Even Lovers Drown

Saylor leaned against the van, a swell of heat attacking her back. Heat radiated from the asphalt below and seeped through her sweatpants. The heat of the late morning sun pounded on her body. A triple attack of heat that would surely drive her insane in a matter of minutes. She should have grabbed the van key before storming out. But she had been too angry or scared or irritated. She didn't even know what to call the series of emotions coursing through her. Everything bombarded her at once and left her in a tizzy of melded emotions that she couldn't separate. Without food in her stomach, she didn't want to deal with her emotions. She had barely been able to eat one hash brown while sitting next to Blake.

Huffing, Saylor crossed her arms over her chest. Blake was so fucking full of herself. What did she think she was, a gift to the world and the female population? So she was attractive, in a popular band, and probably had enough money to buy twenty wives. That didn't mean anything. She was still a jerk who assumed anyone with a vagina wanted her.

Granted, most of her fans wanted her. Plenty announced their undying love for her in screams at the concert. And Saylor was sure numerous women with no knowledge of Blake's career wanted her, too. Blake knew how to be what women wanted, whether that was who she really was or not.

But Saylor wasn't a fan and being a lesbian didn't mean she had to offer her body to Blake like she was some sex goddess. Saylor's heart was stuck in a cooler, an unfortunate side effect of her last relationship. Nothing Blake could do or say would change that. The women Blake slept with were easier to conquer than Saylor, so why didn't Blake leave her alone?

And the statement she made, "You want me to slam you against this table and take you." Saylor shivered, the words flowing in her irritated alto evoking a familiar feeling. One she recognized clearly. She felt it for so long and so often that she recognized it before all other emotions. Fear. Absolute fear. But not from Blake directly. No, fear brought on by the reminder of Katie in those words. Reminders of what had happened, reminders of her daily struggles, reminders of the threats, reminders of fear that brought on more fear. Fear that connected Blake to Katie.

Peppermint still fluttered around her nose, though, and the lax smile that stretched Blake's lips remained in her mind. Her tousled curls, her careless clothes for the morning, her blue eyes, all so inviting. Saylor was drawn in, enticed. Her fears wanted to ease but spiked. Blake was attractive, but that didn't make her any less dangerous.

The distant screech of the building's door opening grated Saylor's ears. She didn't look to see who was walking out, keeping her eyes directed at the similar white van next to theirs. That was third time in the hour she spent outside that someone left from the building. It was probably just another set of lights and effects people. Not Davy, Sarah, and Jenny.

The identical high pitched voices arguing back and forth told her otherwise. Saylor turned her head, pulling her gaze away from the pristine van. Davy and the two merch girls walked in her direction. The smiles on Sarah and Jenny's face meant nothing detrimental had happened, that the argument was a joke. Saylor wouldn't have to listen to any friendship problems on the way to the venue. Irritated, she could still see the positive in that.

Using the van for support, Saylor stood and waited patiently as the group approached. One of the merch girls laughed at something the other said, her eyes drifting and landing on Saylor. Excitedly, she made a comment to other merch girl, words Saylor couldn't make out. About her, most likely. Possibly about what passed between her and Blake. The questions would fly before they got in the van, and Saylor wasn't sure how she would answer.

Sympathetic smile on his face, Davy lead the eager merch girls to Saylor, stopping them in front of her. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by one of them.

"What is wrong with you?" the girl almost yelled, disbelief clear in the question.

"I beg your pardon?" Saylor asked.

"Blake Andrews wants to sex you up. You should be on your back in her bunk right now."

"I don't—"

"You are gay, right?" the other asked.

"Jenny, you're gaydar is always on point. Of course she's gay." Saylor figured that was Sarah. Jenny wouldn't talk to herself, or Saylor assumed she wouldn't. For the first time in days, she was capable of telling the pair apart. It wouldn't last.

"Would you two leave her alone?" Davy asked, a mix of reprimand and humor in his voice. He pressed a button on his key ring and the van unlocked with a series of clicks. Walking around the front of the vehicle, he shot a "get in the van" over his shoulder.

"Kill joy," Sarah grumbled, yanking the backseat door open.

She crawled in, Jenny close behind. Sighing in relief, Saylor opened the passenger side door and slid in. The conversation hadn't gone too far into off limits territory. In fact, it hadn't gone very far at all. Thanks to Davy's need to stick up for her. She would find a way to repay him after tour. Paint his apartment, buy him groceries for a year, anything.

