We're Trouble Bound

February

“Was that good?” Jaime hoarsely asked, sliding the headphones off her ears. “Can you play it back for me?”

The producers, Leon, gave the thumbs up from behind the glass and pressed a button. The track she had just recorded played back suddenly, loudly. It was devastatingly powerful and once it had finished Leon shrugged “It sounds good… your voice cracked at the end of… what was it… the third line.”

Gavin, who was next to Leon, interjected “I kind of liked how it cracked. It sounds cool…”

“I won’t ever be able to do it again,” Jaime said honestly. “Can we just do it one more time?”

Keep Your Composure was recording their third album in LA. They’d been in the studio for a few weeks and were just beginning to track vocals. Jaime and Gavin had been working with several ideas, including guest vocals. They were pleased with the results so far. It all seemed to be coming together quite well.

“Hold on!” Gavin stopped her before they would start the next attempt. “Someone has been blowing up your phone for like fifteen minutes, did you want to check it?”

“Fuck!” Jaime exclaimed. “What time is it?”

“2:45…”

“Fuck.” Jaime took her headphones completely off and threw them on the stand. “Fuck, fuck, fucking mother fuck.”

Leon and Gavin looked at one another in confusion.

“I can’t fucking believe you assholes let me forget… Fuck.” She left the sound booth and grabbed her phone from Gavin.

“What the—“ Gavin started.

“Oliver!” She groaned. “He said he was leaving the hotel at two to come over here… fuck,” she repeated for the seventh time.

“I thought you were going there later…” Gavin raised his eyebrows.

“I wanted him to hear the song today so he could get it right tomorrow,” Jaime quickly explained swiftly.

“Oh… okay.” Gavin shrugged.

“He’s probably lost as fuck.” She hit the send button on her phone and pressed it to her ear. She left the studio, exiting out the heavy metal door. It rang but he didn’t pick up. “Motherfucker…” She faced the building wall and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Yeh fuckin’ bitch,” a thickly accented voice said, causing her to whirl around. “Been tryin’ to call yeh, lousy arsehole.” Oliver was smiling though, looking very smug for having snuck upon on her. Jaime sprung into action, stepping forward quickly. She tossed her arms around him eagerly. “Ef I hadn’ had that fuckin’ GPS, I’da ne’er made it…”

“Uh huh…”

“I could’ve gotten lost---“

“Shut the fuck up and hug me, dickhead.” She pulled him in tighter and he very willingly let her. He snaked his arms around her waist. Her enthusiasm excited him. He hadn’t wanted to seem too eager when he saw her for the first time in over a month. Leave it to Jaime to be the energized one.

The specifics were not settled, not at all. The month apart had done nothing to define the boundaries of their relationship. They had not particularly discussed their week long tryst in England, Jaime’s visit, even though they spoke frequently. He called her nearly every day, just to banter and tell her about his day. And it wasn’t a chore; he enjoyed doing it. Talking to Jaime was easy, fluid. Because they had things to talk about, mutual interests, things in common. There was more to them past the innuendo, beyond the trouble.

“Yer huggin’ is chokin’ me—“ Oliver said teasingly.

Pulling away, she bounced back “Well, your boner is freaking me out. So I guess we’re even.”

“I don’ ‘ave—“

Jaime was grinning wickedly. “Let’s go inside. I’m in the middle of tracking.” She grabbed his hands, crossing her fingers through his. A wave of satisfaction hit Oliver. Just having her hand linked with his was overwhelmingly gratifying. It was almost like before this moment nothing had been real. He’d been walking around another universe, one where he was a miserable drunken wanker moving from city to city fucking any and every decent looking bird. And in this universe, the one with Jaime holding his hand, he was different somehow. “Come on, Oliver…” She tugged on his hand and pulled him into the studio.

--

“I wish you’d let me drive,” Jaime said. “You drive like a fucking maniac. At least I’d be able to stay on the right side of the road.”

“Piss off. ’S only the righ’ side of the road to yeh. ‘S the wrong side to e’eryun else in the world.” Oliver glanced over at her while stopped at a red light.

“Green light means go, Oliver.” She pointed in front of them and he hit the gas again. “You tired?” She asked.

“Not really... bit time fucked. ‘S the middle of the night at home.”

