Wasted Heart (10 page)

I follow several colorful designs twisting up his shoulder, traveling the lines of his neck muscles, and over his beautiful face, stopping to again note that lower case “j” inked next to his eye like a tear drop. Who would he mark his face for? A girl? Someone he loved. Someone he hurt? Someone who hurt him?

He catches me assessing him, and the look in his eyes makes my heart pound. A small smirk marks his mouth, and I see a spark of something in those dark brown eyes. Life. Mel, still speaking to him, playfully tags his arm. Rhye turns back towards him to reply to whatever it is he’s saying, and I look down, trying to control whatever this is inside of me.

“She’s not my type,” I say, looking back to Mel.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious, brother,” he starts, holding his hands up. “The girl can’t keep those big cat eyes of hers off you. She was staring so hard yesterday that I thought laser beams were going to shoot out of her eyes. Hell, what am I saying? I’m sure you get that shit all the time with the ladies.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I look back through the large, clear glass to watch her. As I was about to walk into the studio this morning, the image of her made me stop. She looks so damn young. Her hair is pulled up in one of those bands where all of it looks like it will fall down at any second. She has on a t-shirt and, I guess, shorts because a pair of hot tan legs are crossed out in front of her. Innocent. Sweet. Words I’m not familiar with aptly describe her.

Those strange, yellow eyes look back up to me. Syn. Isn’t that her name? Just how sinful are you, little Syn? Are you like most girls, wanting the world to think you’re one way when, behind closed doors, you like it down and dirty? I bet that’s her deal. I normally wouldn’t give someone like her the time of day. Again, I like the ones who dress trashy and a little slutty, wearing their pain and pleasure on the outside and giving their middle finger to society and its dictations.

Maybe if I give her what those eyes evidently are begging for, she can quit with the whole, “Look at me, I’m so wholesome” act. It’s starting to aggravate the shit out of me. Well, actually everything is aggravating the shit out me. Josh tried to wake me at fucking six o’clock this morning to go ride a bicycle. A fucking bicycle. I threw a lamp at him, missing, and shattering it against my bedroom wall.

Shaking my head, I see that she is back to writing something down in that stupid notebook. If I’m lucky, she’ll be writing down all of her nasty little secrets and offer to act them out later. My dick starts to get its own ideas. Yeah, I can get down with her this one time. Make an exception.

“Do you want to work on that song from yesterday? I think studio B is open. We can play with some different beats, see what works,” Mel says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Let’s do it,” I say, forgetting about Syn for now.

Following Mel into the next studio, we both sit down in front of the boards. He pulls out his notes from yesterday and hands me a piece of paper and a pencil. Not sure what he wants me to do with these unless I’m supposed to look busy.

“Look over these lyrics we talked about. Let’s see if you like this new sound I’ve been working on. It’s a dark, heavy beat, but man does it have a mean guitar melody that I think would be perfect for you,” he says, pressing buttons on the sound board.

Music starts to thump through the room. My eyes close on their own accord, and I let the rhythm take over. For the first time in a long while, I feel it flow through me, energizing and renewing. My heart beats in synchrony, my fingers search out the matching chords, playing an air-guitar as precise as I would play my own.

Without letting it end, Mel loops the song, and it continues to play. The third time I listen to it, I open my eyes to look down at the lyrics Mel wrote. I begin to sing, but I don’t use his exact written words. I add in my own, letting them come straight from me. “Without remorse, without shame, I’m the only one to blame. Take my heart, Take my soul, but know they come empty, riddled with holes.”

I get lost in the music, escape in the melody, and purge myself within the lyrics. Something tugs inside of my abdomen, reminding me it’s still there. My soul. It merges with the music, the only time it’s free from the encasing darkness. The only time I’ve ever felt whole is in my music. I thought it was lost for good. Sitting in this room, I find it again, feeling a little peace for the first time in two years.

When the music comes to an end, Mel starts to clap enthusiastically while whistling, and I remember I’m not alone. I come back to myself only to find several others’ applause joining his. Turning to the doorway, I see that Ryan, Julie, and Smiley herself have witnessed this intangible moment, and I hate it.

For seconds, the fiery anger inside me threatens to be unleashed. Goddamn them all for seeing something so personal and so private that it physically makes me ache inside to be flayed open; however, I instantly realize they have no clue that my spirit has been severed from my music and only now rediscovering it. They can’t comprehend what they’ve witnessed, and I have no desire to share it. I look down, trying to control all of these feelings so they don’t escape.

“Man. Son, that’s not half bad,” Ryan says, standing somewhere near me.

“Not half bad?” that chick Julie asks with her accent. “That was bloody amazing. I’d buy that iTunes single right this second.”

“Damn, that was bad ass,” Mel says, joining in with the others.

Once I’ve masked all my emotions, I look up to glare at them and shrug. I can’t help that my eyes immediately seek Syn’s. Are those unshed tears? She stands with her hands grasped at her chest, her breathing rapid. We stare at each other while the others talk over us. She knows what just happened with me. How can she possibly know? Goddamn it! How can she know?

He found it.

No wonder he hasn’t been playing. He couldn’t feel the music. It’s a musician’s lifeblood. If you can’t connect with the music, it’s all a lie, and the fans can spot that a mile away. And that’s not the truly painful part. If you are a musician, you live and die for your music. It connects you to life, to people, and for some, yourself. It’s like a chef not being able to taste food. You can cook it, slave over it for hours, but no matter how delicious it looks, it’s tasteless. For a musician, it’s losing yourself. Your soul. And for a precious second, I watched him find his.

