An intimate moment, a rare confession.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t angry with Desolé anymore. I couldn’t be. I don’t know what it was about her or how she did it, but there was just something in her that turned all my anger back into love. Maybe it was her eyes, so blue and gray that it almost hurt to look into them directly. Or maybe it was her lips and how they could kiss you right out of a bad mood. But I think it was her mind and the way she thought. She had this amazing super power that gave her the ability to see the good in everybody, even me. But the only downfall was that her super power worked on everybody but herself.
Desolé was secretly very insecure. She tried to hide it and she tried to deny it, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still there. She buried herself in eye make up, lipstick and skimpy clothing. It was like she was trying to impress everybody, even though she claimed that the only person she was trying to please was herself. I was a very privileged man, getting to see her striped of all that she hid behind. I saw her without make up or clothes or anything really. I actually really loved the way she looked without make up. It was refreshing and bizarre to see her look so simple and clean.
And after that night, we kind of fell into this weird routine of me calling her up, us flirting for a while, and then meeting somewhere that was at least semi private and having sex. Desolé was great, just all around. Even thought she was a tad bit of a freak in the sack. She liked to bite, which I didn’t mind except for the bruises her teeth left on my neck and chest. She also liked to cook topless when we were in a hotel room together. It was great, just laying on the bed having a smoke and watching her prance around the miniature kitchen wearing nothing but a smile. Desolé also had a fantastic sense of humor. She loved to play and joke around and be silly, which was something I wasn’t quite used to. We wrestled and just about always pinned me, we’d sing along to the Pixie’s while we were fucking, we’d take showers together. Being with her was just, fun.
And despite that terrible yearning I felt for us to be more than just fuck buddies, I had to admit that I was pretty damn content. I got to see a side of Desolé that was reserved for Milo and I alone, and that was awesome. I got to hold her in my arms every other night. I got to make love to her. I mean, it was better than her hating me to death. It was better than being stuck in the friend zone. It was better than a lot of things, but it still wasn’t enough quite yet.
“Hey Milo, have you seen Desolé anywhere?” I asked, jogging up to Milo, who was standing over by the busses talking to some fans. The minute I was there, they swarmed the both of us.
“Uh-uh, no booty calls before the show!” he scolded me. I blushed and rolled my eyes as I quickly jotted down some autographs for the over-zealous girls.
“No! Not like that! I just wanna show her something.” I exclaimed as the satisfied fans scurried away. Milo rolled his eyes as if to say “yeah right” and crossed his arms over his chest.
“She’s in the equipment trailer warming up. I’ll be coming in to check on you two and I find you bending her over the piano so help me god!” he threatened. I was already hurrying away to go find her. I trotted over to the trailer, slowing down and poking my head inside.
I was about to speak, when I realized she was playing the piano. It was “Claire De Lune”, one of my favorite lullabies from when I was a kid. She was playing it flawlessly, hitting every note precisely on time. I didn’t know she could play this well. When she played onstage, it was usually a raging pop-punk song that was being hammered out on the keys. But here she had fingers like feathers, light and graceful. She made playing it sound effortless. I was in complete awe of her. Soon I found myself swaying to the music as I walked into the trailer and stood next to her. She didn’t even notice I was there. I stood there, listening and watching as her hands fell gently on the white ivory keys.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.” she perked up after she finished the last soft notes of the song. I blinked and snapped back into reality.
“Oh, yeah. That was amazing. I didn’t know you could play like that….Where did you learn?” I said breathlessly. Her cheeks blushed and she tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. I felt like I wanted kiss her, but that was reserved for the bedroom only.
“My nana Margaret taught me when I was like, eight. She made me take lessons from her for years. I hated it, but I’m glad that she did.” Desolé explained, standing up from the sleek black bench she had been perched on.
“What happened to her?” I asked as Desolé moved past me to the center of the trailer. She bent down and touched her toes, obviously warming up for the show.
“She died of brain cancer when I was fifteen.” she said plainly, as if that were something that happened all the time.
“Yikes, I’m sorry.” I said carefully. Desolé waved her hand, as if trying to wave away the strange feeling that was in the air. She then twisted herself into a backbend and I couldn‘t help but feel impressed.
“Don’t be. We were never close. I hated for years and years actually. She also used to make me take ballet.” she said, standing back up straight again. I raised an eyebrow and she stood en Pointe in her Converse to demonstraight. She raised her arms over her head and did this sort of shuffle across the trailer.
“That’s really cool. I wish I could dance like that.” I said absently. She lowered her arms and then her feet slowly to the ground.
“Yeah, it came in handy when I worked in the club.” she said with a small laugh to herself, probably remember some kind of fun memory. I wasn’t quiet sure what kind of fun memory you could get from working in a strip club though.
“I bet. But hey, Milo’s gonna be here soon to drag you away. I wanted to show you something I read in a magazine today.” I said, holding out the article I had cut out for her. She beamed at me and nodded for me to continue. I cleared my throat a bit before reading.
“We haven’t witnessed a performance this extravagant and opulent since the early days of Marilyn Manson. Desolé Vogue’s voice is captivating and fit’s the front woman’s larger-than-life personality like a pair of rubber shorts.” I said, reading from the cut out. I watched as Desolé’s eyes grew wide and bright.
“They compared me to Marilyn Manson! Oh my gosh that is the nicest thing a magazine has ever said about me!” she squealed, taking the article from my hand and re-reading it herself. I grinned at how happy she was. It was kind of odd though, most girls would’ve gotten mad or upset if somebody said that they reminded them of Marilyn Manson.
“Thank you Gerard!” she said happily, throwing her arms around my neck and almost knocking me backwards.
“Okay little lady, its time for wardrobe!” Milo announced, strutting into the trailed. Desolé let go of me and walked over to Milo.