“Well, do you want to keep it low key tonight?” She reached over and pulled a piece of fuzz from his shirt.

“Low key, eh?”

“Stay in or something. We won’t have to go out with the guys.”

“Don’ yeh want to?”

“I go out with them all the time…”

“True.”

“And from experience I can say that staying in with you is a lot of fun.”

“Tha’s true.”

“We could buy some forty-ounces… order a pizza… get a movie and just hang out?” She offered.

“The two o’ us then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’ sound so bad.”

“So you’re down?”

“Aye.”

“Alright, cool—“ Jaime’s phone began to ring. She wiggled around to reach into her pocket. Nadine was calling. “Hey girl.”

“Hey girl,” Nadine mimicked. “How’s Cali?”

“Warm.”

“Bitch. It’s thirty fucking degrees here.”

“It could be worse… It could be snowing.”

“It’s supposed to tonight.”

“Oh nice.”

“Did Oli get there already? Or is that tomorrow?”

“I’m in the car with him now.”

“Are you driving?”

“He is.”

“Road head?” Nadine snickered.

“As if, that’s just tacky… Besides, he’s a shit driver without that distraction.”

“Fuck you,” Oliver spoke up. “I’m drivin’ jus’ fine.”

“But you’d be terrible if I was suck you off right now.” This shut him up fairly quickly and she started back with Nadine. “He likes the idea though.”

“Of course he does… Nadine was the only person Jaime had explicitly told about the situation with Oliver. Nadine was thoroughly amused by it. “You gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you have a big far crush on him.”

“It’s not a crush. Crushes are intangible.”

Oliver was trying not to ease drop.

“Whatever,” Nadine scoffed. “Are you going to talk about any of that fucking business that happened?”

“I fucking hate that talking bullshit. Where do we stand blah blah blah—it’s lame as fuck,” Jaime said, slightly hoping that Oliver was ease dropping.

“So you’re just going to ignore it?”

“There isn’t anything happening that can be ignored, Dine.”

“But—“

“No buts. I don’t know why you’re making a huge deal about this when I’m not even making a huge deal about it.”

“Maybe you should be making a big deal about it… This dude is like your soulmate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as soulmates.”

“It’s not as ridiculous as you think… Just consider this… If you ask him to fly all the way to LA to record a couple lines in some song, he drops everything to do it… You have Oli fucking Sykes wrapped around your finger. Oli Sykes, Jaime!”

“I’m hanging up now, Nadine.”

“You can’t ignore this forever.”

“Goodbye, Nadine.”

“Don’t deny it, you lov—“

Jaime hung up before Nadine could finish her sentence.

Oliver turned his head to her, asking “Wha’ was tha’ about?”

“Nothing… just Nadine being Nadine.”

--

“Alright, cool, finally.” Jaime crawled onto the hotel bed, tying her hair up on a ponytail as she did. She situated herself against Oliver, her back pressed to his chest. They’d successfully ordered one of the non-pornographic movies on his television. They were already each a forty into their night’s drinking. She leaned her head against one of his shoulders, exposing the side of her neck to him.

“Meant ta ask yeh ‘bout this tattoo before, but I forgot.” He ran his fingers over the word ‘never’ that was behind her left ear, knowing that behind the right ear read ‘again’. Jaime took his hand and wrapped it around her waist. A faint sigh escaped from her mouth.

“It’s the first one I got,” she said slowly.

“Aye?”

“Uh huh…”

“Wha’s it mean?” He rubbed circles at the exposed skin of her hip. He noticed her sudden somber attitude. This concerned him slightly. She was rarely like this. She was always willing to divulge information, never hesitant.

“It’s a long story,” she muttered.

“We got plen’y o’ time.” He didn’t mean to push but he was curious.

She chewed her lip and things were still for a moment before she continued. When she finally spoke her tone was no longer vulnerable; it was stronger and more confident. “When I was sixteen, I had this boyfriend, Keith… He was a bit older; he’d already graduated, the year before I think. He was in this local band, some fucking hardcore band that everyone drooled over. He played bass. He was so fucking hot… like the hottest guy to ever pay attention to me. And he seemed nice, you know. He held doors for me and my mom liked him. So it snuck up on me when he turned out to be a fucking douchebag… He was all kinds of bad news.”

