Seared on my Soul Read online

  I reach into my pocket. The second my fingertips graze the edge of my keys a warning flashes through my mind. Didn’t I see girls bringing shot glasses up to the stage for the band to tip back? How many has drummer boy had?

  I pull the keys from my pocket but hold them in my clenched fist. “Are you okay to drive?”

  He laughs. “More than you.”

  I frown. That wasn’t exactly an answer. “How many have you had?”

  He shrugs. “A couple. I can’t drink when I play drums. Fucks my rhythm all up. So relax, babe. I’m good.”

  He has a point. “Can you hop on one foot and touch your finger to your nose?”

  “If I did that, who would keep you upright?”

  Another good point. Before I can stop him, he snatches the keys from my hand and hits the button. The MINI’s lights flash from across the parking lot. “There we are,” he says. Tightening his grip on my waist, he guides me across the broken asphalt, snickering when my heel catches on a crack and I fall against him.

  I laugh along with him even as a tremor of unease bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me. It’s quickly numbed by the alcohol coursing through my veins before I can think too much of it.

  Drummer boy opens the passenger door and I tumble inside. He hops onto the hood and slides across. When he opens the driver’s door and climbs in, I feel as if I should be concerned about something—but for the life of me I can’t figure out what. After all, what would be worse than going home to an empty apartment? Alone, I have no way to escape the ever-present stream of doubt coursing through my head. It’s bad enough when my mother calls to criticize my life choices, or when my brother brings them up over lunch, but it’s so much worse when the voice of regret is my own.

  A throbbing pressure pulses at my temples. I reach across the car and wind my fingers into drummer boy’s shirt to quell it. Only when my fingers graze his skin, does the throbbing subside.

  The guy grins at me. “Eager, huh?” He takes my hand and guides it down to his lap where I can feel the swell of him just below his zipper. “Me, too.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Men. Always so damn proud of their erections—like I’m supposed to be impressed. There are people working to end world hunger and find a cure for cancer, but you got a hard-on so here’s your medal or some shit.

  Anyway, I should play nice. I give him what I hope is my most appreciative smile because, let’s face it, I need him tonight. What else do I have to look forward to? Another day of making triple-shot café Americanos for college students cramming for their next exam, which will bring them closer to their degree and a rewarding job. Meanwhile, I’ll still be serving them coffee?

  This is so much better.

  “Do you want to?” Drummer boy nods to his crotch.

  It takes me a second to realize he’s asking for a blowjob.

  I almost laugh out loud. Maybe this particular moment isn’t that much better. “This car is my baby.” I pat the dashboard affectionately. “We will not sully her. Got that? You get us to my apartment and I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  “Okay.” He looks disappointed, but fuck if I care. He’s still getting sex—really amazing sex—so he’ll get over it. “Where do you live?” he asks.

  I withdraw my phone and type my address in the GPS. “Here.” After affixing my phone to the holder suction-cupped to my windshield, I settle back into my seat.

  The drummer nods and shifts the car into reverse. When we pull out onto the road, the world outside the car windows becomes a blur of gray, navy, and black, like a painting of night sky someone poured water over, blending all the colors together.

  I close my eyes to keep from getting dizzy. Maybe I did overdo it just a bit.

  “Hey!” Drummer boy’s hand clamps down on my thigh and my eyes shoot open. “You’re not going to pass out, are you?”

  I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the drummer’s driving, but it appears we’re weaving across the yellow lane dividers.

  “Are you even driving in the right lane?” I ask.

  He ignores the question. “Do you know how sexy you are? God, the second you walked in tonight, I wanted to rip your clothes off, bend you over the bar, and fuck your brains out.”

  Ugh. Okay, so I knew I wasn’t climbing into the car with Romeo, but holy hell. The more he talks, the more turned off I get. Too bad I don’t have any duct tape handy.

  We swerve a little too far into the wrong lane and a passing car blares its horn.

  “Jesus!” Drummer boy twists the wheel, putting us back into the right lane.

