“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“We aren’t. We have each other. Got it?”
I nod reluctantly. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Okay. Can you bring some In-N-Out?”
I smile. “Of course.”
Then I gather up my courage and head down the steps to the car.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marina
“Never Let Me Down Again”
The moment I got the call from Noah, I knew I could no longer pretend that Laz didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t mean anything.
In fact, all my stubbornness and conviction over ignoring him had disintegrated the moment I came home from the movies with Naomi and saw what he had done to my place.
It scared the shit out of me at first. I thought that maybe some crazy serial killer had broken into my studio and left psycho letters all over my walls. You know, ones that say the same word over and over again or perhaps photos of me taken with zoom lenses, my eyes scratched out. That sort of thing. Doesn’t help that the movie I saw with Naomi was a thriller.
But when I flicked on the lights and had a good look, I realized it was the opposite of something scary.
It was Laz.
It was Laz over every single inch of my walls.
Poem after poem after poem.
Printed out on sheets of paper, taped to the walls.
Some poems were short and sweet. Describing the subject as honey.
Others were long and tortured, filled with darkness.
And others still were brimming with pain and beauty, both intermingling at once, like snakes wrapping around a caduceus.
I took every single one off the walls and read them.
I read them all until I realized that every single one was about me.
This was his book of Marina poems, printed out for me to read.
I sat on my bed and held the poems to my chest and I cried.
I cried because he was showing me his heart the only way he knew how.
I cried because I love him more than anything and his heart is all I’ve ever wanted.
I cried because I don’t know what it means, how we can find our way back to each other, the way we were before. I don’t know if it’s possible to go back.
But I want to try. I really do.
I just hope he wants to too. That this isn’t just lip service. That the numerous flowers and teddy bears and gift baskets he sent my way weren’t empty gestures. That this, us, is something he won’t run from again. I’m not sure I’d survive it again.
Then the phone call came from Noah, totally catching me off guard since it was so late and though we exchanged numbers after Pride, he’s never called me before.
When he told me that Laz was involved in a fight with Daryl, that Daryl was arrested and Laz was hurt, I dropped the poems, grabbed my purse and ran out the door.
There was no hesitation.
Now I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, picking him up for once and he’s opening the door and peering at me in disbelief.
I gasp, tears springing to my eyes.
He looks awful. Eye purple and swollen, lip bloodied. Bruises on his jaw.
“Hiya,” he says to me.
Oh god. Oh god.
His voice. His everything.
Hold it together, I tell myself. Keep a clear head and get him home first.
“Laz,” I whisper to him. Even his name sounds wonderful on my lips, no longer foreign, no longer bringing me pain.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says, still leaning against the door.
I nod. “I came right away. Get in.”
“You sure?”
“Please.”
His eyes brighten at that and he gets in the passenger seat, closing the door.
I drive off, nervous, excited, scared. One moment I fear I’ll never see him again, the next he’s in my car. His energy is so powerful, so large, it crackles between us, takes over the space.
At least I know that being friends with him is definitely not an option. I can’t even occupy the same space as him without my heart and hormones melting.
Stay strong.
“What happened?” I ask. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Nah, they already checked me out.” Then he tells me step by step what went down tonight. By the time it’s all over, I’m in awe.
Not just over what happened. To Noah, to his poor mother. Laz had often talked about Daryl being a tyrant, I just never knew it was that bad. Even Jane was always reluctant to talk about him and more than happy to leave him and this town behind. Laz said that it, the physical violence, hadn’t happened before with them but I guess all you need is that one time. It sounds like if Laz hadn’t gone over there to talk to them, it might have gone unchecked. It might have gotten worse and escalated over time.
But what I’m really in awe about is Laz. The fact that he would drop everything to go there, that he would actually fight Daryl over his family. I just never saw Laz as the fighting type and it probably shouldn’t impress me but it does.
I keep that to myself, though. I need to try and keep everything to myself. He’s always so good at hiding his feelings, for once I need to be good at hiding mine.
The rest of the car ride, though, is made in silence. Laz actually sleeps for some of it, or at least appears to be sleeping. I guess it’s easier than small talk. There can be no small talk between us. Everything is large right now. Everything between us has weight.
I love you, I want to say.
I love you and I want you to love me.
I need you to love me.
I need every single one of those words you wrote to be real.
I want you to fight for me like you’d fight for your family.
I keep it inside until it’s choking me, a hand at my throat, a vice at my heart. But when I head down Fulton Ave. toward his apartment, he sits up and says, “Can we go to your place?”
I swallow, surprised. “Why?”
What is this?
What are we?
What happens next?
“I need to talk to you,” he says. “I’d rather do it there. Privacy.”
I could tell him no. I could tell him that I just came because he was a friend—an ex friend?—in need and that we’re broken up and I’m still hurting and it’s best we go our separate ways.