“Bad news?” Oliver wanted to know what constituted bad news. Was he bad news?

“We got in this huge fight. I don’t even remember exactly what it was about; my memory is all fucked up… He beat me up pretty bad; he threw me down the steps of my house.” With this, she reached up to her hair, pulling out the pony tail and parting it in a jagged way. She had exposed a long white scar running along the crown of her head. Oliver had never seen this before. He was almost irritated with himself that he hadn’t. “Busted my head open… forty-eight stitches and a week in a medically induced coma.” She said it so simply, so matter of fact; like it wasn’t anything important.

Oliver’s whole body went rigid with anger. He tried to breath, employ any of the coping skills he had learned in those classes. But it didn’t work. His fists were clenching automatically. Jaime seemed to realize this and she grabbed his hands, wrapping her fingers tightly around his locked knuckles. “Hey, chill out… it was a long time ago.” But he did not relax. The only thing keeping him slightly stable was the fact that she was in such close proximity to him. “I got the tattoo behind my ears because it’s like sneaking up on me… So never again let anyone catch me off guard again… And never again be the victim,” she added. Her grip on his hands was as tight as it could be, not letting go.

With his teeth also clenched, he asked “Wha ‘appened to ‘im?”

“He went to prison. He made a deal, pled out and got five years for aggravated battery instead of attempted murder. He got out after three though…”

“Fuckin’ wanka…”

“He sent me letters from jail, after like a year. Saying he’d found God, that he was sorry. Fucking bullshit, really.” She shrugged. “He came to one of our shows about a year ago… It violated his parole to be near me and now he’s back in jail.” She seemed so nonchalant about it and that frustrated Oliver even further. How could she be so relaxed?

She tried to wiggle her fingers between his. She knew she’d upset him. But he’d asked about the tattoo and she couldn’t lie to him. “Oliver…” She turned over to face him. “Calm the fuck down, okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said but his tense voice betrayed his words.

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m fuckin’ fine.”

Jaime was scowling now, no longer relaxed. “Don’t act this way. I fucking hate when people act like this about it.”

“I’m not actin’ like anyfin.”

“You are. You’re making it a big fucking deal. I don’t need you to be angry about this, okay?” She climbed off the bed away from him. “I don’t need to be defended or protected or whatever the fuck you think you’ll accomplish by being pissed off. That’s the point of the tattoo… That I will never again need any of that bullshit, anyone helping me or whatever.”

Oliver didn’t say anything, only kept grimacing. Jaime was by the window with her arms folded across her chest. Oliver didn’t move; he was afraid that if he moved, his anger would burst and he would throw the bedside lamp across the room. So he remained still, body tense. But not moving was worse. Because he started to think about the story, about Jaime in a hospital bed. It made him sick. The thought of anything bad happening to Jaime made him itch. These thoughts, thoughts of how he actually felt about her, dissolved his anger. He sighed.

His sigh caused her to turn back around and face him. Her lips were white and she looked quite pale. She too was upset. “Oliver… I’m sorry I yelled at you… I’m sorry I told you about it at all.”

“Fuck… don’ be.”

“I can’t believe I even told it… I never do. It goes against the ‘never again’ mentality.”

“Eh?”

“If I talk about it… relive it… then I’m back to where I was then. Weak and pathetic. And fuck that. That’s not how I want to be. Fuck that.” She put her hands over her face and groaned. Oliver was already standing up and stepping towards her. He reached for her but she pushed his hands away. “Don’t fucking do that,” she snapped.

“Wha’?”

“Feel sorry for me. Don’t you fucking dare. Not you too.” She stared up at him, scowling slightly still.

“Who says I feel sorry fer yeh? Maybe I jus’ wanted to touch yeh.” He took her hands from where they were by her face; she let him touch her this time. “I do like touchin’ yeh, yeh know,” he smirked. Jaime hadn’t wanted him to make a big deal of the story and Oliver had made it his policy to give her whatever she wanted. So he would pretend it didn’t happen. For her sake.

Jaime’s mouth twitched, not yet a smile but no longer a frown. “I know you do.”

“An’ it’s been a long time since I’ve touched yeh…” He put her hands to his mouth and kissed each of them.

“Uh huh…” She bit her lip, glad that sometimes he knew the right things to do and say.