Ten minutes ago, Julie and I were working on my music when Ryan popped his head into the doorway and told us to come with him. We looked at each other, perplexed at what he wanted, but stood to follow him. He led us to the room next door, and from the doorway, we watched, not wanting to interrupt Rhye. Oh my, the raspiness in his voice, soft and smooth with a thick texture. There is a husky quality that all great rock singers have, something that calls to its listeners, and Rhye has it in spades. I watched him, with his eyes closed, as he swayed his body to the rhythm, a seemingly innate ability to blend into the music.

I stood motionless, imprisoned by the sound of Rhye singing. It wasn’t his voice that made every fine hair on my body stand straight on end, it was catching a rare glimpse of the real him. I watched him connect with his music, and my body quivered with unrequited burning lust. For a fleeting second, I saw him unearth the man he was meant to be beneath the black abyss of pain and hurt burying his soul. My insubstantial world was incinerated, reforming into what he needs. What I now need.

I’ve fallen for him… into a million pieces. Separately, the pieces don’t make a lick of sense, but together, all my questions in the universe are answered. I feel this is where my life has been leading me. To him. When he was singing, I couldn’t breathe, afraid he would stop, the moment would be lost forever, and his soul would be restless for eternity. I know I can’t find him lost like that. I know that he has no chance to find me when he is so broken.

During the song, when I noticed that he found what was missing, an immense feeling of completion rocked me to my core. Tears gathered in my eyes, and I held back, not wanting to share this moment with the others. Why couldn’t Rhye and I have been alone? Even now, as he stares at me, I don’t know what he’s thinking. After feeling closer to him than any other human being in this world, I have no clue. It’s almost too much to bear. His glare turns from questioning to angry, and it burns into my soul, scalding my insides.

“Syn, did you hear what Ryan just said?” Julie asks, shaking my arm to get my attention.

“Huh? What?” I ask, noticing the concerned look she gives me.

“You and Rhye are performing tomorrow night at a club down the street. They normally have musicians play from a mixture of rock, pop, and country, so it will be a great spot for both of you,” she says, glancing from me to Rhye, who is still glaring my way.

“Yeah,” Ryan interrupts. “My meeting this morning was with the music label. We need Rhye to have some good press. Let his fans know he’s working on getting a new record out soon. Syn, you are going to perform your new single that is flying up the charts. Your band members should all be here by tomorrow morning, and you can practice with them. Rhye, at this point, we are going to let you sing something of your choice acoustically.”

I look over at Rhye, watching for his reaction. Is he going to be ready to play tomorrow? He looks over at Ryan and nods his head in agreement. He’s back to being unreadable, and I don’t know if he means it or just agrees, not having any plans to play.

“Let me meet with my team in my office. You two guys figure out who is going to perform first, and then, I want you both to make it an early night,” Ryan says, not looking at me but directly at Rhye.

The three of them carry on their conversation as they leave, each telling us goodnight. Once the door closes, the silence is deafening. I continue to stand, not knowing whether I should sit or not. My nerves explode within me, but I’m still sure of one thing. Him. It doesn’t mean I expect him to remotely feel the same. My hands fidget in front of me, and I lean from one foot to the other.

He sits still, arms crossed, staring up at me. His demeanor stays the same… cool, calm, and cocky. After several minutes, it doesn’t seem like he is going to say anything, so I clear my throat.

“I can sing first if you would like,” I say, not meaning any of it. What I want to say is, “Do you feel it? This connection that ties us together. Does your heart hurt at the sight of me because you want to be with me instead of apart? Do you think you could love me? Ever? Because I would wait. Forever. It’s not a choice for me anymore. Keep your cool, Syn,” I tell myself. I don’t want to seem like the inexperienced nineteen year old that I am.

He continues to gaze at me with a sneer marking his face. Abruptly, he stands to his feet, and I automatically jump back, my backside smacking into the wall. I see his smile at my reaction. He enjoys it. Devours it. He swaggers towards me, licking his lips. The sight of him is mesmerizing. Has anything ever been so overtly sexual, or is it just because it’s him, and my body reacts to everything that is Rhye?

Once he reaches me, he crowds my space, aligning our bodies mere inches from touching. I raise my head to peer into his rich, brown eyes, loving that he doesn’t tower over me. My thoughts are chaotic; however, my body is oddly calm yet more alive than it’s ever been. There is an electricity between us, currents of energy sparking from me to him.

“There you are,”
I think to myself as I see
him
when I look into his eyes now. He is amazingly beautiful. I tightly grasp the sides of my jean shorts in my hands, physically restraining myself from making first contact with him. I know whatever this is between us has to happen on Rhye’s time. I watch him lower those pink lips of his closer to mine, only breaths away.

“Do you like it hard?” he whispers, licking his bottom lip then tugging it with his teeth.

What? Wait. What? I can’t follow his words when everything is drowned out by his presence. My body is in overdrive, chills marking my skin from head to toe.

“Do I like what?” I ask, my voice trembles.

“When you get fucked. Do you like it rough? I bet, behind that good girl act, you like to get down and dirty,” he says, placing his hands on either side of my waist and squeezing gently.