"You forgot something while storming out," Davy said, holding up a fast food bag.

Saylor snatched the bag from his hands and peaked inside. The smell of food she never ate bombarded her nose, forcing the memory of Blake's peppermint perfume to disappear. A satisfied groan rumbled in her throat.

She owed him big time.

"You're a god." She reached in the bag, plucked a hash brown, and shoved it into her mouth.

Another satisfied groan. So damn good and so damn unhealthy. She really couldn't thank Davy enough. For everything.

"Figured you'd want it," he stated, looking over his shoulder and carefully pulling the van from the parking spot.

"You know me too well."

Chuckling, he steered the van through the parking lot, careful not to hit the group of instrument techs walking to their own van, and pulled onto the road. The merch girls in the back chatted aimlessly, their voices quick with excitement. Saylor didn't listen, choosing to enjoy the passing scenery instead. Houses, people walking dogs, children playing. Brief flashes of other people's happiness.

"About Blake," Davy started, breaking the calm she found.

"Please don't," Saylor said.

Not this topic again. Davy defended her from talking about her past, defended her from having to talk about her feelings toward Blake, even defended her when she first met her—taking a handshake for her sanity—but he wouldn't stop bringing Blake up in attempts to defend her.

"Saylor, you don't understand. Blake's—"

"I don't want to hear it."

He took an exasperated breath. "Fine. I won't talk about her." He glanced at her. "For now."

"Thank you."

***

"I think I need to keep a journal," Hayden joked, sprawled on the bus floor with a video game controller rested on his stomach, "Saylor's making all kinds of new records. First to deny your handshake. First to deny you. And now, she's walked out on you. The first woman ever who's not interested in Blake."

Blake glared at him, crossing her arms and slouching on the couch. Thirty minutes left to get to the venue, and they would be short a guitarist if Hayden didn't stop. Saylor walked out. Great. Fantastic. Her band mates had reason to pick on her. Even better. It would take days, weeks, for them to forget, weeks for Blake's bruised ego to heal. Assuming Blake was willing to give up.

But Blake wasn't giving up. Oh, no, she would have Saylor. She would give Saylor this round, this battle. Blake would win the war. She was irritated, upset, but she would bounce back in time to get Davy's little sister in her bunk.

On the floor, lounging next to Hayden, Hunter smirked, finding humor in his brother's statement. Reese's laughs floated from the dining booth, where he and Andy sat. Andy didn't look up from his laptop, didn't appear to be paying any attention to them. Sage looked at Blake, sly smile stretching across her face. Blake caught the look from the corner of her eyes, an immediate surge of worry filling her. What was Sage about to do?

"Well, there was that one time in high school," Sage said.

"We don't talk about high school," Blake stated.

She hoped the firmness of her voice would put an end to the whole conversation. High school did not need to be brought up. That was the past. Sage, Blake, and Davy shared memories from their time in school together that the other band members did not need to know about. After all, Hunter, Hayden, Reese, and Andy went to different schools from them back then. As far as they knew, Blake had always been a lesbian heartthrob. They didn't need to know any different.

"I think we should talk about high school," Hunter said.

"Do you survive off people's discomfort?" Blake asked.

"Is that a serious question?" Hayden said, "He's like a leech."

Still smirking, Hunter shrugged. He didn't deny the accusation, knowing it would start an argument between him and Hayden. That would take up unnecessary time, and he was clearly eager to find out about Blake's high school experience. He stared at Blake, moss green eyes shining with curiosity. The whole band seemed to find interest in the topic, eyes glued to Blake and Sage. Aside from Andy, whose eyes remained on his laptop. He was listening, though. He had to be.

"I'm twenty-five," Blake said, "I do not need to relive high school."

"If you're not going to tell them, I will," Sage said.

"I'm not telling them."

"That's great, I tell the story better." She cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. "So there was this girl."

"Sage," Blake snapped.

Couldn't she stop? High school was high school. Blake didn't want to talk about the girl she used to be, didn't want her band mates to make fun of her. This was the worst time to bring it up. She was being denied by Saylor on a daily basis, her friends were finding too much humor in it, and this would only be more fuel.

"Oh, come on. It's not that big a deal."

"It is to me."

"The past is the past. You need to learn to accept it and laugh at it. Now, if you'll shut up, I'm going to finish my story."