“Hey, can you meet me after the show tonight?” she asked as Milo tugged on her hand and headed for the door. The article is probably what put her in such a “willing” mood. I bit my cheek grimly.
“No, I told Ray and Mikey I’d hang out with them tonight. Maybe tomorrow?” I offered. Desolé frowned a little bit, but then nodded understandingly.
“Okay, that’ll work I guess.” she said with a shrug. Milo tugged on her arm and started to drag her off.
“Kay. Good luck!” I called, chuckling to myself as Milo literally pulled her away by the arm.
“So, you and Des are still just fucking around whenever you get the chance?” Mikey inquired as we sat at the bar right across the street from the hotel. I rolled my eyes and put out the butt of my cigarette in the ash tray in front of us.
“Yes, we are.” I said rather drunkenly. Mikey snorted with a laugh and I rolled my eyes again.
“You’re lucky. She pretty fucking hot. But don’t you feel a little messed up? Isn’t she like, seventeen? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” Ray interjected. Why was it that my sex life would always come up in conversation?
“I am lucky and she’s drop dead gorgeous. She’s eighteen, so its perfectly legal. Besides, she’s turning nineteen in a week.” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. Ray laughed lightly.
“Don’t you mean barely legal? Dude, your like almost ten years older than her!” he teased, making Mikey laugh. I huffed and lit another cigarette. “So what are you getting her for her birthday?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She said she didn’t want anything. I mean, its not like I’m her boyfriend and I have to get her anything.” I said with a shrug. Ray shook his head. “What?”
“I dunno man. Get her some perfume or a necklace or something. Use that creative brain of yours.” Mikey said, chugging the rest of his beer. I felt stuck now. What was I supposed to get for a girl like Desolé? Her interests were so hard to pin down because her mind was all over the place. Just as my thoughts started to wander, my phone started ringing. I picked it up to see it was Desolé.
“Hey Des, what’s up? I was just thinking about you.” I said, ignoring Ray and Mikey’s chuckles.
“I need you to come back to the hotel room! There’s an emergency!” she said desperately. I felt my stomach drop. I jumped off the bar stool and started to make my way through the crowded bar.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?” I asked, pushing out of the door and onto the night time streets.
“No, no, no! Just come here quick!” she exclaimed. “I have to go.” she said. Before I could protest, she hung up the phone. I grumbled to myself and stuffed it in my pocket before continuing across the street to the hotel.
I walked into the lobby and pulled out the hotel she had given me earlier. I hurried over to the elevator and was thankful that nobody was around as I pressed the button for the third floor where her room was. But then again, three in the morning wasn’t really rush hour for a hotel, or any where really. Sitting in the elevator listening to the shitty instrumental music they were playing was nerve wracking. All I could think about was what the big emergency could be.
Finally, I heard ding of the elevator and jumped out the doors before they ever opened all the way. I jogged down the hall way until I reached her room number, 206. I fumbled with the room key for a few seconds before getting it right and bursting through the door.
“Des?! Where are you?! What’s wrong?” I called out, finding that the hotel room was empty. I smelled something sweet wafting through the air. Strawberries maybe?
“I’m in the bathroom!” she called. The bathroom? What emergency could be in a bathroom? An over flowed bath tub? A busted sink? I followed her voice regardless, curious and nervous as to what this emergency was.
When I stepped into the bathroom, I was almost thrown black by a wave of strong smelling strawberry incense that filled the whole room. The only light was coming from a few flickering candles that were scattered around the floor and the counter. There were rose petals laying all over the floor. I followed them until my eyes fell upon the bath tub. It was filled to the brim with pink tinted bubbles, thousands of them. At first I didn’t see Desolé, but suddenly I saw one of her legs rise from the water, wet with bubbles sliding off it.
“So this was your big emergency?” I said with a smirk, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. Desolé’s leg went back into the water and her upper body emerged. She sat with her elbows on the edge of the tub and her chin resting in her hands.
“Come on in, the waters fine.” she said slyly. I let out a small laugh and kneeled down to kiss her. I pulled off my jacket and shirt, leaving them in a sort of trail behind me. The shoes cam next, along with the pants and my boxers. I carefully stepped into the piping hot water and sank beneath the suds.
“What is all this?” I asked, still in awe that she had put this all together. She smiled and sat herself backwards in my lap. I wrapped my arms around her tightly.
“I dunno, I just thought it would be fun.” she said with a shrug. I buried my face in her neck, which smelled just as good as the rest of the room if not better.
“I’m having fun.” I mumbled into her neck. She laughed and pulled her knees up under her chin. I rested my chin on her shoulder and stared ahead at her thighs. I saw something I had never noticed before. It was tiny, raised lines across her pale skin. They were so faint and so well blended with the rest of her skin you’d have to be this close to see them. I reached out and gave her thigh a small stroke. They were scars.
“Des, what’s this?” I asked quietly. Desolé looked at her legs and frowned.
“The usual battle scars.” She said glumly. I bit my lip.
“Who were you battling?” I asked, running my finger tips up and down her shoulder, feeling her skin prickly up underneath my touch.
“My mom, my enemies, the world…myself.” she mumbled, staring up at the ceiling.
“You cut yourself?” I asked softly, not wanting to ruin this moment.
“I used to. The scars aren’t as bad as they used to be. Milo says that one day they’ll be gone completely.” she said absently. I felt my mouth twitch. I thought about asking why, but decided against it.
“Hey, come here.” I mumbled, wanting Desolé to look at me. She turned her head. I carefully put my hand on her neck and kissed her. I wanted so badly to tell her that I loved her, but that was against the rules. So instead I just kissed her as best I could, hoping maybe one day one of my kisses would get through to her.