Gabe
“Either you fell off the wagon or you got some.” Wes’s voice said behind me. I jumped and nearly face planted against the mirror in the bathroom. It had been a week since my dinner with Saylor and things felt… normal. For once in a really long time, I looked in the mirror and I wasn’t met with a scowl, but a freaking smile.
“Do you knock?”
“No.” He made himself comfortable against the wall and smirked. “Not since my best friend started acting like a total lunatic… I feel like a damn babysitter. Don’t make me get you a bodyguard.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Then again you know all about that headache.” He whistled and examined his nails.
“Wes…” I groaned and stared at him through the reflection in the mirror. “I’m not high, I didn’t have sex. I’m just… feeling better.”
His chest puffed up as a cocky grin appeared across his face, “Would this have anything to do with a certain individual whose name starts with an S?”
“Oh, look at the time. You need to go. I have to get dressed, and for the last time, no, you may not see me naked.”
“Hurts, dude.” He thumped his own chest. “Right here.”
“Play fair.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Sharp pain.” He winced.
“Son of a bitch. You’re a pain in my ass.”
“So?” He grinned.
“What? Your heart feel all better now?”
“Oohhh.” He bent over a bit.
“Yes. Okay? Happy?”
“Healed.” He jumped to his feet. “Oh, and thanks for being honest with me after I begged you for five minutes.”
“Three minutes.”
“I’ll give you four.”
“Wes?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not ready. Not now. To tell you everything, but… my dad, did he — did he say anything?”
Wes sighed heavily, all traces of amusement gone. “No, he was looking for you under your real name. The one on your license.”
I felt cold all over. With a shudder I exhaled.
“Should I be worried about our safety?”
“No.” I ground my teeth together. “He’s just… desperate, but it will blow over. This isn’t the first time he’s come up here looking for me, and every single time he goes back home with his tail between his legs. I’m careful. I won’t let him find me. Plus, he would hardly recognize me now.”
Wes stared at me for a few seconds before saying, “Do you even recognize you?”
“No.” My laugh was hollow. “Not really.”
“Thought so.”
“I’m meeting her, you know. In a bit.”
“The girl you said was ugly who you actually find really pretty and then treated like shit in front of everyone? That girl?”
“Yeahhhh.”
“Good luck with that.” Wes smirked and made his way toward the door. I was beginning to regret the fact that I said he could come into my dorm any time he wanted, especially now, considering he was all up in my business. Then again, he was worried and I’d made him that way.
“Hey, Wes?”
“Hmm?” He paused in the doorway.
“Thanks.”
“For?” He actually looked confused.
“Making sure I was okay.”
His face relaxed. “Sure, Gabe. Anytime.”
****
“You ready for this?” I cracked my neck, then my knuckles.
Saylor yawned. “Yeah, and that’s really bad for you by the way.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She glared.
“I may have multiple personalities but you’re freakishly bossy.”
“I knew this wouldn’t work.” She slumped a bit.
“Sorry,” I grumbled and placed my hands on the keys of the piano. “Swear, we can do this. Music just makes me edgy.”
“Why?” It was an innocent question. “I mean, you’re incredible. You can play guitar, the piano, sing — you’re a triple threat. I can barely hum.”
“But—” I patted the piano seat next to me. “—you can play. You just don’t know how to breathe.”
“Huh?” She inhaled then exhaled as if to show me she knew exactly how to keep living.
Good, at least I’d changed the subject.
“Watch.” I started playing, confident that nobody would barge in on us because, well, the barger was in the room already, and I’d pulled all blinds and locked the doors. Good thing she actually trusted me… a little. Thank God for fish.
I started slowly, my hands moving effortlessly across the piano. It was perfect, but I wasn’t into it. I couldn’t care less about the song. I tried to focus on something boring like dirt.
Which was really saying something, considering I was already starting to respond to the scent of honey and the way her warmth enveloped me.
“Now,” I said, picking up speed. “Note the difference.”
Same song. Different type of playing. I let every note flow from my fingers all the way through my body like my soul and the music were one.
When I was done, I opened my eyes.
To see Saylor crying.
“Shit.” Yeah, because saying shit immediately made girls stop crying. Brilliant move. “Are you okay?”
“That was beautiful.” She sniffled, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ve never heard anything like it. I’m sorry for crying. Ugh.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You must think I’m such an idiot! I’ve cried twice now.”
I shrugged. Actually, she’d cried once and even then it wasn’t some crazy sob-inducing spectacle, she cried with… restraint. It was almost weird. “At least this time I earned the tears.”
Saylor smiled. “Yeah, you really did.”
“Alright.” I stood and slid my hands around her waist gently pushing her toward the middle of the bench. “Now, play one of your songs, any one of them, and I’m going to help you feel.”
“Feel what? It’s just music.”
