m not becoming paranoid but I’ve got
a feeling that it’s something to do with me. I become aware of Scott looking at
me. “What will you say to the hotel staff?”

“Nothing,” he says cheerily. “We
don’t offer explanations because they get distorted and sold to the press. I
just apologise and pay the charge. Not my money and not really their problem if
they’ve got the money to sort it out. Believe me I’ve dealt with a lot worse
than a smashed television and mirror.”

I smile half-heartedly and help
him clear up the worst of it. However, once he’s gone my mind is going a mile a
minute until eventually I make a conscious effort to stop thinking. I won’t
know unless I can get it out of Sid. I’m still reeling from the way that he
spoke to me, and already a part of me is getting ready to finish it before he
does it and guts me even more.

Another part of me however, is
reminding me that he’s never been like that with me before, and he isn’t like
it with anyone that I’ve ever seen. He gets cross but he’s never deliberately
cruel. In fact the man that I know would rather cut off his own arm than
deliberately hurt someone. Maybe I
should
try to get to the bottom of
this because I’ve got the strong sense that something’s going on and it seems
to be connected with Bill. I haven’t fought for anything for the last three
years because nothing mattered. Now
he
does and I won’t go unless he
makes me.

Hours pass as I sit curled up in
a chair looking down at the lights of Copenhagen, watching couples dressed up
and sallying out for meals in cosily lit restaurants, and still he doesn’t come
back. I try to empty my mind and try not to imagine what, or who he’s up to.
I’ve come to trust him and he’ll have to prove otherwise first. Eventually,
feeling heart sore I occupy myself with a bath in the deep tub in the bathroom.
I lotion myself and blow dry my hair until it lies silkily against my skull,
and then, after donning a little amber coloured, lace nightie, I slide between
the sheets.

I lie for a while but my brain
won’t switch off, and after ten minutes I give up and switch the bedside lamp
back on. Searching for something to occupy my mind my eye falls on Sid’s
battered copy of the Anthony Kiedis autobiography, ‘Scar Tissue’. He’s been
engrossed in it for the last few days and I suppose something about the man’s
tale of excess must appeal to him. I pick it up but as I do a photograph
flutters out from between the pages and falls to the floor. At first I think
that it must be one of the book’s photo inserts but when I turn it to the light
I’m absolutely flabbergasted to see a picture of myself.

I recognise it as one of Sid’s
photos instantly, but I’ve never seen this one before. I’m sitting in a beer
garden, in Hamburg I think, and I even remember the night because we’d all met
up and sat there for ages, warmed by a patio heater, talking and laughing. I’m
perched on some steps bundled in my coat with a glass of wine in my hands. The
wind has blown my hair into a wild mess of waves around my face, and someone
must have said something funny because I’m laughing with my head thrown back
slightly and my eyes bright with laughter.

For a moment I just stare at the
picture and marvel at how different I look from just a few months ago. In this
picture I look carefree and happy and I wonder if that’s the way he sees me. If
it is then he can pat himself on the back for it, because I haven’t been either
of these things for a long time, if ever. Then I start to wonder why this is
marking a page in his book, and I can’t help but feel hope start to stir. The
picture shows signs of wear and tear so it’s obviously been well handled. Could
he possibly feel the same as me? Over the last few weeks I’ve felt something
change within him. Could he be in love with me?

Killing that thought before it
can take root, I carefully place the photo back in the book and close it, and
then switch the light off and lay back. I won’t let myself think that he’s in
love with me but I feel better about the argument somehow. Everyone has rows
and he has so much on his shoulders it has to stress him out. I’m still mad at
him because he was a prick but maybe it isn’t insurmountable.

I didn’t think that I’d sleep but
I must have because I come awake as someone slides into the bed next to me.
“What?” I say sleepily, reaching out to put the lamp on.