"It's not your story," Blake mumbled.

Sage dismissed Blake's statement with a wave. "So this girl, Ariel Jones, she was absolutely gorgeous, pretty popular, kind of a mean girl, and allegedly a lesbian. Blake happened to be one of the many girls crushing hopelessly on her. Ariel had her hooked with one flirty bat of her eyelashes."

"She did not."

It took more than a flirty eyelash bat to catch Blake, and she had been a fair bit more selective in high school. Ariel had been perfect. Pretty, funny, smart, nice to Blake despite what Sage claimed. And Ariel didn't bat her eyelashes. She shoved her ninety-percent-pushup-bra chest against Blake's arm and smiled with her perfectly plump lips or giggled in the most adorable way.

"She so did." Sage continued before Blake could argue further, "Anyway, Blake liked her and during junior year, she decided she wanted Ariel to be her first girlfriend. Blake bought her flowers, chocolate, teddy bears, let her copy homework, carried her books. Spent too much time and too much money on Ariel."

"I did not."

Facts were being twisted. Blake did not spend that much money on some silly girl. Her heart had never been so taken that she would spend so much money that Sage would find reason to comment on it.

Homework, however, was another issue. She should never have let Ariel copy. They could have gotten in serious trouble for that. Blake didn't care that she was doing Ariel's education injustice by letting her copy, that the girl would never learn anything on her own. She just cared that they could have gotten caught, and that would have put irreversible mess on her school record.

Not that she still cared about her school record.

"I remember on Valentine's Day, you decorated her locker with cards and fake roses. Tell me that's not a lot of money," Sage insisted.

"She liked it."

Blake's words came out weak, feeble, as was the tiny shrug she gave under Sage's gaze. Maybe Sage was right about the amount of money she spent. It never felt like that much money then. Still didn't. Apparently, Blake spent more than she realized.

An unconvinced hum rang deep in Sage's throat, but she didn't verbally dispute Blake's statement. She simply resumed her story.

"After a few months of attempted wooing," Sage said, "Blake asked her out. She said 'no.' Two days later, she was dating one of the football players. Blake was crushed."

Crushed didn't cover how miserable Blake felt. More like devastated. She didn't sleep for weeks, cried her eyes out, lost a bit of interest in school, and acted like she was mourning the death of a family member. Extreme, maybe, but she was hurt. Her first and only denial of a date by a girl she really did like, a girl she thought liked her, it was heartbreaking.

And Sage was hiding that part so Blake didn't seem like a total pansy. She told the story of a girl who told Blake "no," possibly for the sake of embarrassing her, but she wouldn't let their friends know how extreme a reaction she had. Truly, her best friend.

"I don't see why she said 'no.' Blake has serious swag," Hayden said.

"And apparently knows how to make a teenage girl feel special on Valentine's Day," Reese added, "My fiancé would kill for me to do that now."

"What I don't see is why Blake didn't have a girlfriend before her junior year. Women fall all over her like flies on a bug zapper," Hunter said.

Blake cringed. Did he compare the women she messed with to idiotic flies that ran into bug zappers and died? Showed how he felt about her extracurricular activities. And that made Blake the bug zapper. She wasn't sure how to take that.

"Blake was a nerd," Sage stated.

Blake's eyes widened, and a flush crept up her neck. "Shut up," she demanded.

Too late. The damage was done. There was no way to take it back. Her band mates knew about the nerd she used to be and they would never forget it. They would make fun of her like everyone else did in high school. The fans would find out and no woman would want her again.

"You were a nerd?" Hunter asked.

"Complete with pocket protectors, large rimmed glasses, an awkward stutter, and the occasional trip into a trashcan courtesy of some jock," Sage answered.

But Blake changed. She wasn't the same scrawny kid who was afraid of her shadow. She didn't get pushed around by people bigger than her. She didn't let people see she was insecure about anything, because she stopped being insecure. Blake Andrews, lead singer of Say Goodbye, had no reason to be anything but confident.

"No way," Hayden said.

"How am I just hearing about this?" Reese asked.

"Because that Blake is gone," Blake said, "She grew up, told people to suck it, and became lead singer of a band. That Blake isn't coming back."

"You know," Andy said, turning in his seat and pinning her with his blue eyes. "I think Saylor would like the nerd Blake better. And I think your fans would, too."

"Yeah, well, no one liked that Blake in high school. No one would like her now."