  I grab the door handle to keep from being tossed about. Again, a gurgle of unease bubbles in my gut, but the fog inside my head keeps it from reaching my brain. In fact, the sudden nervousness confuses me. My newly acquired D-list rock star is supposed to eliminate my anxiety, not increase it.

  Drummer boy takes a hand off the steering wheel and places it on my thigh. My muscles tense beneath his fingers. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

  A wave of exhaustion rolls over me. I open my mouth to answer, but the words aren’t there. The truth is I’m no longer sure what I want to do with him, or why I’m with him in the first place. I place two fingers against my temple as if I can somehow dig the answers out. But they don’t come.

  What the hell are you doing with this loser, Em?

  What the hell are you doing with your life?

  I drop my hand into my lap when I realize the voice whispering through my head, the one that always sounds suspiciously like my mother’s, now sounds like mine.

  This is a new development. Usually my self-doubt can’t penetrate the alcohol-enforced shield I drown myself in. “First thing I’m going to do is get us both a drink,” I answer. That should take care of my voice problem. “And then—”

  Drummer boy’s fingers dance up my leg. He grins, revealing nicotine-stained teeth.

  Ew. I wish I realized he smoked before I picked him up. My disgust clouds my thoughts. Now I have no fucking clue what comes after the booze. My entire goal was to bring home a distraction. Only now I realize my distraction isn’t distracting enough.

  In fact, the more I look at him, the more unattractive he gets. Holy hell. I quickly look away. New plan. As soon as I get home, I’ll simply drink enough to make him cute again.

  The sound of the road humming beneath the tires echoes inside my head. The effect is soothing, hypnotic even. Gradually, my muscles loosen and relax against the seat. After a few minutes, I can no longer remember what I was worked up about in the first place.

  “Hey. Don’t go to sleep.” Drummer boy’s voice cuts into my head like a knife. His fingers curl around my thigh and he jostles me until I open my eyes.

  “I was meditating, asshole. Thanks for making me lose my Zen.”

  He laughs. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll help you find your Zen again and again and again.”

  I don’t bother to keep the skeptic look from my face. I can’t remember if I’d ever screwed a drummer before, so I’m not sure if they’re all this cocky and delusional, or if I just got the pick of the litter. He’s not going to make this easy for me if he keeps talking. Is it possible to screw someone into silence? If so, challenge accepted.

  He plays with the button on my jeans and I force myself not to flinch. What the hell is wrong with me? This is what I want. Or at least I thought it was until my own damn brain cut in and planted a seed of doubt. Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let rational thinking ruin my night.

  “Want a little preview?” I lean across the console, place my palm between his legs, and rub the denim softly. He’s already hard, practically straining against the zipper.

  “Oh God, yeah.” Letting out a groan, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall against the seat.

  I immediately still. “Dude. You’re supposed to be watching the road.”

  He opens his eyes and grunts. “You need to quit worrying. I already told you I was fine to drive.”r />
  His words are like a mental kick in the face. Any sort of distraction I was hoping this guy would bring me cannot break through the growing annoyance I feel for him. “You know what? I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  Frowning, he looks at me. “What?”

  Ahead, something blurry bounds into the road. Is my drunk mind playing tricks on me? I blink several times, but the shape remains.

  “Dude.” I snap my fingers at the windshield. “Eyes on the road.”

  He doesn’t look away. “Fuck this shit. Are you seriously fucking with me right now?”

  The shape in the road grows larger. I can make out antlers and a white tail. Its head turns, headlights reflecting off black eyes. My heart leaps into my throat, choking me. I point over and over.

  Drummer boy finally turns his attention back to the road. His mouth opens and I think he might be screaming, but I hear nothing over the sound of squealing tires. The world spins as first my shoulder bursts with pain and then my head. Flashes of white explode before my eyes like fireworks.

  I want to call out to the drummer, but it dawns on me, even in this critical moment, I don’t know his name. And he doesn’t know mine.

