Like You to Me

I’d never meant for things to get so out of hand.

My father always told me to be responsible, to accept the consequences of things I’d done and own up to my wrongdoings. “Mistakes are inevitable,” he’d always say. “You’re always going to make them, and perhaps that’s the easy part. What really matters is what you do afterwards.” At the age of ten I didn’t understand what that meant. I knew he was subliminally telling me it was okay to not be perfect and to fuck up every now and then, but I didn’t grasp the full concept of it until I’d nearly lost everyone I care about over two stupid mistakes. To say most people learn from their mistakes would be a general assumption. I’d never been one for statistics so I can’t tell you what percentage of society never made the same mistake twice. What I can tell you, however, is that I didn’t learn a goddamn thing from running away.

Looking at myself in the mirror became a chore. I used to like what I saw -- not speaking in terms of appearance. When I used to look in the mirror I saw a girl who overcame every obstacle in her way; a girl who succeeded despite having no one to believe in her. Since then it’d turned into something I only did when I had to: getting a few Ibuprofen out of the medicine cabinet, wiping the fog off of it after a shower so I could see when I brushed my teeth -- stupid, everyday tasks like those. And they caused such problems. Every time I looked in the mirror and saw my eyes staring back at me, all I saw was a liar, a fake. Somehow I’d lost sight of my father’s teachings and became someone he advised me never to be.

I thought two weeks would give me enough time to clear my head. The plan was to let things simmer down while I was off on tour with my brother. There was something calming about the open road. There you had no limits; wherever you wanted to go you could. Everything was so congested at home. There was no freedom there -- especially after losing everything and everyone you thought you never would. I quickly learned that two weeks virtually meant nothing when you have so much at stake. The days go by more quickly than they normally would. Clocks begin taunting you, too, making sure you take notice of how little relevance minutes and hours have when you’re counting on them to move slowly.

Week one was when the first signs of disaster came shining through. For the first couple days after my grand departure, Mike called and texted non-stop. It was innocent; he wanted to know what happened, where I’d gone, and if we could meet up to talk. (Only this time he suggested a public place, like a restaurant we both enjoyed or a coffeehouse. We no longer trusted ourselves around one another.) My fight-or-flight ability got the best of me and I ignored every message he sent -- once again running away when I knew it was only going to make things worse. Part of me didn’t care at that point. The realization that I’d never have Mike had settled in long before we got ourselves into such a mess and it hurt. It hurt so badly that I wanted him to hurt just as much. Why I ever thought something like ignoring a phone call would do as much damage, I don’t know. I was positive he’d never hurt like I was.

As the days flew by, the messages and phone calls got less frequent. By the middle of week two they stopped completely. I no longer woke up in the morning with unread text messages and voicemails I hadn’t listened to. Knowing everything was my fault pushed me away. Accepting that I was wrong went hand-in-hand with my father’s policy of always owning up to your mistakes, and I wasn’t ready to do that. I liked to pretend Mike didn’t hate me and that things were back to normal. But that was all make believe; reality couldn’t have been farther away from the things I envisioned in my head when I couldn’t sleep at night.

The day before I was scheduled to leave for tour I got a message from Adele that someone was looking for me. Once again, she was preparing the office for my departure. Organization was her strong point; she had inventory lists and daily income sheets galore. There were more than plenty of each to last me multiple tours, let alone the four-week one I was about to embark on. When I made a brief stop into the office that afternoon, I was unpleasantly surprised to come face-to-face with the eldest Fuentes brother.

Vic didn’t look happy to see me, and understandably so. He’d made it quite clear that he wasn’t going to take sides. I didn’t expect him to. When his brother was making every effort to contact me and I resisted all of them, things weren’t going to be in my favor. I was okay with that. I deserved it, honestly.

I motioned for Vic to join me outside, in the back of the office where we’d be safe from curious ears and eyes. There was a small glass table with two sets of chairs set up; Vic took a seat directly across from me and just stared at whatever was behind me. No eye contact was made until I finally broke the silence.

“Why are you here?” I didn’t intend for it to come out rudely and I’m glad it didn’t. I was genuinely curious about Vic’s intentions. Rarely did he do something on a whim, without thinking it over time and time again.

“You’re leaving tomorrow aren’t you?” I nodded. “I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you a safe tour.”

“Kind of weird timing, huh? You don’t talk to me for two weeks then show up the day before I leave for a month.”

“And whose fault is that, Shea?” he fired, and it became obvious that he wasn’t just there to wish me a safe trip. There was something more behind the surface.

“I’m not going to argue with you about what’s going on between me and your brother,” I replied as I stood up. “It’s our business. If the rest of you want to act like I don’t exist, fine, just don’t show up only when it’s convenient.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have left things with Vic on such a sour note, but I stood my ground. Since everything with Mike had started, I was the one everyone pushed the blame onto because I was the easy target. I was the one who ran away. Mike, although he tried to fix things, wasn’t the saint everyone was making him out to be. As far as I was concerned it took two people to have sex; we’d gotten into this mess together. If there was any hope of us getting out, we’d have to be on the same page. Having sex and ripping one another’s clothes off when we were within a two-foot radius of each other was not the way to go about doing so.