“Don’t,” comes his muttered
response and then his naked body falls against and over me. I automatically
part my legs for him and his hips fall between mine, his hard cock prodding at
my opening. I mean to question him, to take him to task for hurting me like
that but his urgency communicates something to me, and all of a sudden I’m
drenched, my heart hammering and so aroused that I could come. He senses it as
he always does, so attuned to my responses now, and he groans and pushes inside
me in one brutal thrust.

I wrap my legs around his narrow
waist and moan, arching my head back into the pillow for a second before,
overcome by a sudden feeling of rage, I pull his hair sharply.

“Fuck,” he groans, arching into
my hand and forcing his cock far into me.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” I
hiss, and suddenly all this rage and hurt coalesces into a molten mess of lust
and arousal and he groans as if in pain. Then, as if the feeling is alive in
him too his thrusts become forceful, hammering into me as the headboard smacks
into the wall. It’s like we’re live wires touching, all sparks and danger, and
we fall into a heady rhythm of bodies slamming into each other, our percussion
beat out by the heavy sound of his balls hitting me, the moist sound of my body
taking him in and our moans and groans.

I don’t know where this rage has
come from or when it burns out for both of us, but suddenly the tension in his
body transmutes into gentleness and long, slow, languid thrusts, and he grabs
my face, gently sucking and licking into my mouth as I moan and caress his long
body. We don’t last long, the feeling is too intense, and suddenly I’m gripping
his arse digging my nails in as I come, and he gives a brutal, animal like
groan and I feel heat wash me as he spills inside me.

For a few minutes we lie there
panting and groaning as he twitches inside me, until I feel his lax body
suddenly tighten with tension and his muscles tense, preparatory to him coming
out of me. I’m suddenly filled with fear that this is it - the end. It’s this
that releases my guard on my mouth and to my horror I hear myself say quietly,
“I love you.” For a whole second I hope that I’ve gone mad and that I just said
this in my head, but then he tenses all over and I know that he heard me.

“What?” he asks in a jagged
voice.

“I love you.” I say it firmly
this time and as less of a question. I’ve done it now so I might as well make a
good job of it. I do love him and he deserves to know it because my pride is
gone. For a brief second I think that everything is going to be alright because
his arms band tight around me while his head nuzzles into my neck and he
inhales sharply, smelling my hair. I tighten my arms and legs around him, but
then suddenly he’s out of me and he rolls away and off the bed.

Gathering his clothes he stands
for a second staring at me in the dim light of early morning. There’s
absolutely no expression at all on his face and if it wasn’t for a tic going
fast in his jaw I would think him utterly unmoved.

Feeling completely exposed I
gather the sheet over my breasts and it seems to break the spell. “You
shouldn’t,” he says coldly and then he’s gone, the click of the door echoing
what I know is the sound of a piece of my heart breaking that nobody but me
will ever hear.

Next
day

It isn’t until I’m on stage in
front of ten thousand people as multi-coloured ticker tape cascades from the
ceiling that I realise fully that I’ve lost him. He managed to avoid me for
most of the day by closeting himself in Charlie’s suite, so I doggedly spent
the day packing up my stuff while my mind constantly replayed the events of the
previous day and night.  I know that something is going on and that he’s
pushing me away, but by the evening a numbness and a welcome sense of
inevitability has spread over me. Whatever is going to happen is going to
happen and I know that nothing I can do will change this now, and that’s almost
a comfort.

However, it’s not until we’re on
stage that I fully know he’s gone from me, and the crippling pain tells me that
underneath everything I’d still had hope. Well that’s definitely gone now as I
watch him crouching down by the stage, exchanging heated looks with a beautiful
blonde in a skimpy top who earlier on had been flashing her tits at him. He
runs his hand down her face bending low to whisper something in her ear, and I
absently rub my chest where the pain is centred. He doesn’t even spare me a
glance in the Siberia corner of the stage that I’ve been relegated to, away
from him.

