Page 68 of Pink and Country

My head spun. I climbed out of the hot tub, the breeze too cold against my junk, reminding me I was naked. A shiver started in my toes and made its way to the nape of my neck. My body shook, and I hurried back inside.

Showered and dressed, I jumped behind the wheel of my SUV and drove without purpose for hours, music blasting through the sound system, deafening my brain, preventing it from going to places I refused to venture.

Why couldn’t I have a normal life?

I wasn’t willing to give up my music, but I wasn’t ready to lose April either. Could I ever have both? I groaned. My body hurt as if thousands of needles pricked my skin. The fog surrounding me wouldn’t disappear. It enfolded me tighter. My lungs were compressed. I fought the urge to get to April. Would she walk away from me once her month in Green Mountain was over if I let her in? Would she turn out to be a mirage in my life? Someone I longed to hold on to, but essentially inaccessible? Dahlia’s words replayed in my head. If what you two could have is worth it, give her some time to ease into the idea this is your life. If you move too fast, she’ll run away. My guts told me to move in, to seize my chance. I was tired of listening to everybody’s else opinion about my own life. June. Riley. Dah. Carla. Savannah.

“It’s my life, for God’s sake,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. How could everyone think they knew better than me what was good for me? But what if April didn’t want me as much as I wanted her? My stomach churned at the idea.

I ignored June and Riley’s calls, the race in my mind preventing me from having a normal conversation with anyone.

I overlooked April’s text message, the sight of her name on my phone screen enough to twist my troubled heart. I swallowed the sobs bubbling down my throat, and turned up the volume, singing until my voice distorted.

Around midnight, struggling to keep my eyes open, I drove back to my secret house and slouched down on the couch. I kicked my shoes off and shifted position, the tightness around my heart increasing.

With shaky fingers, I shot April a text message.

Won’t make it home tonight. Have some things to deal with.

With my stretched legs crossed at the ankles and my head propped up on a pillow, I did some breathing exercises to silence the voices in my head. My limbs grew heavier. The air in the room suffocated me. In one swift movement, I threw my phone across the room to resist glancing at it all night. I strangled a cry of despair and massaged the column of my throat as I fell into a deep slumber, my body and mind restless.

* * *

The next morning, my thoughts jumbled in my head the moment I pried my eyes open. After I forced a protein shake down my throat, I started my self-destructive workout routine all over again.

I ran fifteen miles on the treadmill.

I punched that sucker bag for one hour straight.

I eased the pain of my burning muscles in the hot tub.

And I ended up jacking off in the shower to release the tendrils of tension remaining in my body. April’s addictive smile. Her round tits. Her sexy mouth. Her firm ass. The feel of her. The taste of her. Images flashed through my head as I pumped myself. My balls tightened. The end of my spine burned. My vision clouded. I let out a cry as I splashed the shower wall with my cum. My body convulsed with each jolt. My sperm reserves seemed infinite. Breathless, I leaned against the tiled wall to catch my breath.

My body was in some April withdrawal. How could I need someone so much? When did I become dependent on her?

I declined each of June or Riley’s calls, again, and ignored the worried text message April sent. After dinner—half a protein bar, the only food I kept in the kitchen pantry—I drove around for hours, the sound system beating out the music at decibels higher than my ears were used to, higher than during my stage shows. My eyelids weighed down. I staggered to the couch and crashed on it for the second night in a row, my demons still hovering over me. And haunting me.

Lying on my back, with an arm crossed over my eyes, I evened my breathing. Two thirty-five. I woke up with a jolt, and for a moment, wondered where I was. Did I dream the last forty-eight hours? My eyes traveled around the room. A sliver of the moon outside glowed through the window. I didn’t make it home last night. My entire body hurt. April. My mind wandered to her. Like always. I choked on the lump in my throat. My eyes burned with unshed tears. My heart cracked open. Underfed, my stomach rumbled. I ignored how long it had been since I ate a real meal. In the last two days, I snacked on power bars, protein shakes, and gallons of water. I grabbed the half-eaten power bar on the side table and chewed pieces of it. My jaw hurt because I’d been clenching the muscle too tight in my sleep.

I washed the last bite with a large gulp of water and closed my eyes, chasing sleep again.

Vivid dreams and nightmares disturbed my rest.

* * *

On day three, I woke up before dawn with a pounding headache. I caught my reflection in the mirror when I took a leak. Bloodshot eyes with dark shadows underneath, disheveled hair, a few days long scruff. I looked like shit. I rubbed my fists over my eyes and swallowed two painkillers with a tall glass of water. Not feeling like spending myself physically, I opted for the thing I did best in my life. Writing music. The mere thought of it soothed something inside me. I poured all my restless energy into my art, diving into the sound of the guitar.

My entire self ached from what I put it through in the last two days.

Worried my body would give up, I curled on the couch and napped for an hour. When I woke up, the storm inside me had lessened. I blew out a long breath. By the end of the morning, I had written three new songs, including a guaranteed top charter.

My heartbeat slowed, and my mind took a break. I slouched back on the couch, a pillow underneath my head, and exhaled all the residual anxiety and anger left in me. Music was my drug of choice.

With steady fingers, I turned my phone back on. Notifications of messages and calls I’d missed during the last two days popped up on the screen. I cringed at the high number.

Dahlia’s name flashed on the screen as I scrolled through my messages. For as long as I’d known her, I’d never ignored her calls. But for a second, this time, I debated shutting her out too. She was my best friend but also the first woman who made me believe I wasn’t good enough to be loved. Both times we could’ve been together, she chose the other man. She never chose me. Not once. The night we spent together was a mistake in her journey. I rubbed my thumb over the screen of my phone, wondering what to do.

What if she needed me and I was too busy fucking my entire life up to be there for her?