  We’re going to die, side-by-side, bathed in each other’s blood as complete and total strangers.

  A tree appears in front of the windshield. When did we leave the road? The shriek of twisting metal and shattering glass pierces my ear drums. When we finally stop, the pain is gone—and that terrifies me more than anything. Shouldn’t I feel something? I do, however, taste blood, thick and hot running down my throat. There’s so much. I cough, over and over, but I continue to drown in it.

  I want to open my eyes, but they’re glued shut by something warm and sticky. My body feels foreign and loose, like I no longer fit inside it. It’s much like the times when I was little and I used to put on my mom’s dress coat and heels and flop about the house. I try to move, at least I think I do, but I have no fucking idea if I make any progress.

  A new smell overpowers the blood in my nostrils. Burning. It takes me a minute to realize it’s gasoline. And then I’m suddenly warm. It’s a delicious feeling that glides across my skin, blanketing me from the chilly night air. A tiny siren sounds inside my head, warning me that this warm feeling is dangerous, but I’m too tired to care.

  The drummer groans. Or maybe I groan. It’s like I’m falling deeper inside myself and every sound is falling further and further away.

  I want my brother.

  I want my mom.

  I want anyone but the nameless drummer with ugly teeth.

  The feeling of warmth begins to slide away as the sounds grow more distant.

  One last pulse of fear jolts through me before it fades, leaving me alone in the dark. If this is the afterlife, it’s certainly not what I pictured. Where’s the light in the tunnel? Where are the pearly gates? Where are the robes and the halos?

  More importantly, where’s my dad?

  There’s nothing but an endless abyss of darkness.

  And me in the center of it all.

  Chapter Four

  Reece

  I have no idea how long I’ve been cruising the backroads. When I’m on my bike and riding the wind, time stops. I exist in a place where history papers grade themselves, I don’t need a cane, and good men don’t die in their twenties.

  In other words, it’s a much better world than the one I live in.

  I glance at my watch and see it’s nearly midnight. The G-SHOCK was a present from my folks for graduating high school. They were furious I enlisted in the army, but they’re also the kind of people who honor tradition, and tradition in my family calls for a gift to commemorate any life achievement. They’d hoped I’d take it as an insult, receiving a two-hundred-dollar watch while my twin sister got a new Mercedes for getting accepted into Harvard.

  Like a Mercedes would ever hold a candle to Sheila. And besides, I actually dig the watch, which would probably piss my parents off if I still spoke to them, and that makes me like the watch even more. It’s a beautiful circle of annoyance and reward.

  But my parents don’t see it that way. It’s always bothered them I don’t care about stuff the way they do. They don’t understand why I prefer my five-year-old Levi’s jeans over the designer brands, hardcover books over tablets, and fishing trips to the lake over Caribbean getaways.

  The upside to not caring about all that crap is that my parents can’t control me with money the way they do my sister. Do what we tell you and you’ll get rewarded doesn’t work when I don’t give two shits about whatever shiny thing they dangle in front of me—even when it’s my future.

  The farther I get from the city, the darker and more winding the roads become. I know if I don’t head back now I’ll barely be able to function, much less impress any knowledge of history to a classroom of bored sixteen-year-olds. Still, the road beckons me onward, singing a melody of rubber whirling over asphalt, just like a Siren. And I follow her twisting paths deeper, like a helpless sailor willingly led into the depths. I can only go where the song leads.

  And so, despite the logical part of my brain that screams for me to go to bed, I pass the turn that would take me toward home and keep riding. It’s not like I’d be able to sleep tonight, anyway. After what happened in the school parking lot, the nightmares ripple beneath my skin, waiting to bleed out into my dreams.

  So I won’t go to sleep. Even if I have to guzzle a gallon of coffee and ride all night.

  I take another turn. And another. I lose all sense of direction in the dark but find I don’t really care. When you’re on the run, it’s not the destination that matters, but that you keep on moving. It doesn’t matter I’ll never get far enough to outrun what hunts me. I can’t seem to stop trying.