Do you remember when someone was
mean to you at school in the playground and you were left alone, frantically
trying to pretend to everyone watching that you weren’t bothered? Well imagine
doing that in front of ten thousand people and you’ll get an idea of how I
feel. I ignore the concerned looks from the other boys and concentrate on
singing my little heart out like the good girl that I am, but I feel my voice
crack as she pulls his head towards her locking her lips with his. Even then I
wait like a sad twat for him to push her away, but instead he laughs and goes
back for more as the crowd roars its approval.

Finally, finally it’s over and we
leave the stage. I become aware of someone standing next to me and looking up I
see Bram, his forehead lined with concern. “Are you alright sweetheart?” he
mutters, the Irish in his voice more pronounced as he shoots killer glances at
Sid and the groupie, who I’m horrified to see has been pulled off stage with
us. I feel like throwing up because never in a million years would I have
thought that he could do this to me. When I thought of us finishing and I’d
thought about it a lot, I’d always thought that he respected me enough, that I
was sort of special enough to him that he’d do it gently. This is cruelty on a
level that I’d never imagined. I guess at the end of the day I’m not special at
all to him, and he’s just another fucking bastard.

Becoming aware that I’ve been
silent for too long and that Bram’s looking at me like he’s going to have to
pick me up from the floor, I smile weakly.
I will not break down in front of
all these people because I have more pride than that
I repeat to myself.
He
will not break me.

“I’m fine.” I’m proud that it
comes out steadily, rather than the pained scream that’s waiting to emerge from
deep inside me. “Dumped for skanky groupie, I think you’d label this feeling,”
I add on, and he slings his arm around me, his body hard and hot.

“I’m sorry Nell,” he says in my
ear. “You deserve so much more than this.”

I look at him because for a
second I actually thought that he was going to do what he normally does, and
offer excuses and counsel me into forgiving Sid, tell me how good we are
together. The fact that he doesn’t, really strikes the death knell, and now
that I come to think of it none of the boys have said anything to me about his
odd behaviour, which tells me that this has been a topic of conversation
amongst them today.

I think it’s this that really
stiffens my spine. I’ve always been proud and the thought that Sid has
discussed us and shared details with them over the problem of dealing with me,
makes me wince deep inside. Suddenly determined I look at Bram. “I think I’m
going to go,” I say softly, and he flinches.

“I wish you didn’t have to. I
don’t want to say goodbye to you Nell. You mean too much to me.”

I smile sadly and cup his cheek.
“You mean a lot to me too Bram. You remind me a bit of Sam my brother and I
wish that I didn’t have to go too. I’ve loved every second of being with you
all. You’ve all been so welcoming, and for a while it’s felt like home, but I
can’t stay here now. I need to go.” He nods sadly. “Will you say goodbye to
everyone for me?”

“You’re not going to do it?” he
asks sharply. “Don’t just slip away.”

“It’s for the best Bram. I hate
goodbyes and these are particularly awkward ones. I don’t want to put anyone in
a position where they feel they have to get involved in this. Please just tell
them from me that I will always consider them good friends, and thank them for
giving me the chance to do something that I’ve delayed doing for a while.” He
hugs me tight to him and I feel his heart hammering underneath his t-shirt.

“Shit Nell, it shouldn’t be like
this. I have so much that I could say and I want to so badly.” He hesitates.
“Fuck it Nell, Sid …”

I stop him by putting my fingers
over his mouth. “Don’t do that Bram. Don’t break his confidence. He needs you
too much to do that to him.” He looks at me imploringly and I smile sadly. “It
doesn’t matter anyway. It’s done with now. Nobody has ever fought for me in my
life. It’s always been just me, and I wanted Sid to do that so much but he
didn’t, and whatever the problem is it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Reaching into his back pocket he
pulls out an envelope. “This is for you sweetheart. It’s a plane ticket and
some cash in case you haven’t got any spare. Your suitcases have been bought
from the hotel and they’re in your dressing room.” I rub a shaky hand over my
mouth at the proof that this is it and they all knew it. Making myself smile I
take it from him, my fingers trembling, and he grabs them for a long second
looking down at my hand intently as though it holds the key to the universe.