But I don’t.
Because I want him.
I miss him.
I need him with every vein in my body.
“Okay,” I tell him.
I park the car in front of Barbara’s and I am not at all surprised to see a shadow moving behind the blinds. I know that I left my suite locked and that Laz would have had to have a key to access it. I knew that Barbara let him in. Shifty dame that she is.
We head through the gate and I unlock the door.
The poems are scattered everywhere, dropped when I left in a hurry.
“So you got them,” he says, looking around.
“I did,” I tell him. “Laz…”
He moves so fast.
One minute he’s staring at the poems, the next he’s grabbing my waist, my face, kissing me.
I gasp, completely caught off-guard, ready to push him away, even as his tongue causes my heart to ignite.
But then he stops, pulls back, cups my face between two large hands.
“Marina,” he whispers to me, eyes pained and wild as they search my face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I’ve tried and…I know it’s not enough. I know it will never be enough. I know that it pales in comparison to how I made you feel. I wish I could go back and take it all away from you, that pain I gave you, but I can’t. I can’t.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine. “The only thing I can do, that I can try to do, is tell you the truth. Give you my soul. Show you my heart. These poems, Marina, they are all for you. You’re my inspiration, my true muse. You’re the one w
ho makes my heart beat and my heart, my heart is all yours.”
I close my eyes, trying not to cry.
He takes in a deep, shaking breath. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I am absolutely, brilliantly in love with you. I was just too blind, too scared and too…inexperienced to see it. To let myself feel it. Because I didn’t think I deserved to feel that good.” I open my eyes and find him staring deep into every part of me, his eyes burning with truth. “You’re like moonshine on the darkest night. You shine a light on who I am and make me want to be a better person. And you’ve made me realize that I too deserve love. I never thought I did. My whole life I thought I didn’t. And now, because of you, I do.”
He pauses. “Because of you, because of you, I love.”
My heart bursts at his words.
I grab him hard, my fingers digging into his back and pull him to me, tucking my head into his chest and holding on for dear life.
“I love you still,” I tell him. “I love you always.”
“I am so sorry,” he says, choking up. “I am…I know I deserve love but I don’t know if you can find it in your heart to give me a second chance. I know I’m new at this but I don’t want to be bad at this. I want to learn, I want to learn with you. Together.”
I just nod, tears starting to fall.
His embrace tightens, he kisses the top of my head. “Marina, if you give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I promise I won’t leave. I promise I’ll love you forever, to give you everything you need. I know I’m moody and I’m in my head a lot and I know I’ve been just a horrible idiot as of late. I know all this. But, please, I need another chance. I need another chance at this, another chance at us. Please.”
I swallow thickly, trying to breathe.
If I was a more bitter person, if I let my anger dictate things, then I would probably push him away. Tell him it couldn’t work. That I was too hurt. That we were both too fucked up and complicated. If I was someone like Naomi and he was someone like Robert, then I would.
But we aren’t them.
Not even close.
He’s Laz. I’m Marina. And this is the us that we’ve always been. We love in our own ways, we grow in our own ways, but we’re better if we’re loving and growing together.
So I don’t push him away.
I keep him close.
Because I love him.
“I love you, Laz,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” he whispers back. “I love you so bloody much.”
He reaches down, grabs my chin and kisses me.
Long, hard. Full of life, full of love.
We stumble backward to the bed.
Our clothes come off in a dance of hands and mouths.
Our bodies come together with a meeting of the hearts.
Poetry at our feet.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marina
“Shine”
“Hiya, we’re Magic 8 Ball and we’re here for your pleasure,” Laz says into the microphone.
The crowd goes wild.
Well, they were already a little wild. Magic 8 Ball is playing a small stage at the FYF Fest (or the “Fuck Yeah Festival” Fest which makes the name a little redundant) and are playing right in the middle of the day at Exposition Park. It’s hot, bright, crowded, sweaty, I’m pretty sure everyone is high on a multitude of drugs and they’ve been “wooooooing” non-stop.
This is a big deal for Laz and Magic 8 Ball though.
For one, they’ve never played a show this big.
For two, it’s been a few months now that Laz and Frank have started writing their own material and half of their setlist is now all original songs.
That’s right, shortly after Laz and I got back together, he threw himself head first into writing original songs for the band. He says I’m his muse, that I inspired him.
He inspires me. Every day. To love harder. To work harder.
We’re head over heels in love with each other.
It’s not fading.
It’s growing stronger and stronger every day.
“This is so cool,” Noah whispers to me in awe. “Is that Trent Reznor?”
“Where?” I ask, whipping my head around, hoping to see one of my heroes. I catch a glimpse of a guy with short, dark hair heading down the stairs at the back of the stage. Maybe…
We’re on the side of the stage at the show with other musicians and VIPs and because big acts play this stage later in the day and night, it’s huge and the festival crowd spreading out in front of the stage is even bigger. I know they aren’t all here to see Magic 8 Ball, probably the band afterward, Chromeo, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel their energy.