Since my conversation with Vic left me in a bad mood, I told Adele I’d be by in the morning to pick up the boxes of attire I’d be taking with me on tour. We weren’t scheduled to leave until 11am; that gave me enough time to pick up the boxes, load them into the trailer, and get my own belongings situated. All of my personal clothes were already packed -- the only thing left was waiting.

As soon as I got into my car and put on my seatbelt, my phone began ringing. After Mike stopped calling I started getting a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach because I thought it’d be him. But it wasn’t, it was my brother.

“What?”

“A little stressed, are we?”

“I’m busy. What do you want?”

“I was just calling to let you know we’re leaving at nine tomorrow morning instead of eleven.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked. “I just left the office without the boxes because I told Adele I’d be by in the morning-”

“Uh, Shea, are you forgetting that you own the place and can go in there whenever you want?”

I paused. “Well, whatever,” I grumbled. “Why the change in plans?”

“We picked names out of a hat for who got first driving shift and it was Zach, and you know how he drives.”

Zach was the band’s drummer. At only twenty, he was the youngest member, but he surely didn’t act like it. He always drove the speed limit, even on the highway, and it drove the rest of his bandmates absolutely crazy. In general, he was a nice guy. He was definitely the most welcoming when I first went on tour with them a year and a half ago. He was only eighteen then so we were kind of in the same boat: we both didn’t know what to expect and we both got shit the entire tour. Him because he was the youngest and me because I was the only girl.

Aside from never taking risks, Zach didn’t have many flaws. There was a motivation in him that wasn’t present in anyone else; this was more than just a job to him. Throughout the hundreds of heart-to-heart conversations we’d had, I’d learned that he started playing the drums when he was only eight years old. His father bought him his first drum kit that Christmas; he passed away four months later. Ever since then drumming was more than just a hobby; it was something to memorialize his dad. That was something I could (almost) understand. While I hadn’t lost a parent permanently, I’d lost one as close to permanent as I could without them dying.

“Right,” I agreed, “that’s probably a good idea then. Just call me when you’re on your way to get me, okay?”

Saxon agreed and I disconnected the call. I hadn’t left the parking lot of the office the entire duration of our conversation so I could’ve gone back inside, got the boxes, and went on my way for the second time. Vic’s truck was still there so I didn’t, I just drove back to my apartment and told myself I’d get them later on in the evening. It wasn’t like I had anything planned; the night before tour was usually spent with a few close friends but they’d all vanished. My night, as I envisioned it, would consist of double-checking my packing lists and taking the last hot shower I was going to get for a few days.

But the more I got to thinking about it, the more I longed for someone to be there when I left. Not just someone to see me off, either. I wanted someone to miss me, someone to send me cute text messages every second I was gone. Although I knew relationships weren’t exactly a walk in the park while on tour, I wanted the security of knowing I had someone waiting for me back home. The more I realized this, the more I came to terms with the fact that I’d never have that person. Sure, there’d be people who’d come and go and try their best at fulfilling this want of mine, but they’d all fail. I’m sure it’d be at my own expense, because I’d start comparing them all to Mike and none of them would come close. No one ever would.

A few minutes after the clock had truck ten-o’clock, I heard my front door open and close. If I hadn’t grown used to so many of my friends inviting themselves inside I would’ve assumed the worst, but I remained in the middle of the living room floor, huddled inside a few blankets with a large bowl of popcorn at my side. I was halfway done chewing a handful when Mike appeared in the archway, causing me to choke on what was in the process of being swallowed.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“I have not.” Mike gave me a look that shut me up instantly. I was lying and we both knew it. So I changed my approach and softened my voice. “What did you want me to say, Mike? I fucked up again and I couldn’t face you.”

“Then just tell me that. What’s the point in ignoring me and making everything worse?”

I wanted to tell him the real reason I was running away. He deserved to know, didn’t he? After all, we made such a huge mess together. I wanted to tell him just how strongly I felt about him and that I was scared of the rejection I knew I was going to face when he found out. Mike had been my best friend for ages; there were no secrets between us. He could’ve written a biography on me that’s how well he knew me. And yet there I was, scared to death of telling him the truth for the first time in my life.

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed and took a seat next to me on the floor. His head rolled back and he closed his eyes. The stress and frustration I’d been causing him was evident and guilt didn’t waste an extra second before settling in and getting comfortable.

“We shouldn’t have done this.”

“I know,” I agreed.

“But we did and now we have to fix it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, Shea.”

“We can just, like, stop having sex,” I suggested.

Hesitantly, Mike agreed. “Yeah, we can do that.”

A blanket of silence covered us. For the first time in weeks it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was a silence that felt like old times, like when we’d watch a movie together and we both ran out of questions to ask. We just enjoyed being in one another’s company. This time, though, things were different. Back then we were just innocent best friends; now we’d gone as far as two human beings could possibly go and we were trying to forget it ever happened. At least that’s what I was trying to do. It wouldn’t be possible. How can you forget doing the one thing you knew you’d never regret?

As I racked my brain for an answer, Mike grabbed my hand and entwined our fingers. If I thought just sitting next to him was bad enough, when we touched my entire body burst into flames. Want, desire, lust -- all the emotions I was trying my hardest to suppress all came out when we made contact. But I had to fight them; this was probably the last chance he’d ever give me. I could only fuck up so many times before he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and moved on with his life, never looking back as he left me behind.

Then I got to wondering: why was he holding my hand?