  I slow down as I approach an unfamiliar fork in the road. My boots crunch against gravel as I survey the area. I glance to the left to see if anyone is coming, and instead spot a faint, orange glow in the distance. It’s too late for a farmer to be burning brush. Most likely a couple kids decided to start a bonfire. Not my problem. I turn the wheel to the right and creep forward a couple inches only to stop.

  “Damn it.” I tighten my grip on the handlebars. I can’t say what it is exactly that holds me back, makes me give the blaze a second look. Maybe it’s the soldier in me that refuses to stay buried in the desert wasteland where I left him to die. This we’ll defend, the motto tattooed into my brain during so many months of training, echoes inside my head, reminding me of who I am—or at least who I was. There was a time when I didn’t spend all my energy running from my demons. I used to believe in something. I used to believe in myself.

  Muttering another curse, I angle the wheel to the left. Just this once, Reece, I tell myself. I’ll play soldier one more time. But only because it’s late and if there is a problem, this far out in the side roads, no one would know about it until morning at the earliest. I wasn’t so sure about the whole this we’ll defend, but the very least I can do is dial 911 should the need arise.

  I twist the accelerator and turn left. Sheila growls beneath me, begging for gas, whining to be set free. But I hold back, cruising no more than thirty miles per hour. Because the closer I get to the fire, the more I wish I would have turned right.

  Giant plumes of thick black smoke waft from the vehicle angled in the ditch.

  Son of a bitch.

  I pull my bike to the curb several yards away from the blaze and cut the engine. I don’t get off the motorcycle, not right away. Instead, I blink several times, making sure the image before me doesn’t evaporate like the desert scene earlier this evening.

  But the tiny car with the fire beneath its hood is nothing like the helicopter from my nightmares. I hold my breath, every muscle in my body coiled, listening for the sound of artillery or screams.

  Instead, I hear a groan.

  Or at least I think I do. It’s hard to make out anything over the thrum of my pulse thundering inside my head.

  “Hel
lo?” I call out. My only consolation is if this is all inside my head, at least there’s no one around to see me make a fool of myself.

  Another groan. From the sound of it, several feet outside the car.

  Holy shit, this is real.

  Adrenaline jolts through my veins like an electric current. I swing my leg over the saddle, the pain in my knee barely registering as the need to act drives me forward. “Where are you?”

  The groan again. This time closer and to my right.

  I hobble toward the ditch, my damn leg refusing to move as fast as I want it to. When I reach the tall grass I spot him. He’s on his back, his face a mosaic of blood and split skin. His hand rests on his stomach, and something about the bizarre angle of his elbow lets me know he has a broken arm.

  The dude reeks of alcohol, so the cause of this accident is no mystery. He’s just lucky the only person he injured is himself. Dumbass.

  Trying to assess the situation, I step closer to him. Without knowing the extent of his injuries, I don’t dare move him. Luckily he’s managed to crawl a safe distance away from the burning car. I don’t even crouch beside him for fear my knee will do something stupid and I won’t be able to get up again. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

  The guy lets out choked little half sobs followed by ragged intakes of breath. Tears mix with blood and run crimson lines down his cheeks.

  The blood. The sobs. Jesus H. Christ. It’s like I’m in the middle of a séance to summon my desert demons. My chest constricts, forcing me to inhale sharply. I ball my hands into fists, tighter and tighter, until my muscles scream in pain. I won’t give in to the ghosts, not now. “Listen—Guy? You need to calm down. I’ll call for help. You’re going to be fine.”

  “But my arm!” he wails. “It hurts so bad.”

  “It’s broken.”

  “What?” His lip quivers. “Am I going to lose it?” He tries to sit up, winces, and falls back to the ground. “Oh fuck, oh fuck! I’m going to be a one-armed drummer like that guy from Def Leppard. I’m going to have to learn to play drums with my feet!”