“Just music?” I repeated. “That’s like saying you’re just breathing, or I’m just existing. Not true. Music is a story. And you’re the author.” I placed her hands on the piano and put mine over them. “Each stroke of your fingers is a different word that describes the story. By itself it’s meaningless, but—” I pushed down on a few fingers helping her play a few notes. “String them together and you have a melody. You have a story. So, Saylor, what story do you want to tell?”
Her entire body froze in front of mine. Her warmth against mine drove me insane. Saylor began to tremble as if the closeness was too much for her to handle. If I were being honest, it was taking every ounce of restraint I had not to touch her more. Being near her was the closest to living I’d experienced in a very long time. And damn, damn, damn, I really did want to live, didn’t I?
For some reason I felt like we had stepped over some invisible boundary, but I wanted to help her. It was almost as if helping her find that passion was redeeming my own damnation.
Music made me feel alive.
And those who made beautiful music? Were like an addiction all by themselves.
“Yours.” She said it so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. “You won’t use words to explain — part of me thinks you never have and never will. So, show me through the music, show me your story, Gabe.”
The room was suddenly too small.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Saylor, my story… It isn’t a happy one.” I pressed down on her fingertips anyway as I helped her play a melody.
“I don’t need a happy story.”
“And the ending.” I continued helping her with the melody, my abdomen pressed against her back as I hovered over her. “It’s one of those endings…”
“What kind?” she breathed.
“A sad one.” My voice quivered.
Her fingers became strong underneath mine, her body stopped shaking. In an instant, her hands slipped out from beneath mine a
nd moved to press over the top. “So change it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Life has two stages. Birth and death. That’s it. What you do in between the two? Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? —Wes M.
Saylor
Behind me, Gabe ceased all motion. The only way I knew he was still there was from the heat that seeped into my back from where his body touched me. More warmth rolled off his hands where they seemed fused to mine. Any minute now, I expected him to pull away, to slip into mask number one or mask number two. Instead, he flipped my hands over, gripping them with his fingers and exhaled, long and slow. Seconds went by, but they may as well have been years. Each time he let out a breath, my heart skipped a beat of longing, needing more of his touch — more of something. My back tingled as the hard planes of his stomach pressed against me. I was in a Gabe cocoon.
And I loved it.
Until the music started.
With slight pressure, Gabe moved my hands to the piano, slowly, effortlessly placing them on each key.
He was playing through me, using my body as an instrument to convey the story of his life. Each time he pressed down on one of my fingertips or guided me to another area of the piano, I felt the sadness of the song clench deeper. The notes became floating tendrils of pain, each one of them slowly invading my body and taking hold until it hurt to breathe.
He moved faster and faster, my hands couldn’t keep up. I pulled back as he continued the song, in such a rush it was like he was yelling but doing it with music. Unable to convey it in any other way.
With a final burst of movement, he lifted his hands off the piano and smashed them against the keys, causing a chaos of notes to burst forth.
Gabe’s breathing was uneven, ragged as he leaned heavily against me, his chin resting on my head, and he whispered brokenly, “I can’t.”
“You were doing so good.”
“It’s like getting into a car with suicidal tendencies. You keep going faster and faster, needing the adrenaline to keep you alive until suddenly you turn the wheel and everything goes black. The notes, they go higher and higher, and right when I feel like I can change the outcome — I panic. Some things…” He sighed and pulled away. “Some things are better left in chaos.”
“Are you sure about that? Are you sure about perfection?” I folded my hands in my lap, but didn’t turn around.
“Sure.” He moved from behind me and sat on the bench. “If life was perfect, how in the hell would we ever learn to depend on someone other than ourselves? If anything, that’s what life’s taught me. The need to be perfect is stemmed in the very belief that it’s actually something we can achieve. Self-actualization — doesn’t exist.”
I licked my lips and looked down at the keys. “Does that mean we don’t try then?”
“No.” Gabe tickled a few of the ivory keys in front of him, the music note tattoos on his fingertips looking darker against the white of the piano. “It just means when you reach the end of your rope, you shouldn’t regret a damn thing, but applaud yourself for trying to do the impossible.”
I felt like he was using double meanings. The philosophical Gabe was a bit terrifying because he made me feel more insecure than the jackass Gabe. But the guy sitting next to me right now? I was beginning to understand, he wasn’t just one person. He was every person, everything, whatever he needed to be, he was.
Like a chameleon.
And suddenly the ending to the story made sense.
Ten different notes all clamoring at once.
Chaos.
Gabe was Chaos.
“So.” He sniffed and cleared his throat. “Now that I’ve totally ruined the moment by talking in my serious voice and scaring the shit out of you — why don’t we work on one of your performance pieces?”
“Okay.” I placed my hands on the piano again, careful to angle my wrists at the perfect degree and keep my eyes on the music ahead. Sometimes I wondered if my posture was better than my playing.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in calm voice.
I turned and gave him a resolute nod. “I’m getting ready.”
“To go to battle?”