So can the band. Laz whips into their first song, one he wrote called “A Friend for the End of the World,” and I’ve never seen them play with such confidence and vibrancy before.
It blows me away.
And the lyrics, Laz’s lyrics sink even deeper hearing them live.
“I don’t want to save the world. I just want to be with you when the world ends. My arms around you, my heart around you, anything to make you know that you were the only thing that mattered, my friend, my friend for the end of the world.”
He’s sharing them with the world but they’re meant for me.
I’m still his friend.
His best one.
Best friends in love with each other, which is the way that love should be.
“I think I’m going to be a rock star now!” Noah yells at me over the music.
I quickly wipe away a tear and nod.
“Are you crying?” he yells again.
I smile at him. “I’m fine!”
It’s just that the music, his words, his voice, it reaches deep into my soul, always stirring up so many emotions.
But they’re happy ones.
I’m just so fucking happy.
I keep grinning at Noah. He looks happy too.
Daryl, his stepfather, ended up in jail for domestic abuse, even though he was posted out on bail soon after (that’s what big bucks buys you). But he’s not allowed to come near the house, Noah or Laz’s mother, so for now they’re safe and figuring out their next moves, one of which includes putting the McMansion up for sale.
Noah’s doing fine with it. It’s been tough, obviously, because Daryl is still his father after all. Jane has flown back twice already in the last two months, just to spend time with Noah and help him transition, to keep the family together. They’ve been through so much already in their life but I know they’re strong enough to get through it. And now Noah feels he can finally embrace who he is. Right now, he’s a teenager who hasn’t quite figured it out but at least he’s free to discover it. No more judgement, no more fear.
It’s also helped Laz’s mother, Sarah, and Noah repair their relationship, or at least start over. Even she and Laz have grown closer since the incident.
“Do you think I should play bass or guitar?!” Noah yells up at me. “Or drums?”
“Drums! You can get all your aggression out and it’s a good work out!”
He nods and grins, pushing his long, pink hair off his face. He looks so much like Jane used to at this moment, it’s uncanny.
Magic 8 Ball plays a blistering hour-long set and by the time they do their encore—a boisterous, bass-heavy cover of Depeche Mode’s “Should Be Higher,”—the audience looks like they’re blown away (and definitely “higher” than they were at the start) while my heart skips every time Laz hits the high note while singing “Love is all I want.” He is so fucking good, in his element.
And all mine.
Then it’s over.
The crowd cheers.
Laz and the band are a sweaty mess.
I haven’t stopped smiling once.
“How was it?” Laz asks, handing his guitar to a tech and coming over to us.
I grin up at him. He’s wide-eyed, his dark hair sticking to his damp forehead, his dark-grey shirt clinging to him in s
weaty patches. He looks thoroughly worn out and high on adrenaline at the same time. A rock god.
“You were amazing!” I say, grabbing onto his arm like a groupie.
He puts his arm around me, squeezes me close to him.
“What did you think?” he asks Noah.
“You’re the next Jim Morrison,” he says. “But without the crazy.”
“Oh, he’s got a bit of crazy in him, don’t kid yourself,” I tell Noah.
“Okay, without the naked Indian.”
“Noah, do you only know who Jim Morrison is because of Wayne’s World 2?” Laz asks with a wry smile.
Noah shrugs and Laz looks to me, brows raised in disbelief, shaking his head. “Kids these days,” he mumbles.
I reach up and kiss him softly.
“Careful, I’m a sweaty mess,” he says against my lips.
“The messier the better.”
“Ugh, can you guys just not. I’m right here,” Noah whines.
I ignore him. “I want you,” I whisper to Laz. “Now.”
“Now?” he asks with a grin.
He has no idea how turned on I’ve been watching him for the last hour.
But I’m about to show him.
“We’ll be right back, Noah,” Laz says to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and pushing him toward Frank who is drinking a bottle of water by the bass stand. “Here Frank, watch Noah for a bit, will ya?”
Then Laz takes my hand and leads me off the back of the stage and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Frank yells.
Laz just turns around and grins at him.
I actually don’t know where we’re going. There are some tents back here but they’re full of people and food. There’s no place for privacy.
Except the porta potties, which, thankfully because we’re backstage on the grounds, they have fancy trailers instead for all the musicians and VIPs.
We head up the stairs into one trailer and find it empty.
Laz locks the door and then presses me against it.
I bite my lip and wrap my hand around his neck as he presses against me, the hardness in his jeans digging into my hip. He groans quietly, lips at my neck, pushing me further into the door. The handle hurts my back, but it’s a good kind of hurt. All the pain you get from sex only heightens the experience, especially with Laz.