“What?” I relaxed my hands a bit. “No.” I straightened. “This is the right posture, it’s—”
“If you say perfect, I’m going to kill myself.”
“Someone should have majored in drama.”
He burst out laughing. “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”
“So?” I lifted my wrists again and looked ahead.
“Fine.” He smirked. “Play just like that.”
“Okay.” I started one of my harder pieces, Piano Sonata 14. It felt exactly the same. The movement wasn’t as fast as some of the others, but the timing for it had to be perfect.
“Close your eyes,” Gabe instructed.
“But—”
He swatted my wrists. “No arguing with your piano master.”
“Fine.”
“Say ‘yes, master’.”
I smiled tightly, my eyes focusing on the music in front of me. I started slowly playing. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Bet I could make you say it.” His voice had an arrogant lift to it, which made me all the more irritated. Master? Um, no.
“Eyes.” He growled again.
With a resigned sigh, I closed my eyes. “Better?”
“Immensely,” he said smoothly.
Darkness enveloped my world. All I had were the notes at my fingertips. All I had was the music — that and Gabe.
He wasn’t saying anything.
Which killed me.
It also made me want to open my eyes, but I knew he’d probably just tell me to close them again, so I kept playing.
And then, with a teasing touch, his fingers grazed my chin, slowly tilting it down toward the piano while his other hand went to my upper back then slowly moved down until it was in the middle, with a gentle push, he urged my body closer to the keys.
Eyes closed, posture completely off, I leaned over the piano. Everything felt wrong as I continued playing.
“Slower,” he said softly.
With a sigh, I started playing slower. His hands moved to my hips. And stayed there. Other than jumping a foot, I was still able to concentrate.
“The music,” he whispered, “It’s not just your story — it’s your lover.”
“Okay,” I squeaked. Heat washed over me as the word lover bounced around in my brain. I knew it, but I’d never experienced it. How was I supposed to use something I didn’t know how to use? And how embarrassing was it that I was stuck in that tiny room having never been… stuck in a tiny room with any guy? Lover. I’d take him. If I got a choice. It would be him. But people like Gabe, beautiful people who had music in their soul, who knew how to speak without words… they weren’t for girls like me.
“Each stroke…” His hands pressed against my hips making me gasp. “You need to feel it not just on your fingertips — but everywhere.”
Holy. Crap.
“Feel it here,” he squeezed and then ran his hands lightly up my sides, then resting right underneath my breasts, he pressed again. “And here.”
My breathing picked up speed, as did my music.
“Slow down,” he commanded in that same irritating patient tone. “Where is this story taking me? Where are you taking your lover?”
“Huh?” I breathed.
“Use your hands to tell me the story — use your body to propel the story forward, what happens next… Tell the story, Saylor. Make me feel it without even touching you.”
“But — that’s impossible.”
“You can feel a kiss without touching someone’s lips.”
“I’m confused.”
“Concentrate.” Gabe’s voice was firm. “I want to kiss you.”
“What?” He was lucky I didn’t actually collapse against the piano this time.
“In the story.” He chuckled. “I want to kiss you in this story, so kiss me.”
?
??You want me to get up and kiss you?” Mind you, I was still trying to play a difficult piece as he was asking me this, which basically meant I must have had talent, because my body was on fire.
“Without our mouths meeting.”
“Through the music.” I clarified in a doubtful voice.
I could hear the smile in his tone as he answered. “Yes, through the music, show me what the kiss would feel like. I want to taste it.”
“But how?”
He laughed softly. “I’m touching them.”
“What?”
“My lips,” he countered. “They’re soft, open, wet…”
I squirmed on the piano bench, squeezing my eyes shut. “What else?”
“As I part my lips… I wonder what your tongue tastes like, what type of pressure you’d use as you pressed your velvety smooth mouth against mine. I imagine exploring your mouth not just because I want to — but because I can’t help it. I’m lost. And your kiss is my salvation… so, Saylor, will you save me?”
My fingers glided effortlessly over the piano as I imagined his mouth — the way he smiled, the way he took his lower lip hostage when he was deep in thought. The dark look he got in his eyes when there was something he wanted. Our kiss would be epic.
The music picked up speed as I leaned over the piano, pounding each note with the rhythm of my footsteps as I approached him.
His hands would reach for my hips as he pulled me closer. My hands hovered over the keys making my hesitation known.
And then I pressed softly against the ivory, leaning forward as if I was leaning into Gabe with my body pressed against his. My breasts brushed the keys. I moved closer to the piano and then slowed the music.
His eyes would close.
His lips would part.
And we’d meet in the middle — because both of us wanted the same thing. Both of us wanted to taste, to explore, to feel.
I slowed my left hand as my right hand moved quicker across the keys, to show the anticipation.
And then, our mouths would touch.
I pounded the keys with my left hand, making it the loudest part of the piece which wasn’t normally how it was done.