Six Feet Under the Stars

It took less than a second for Jack to stumble to his feet.

I stared up at him from my awkward position on the stairs, still able to feel the moist splotches on my neck from his lips. My breathing was uneven from a mixture of good and bad adrenaline that coursed through my veins.

Brushing nonexistent dust from his T-shirt, Jack avoided my gaze and rambled happily as if nothing had just happened, “I should really get back up to the room. Half of my stuff is probably being auctioned off in the poker game.”

“Jack, I--.”

He cut me off, “I’ll end up with only a bottle of scotch to my name.”

Honestly, it was a high possibility that if alcohol was found amongst Jack’s possessions that Rian and Zack would have chugged the beverage. But the alcohol was not the important subject right now; I was more concerned about Jack’s frantic rambling and the embarrassment I was starting to feel.

The guitarist looked wounded like a beaten dog being denied affection from its owner in favor of the new puppy. No crafty words or lame excuses floated to my tongue and I could feel my window of opportunity to explain myself slowly shutting. But quite frankly, I wasn’t sure what had happened myself.

My body had been yearning to shout, “Yes! Yes!” in response to Jack’s advances, but my mind was obviously tied up with Alex. If I didn’t act fast, I was going to fritter my life away hung up on a past ‘relationship’ that had long grown stagnant. I had hit a brick wall with Alex; we were butting heads and unable to move forward at all. Our relationship was stuck in neutral gear.

It would have been nice for things to work out like in a romantic comedy movie. There would be laughter and a conflict, but love found in the end. But that was the foolish optimist in me. After the failed relationship with Dorian and the troubles with Alex, I was beginning to think romance was putting me on hold.

Alex and I couldn’t seem to give up the gun. It was like we were two people holding onto fragments of a memory, trying to shove it back together again without all the pieces. And, ironically, I sat there thinking of Alex while Jack was walking away from me. It was becoming a routine these days.

Despite Jack’s cheery words about poker, he began to descend into the darkness in the opposite direction of the game. Soon the retreating patter of his shoes on the stairs faded into an angry silence. It was like the quiet was barking at me, snapping hushed accusations.

I headed off with stubborn determination down the endless steps in search of Jack. It felt strange following his path; like stepping into another person’s footprint stamped into the wet sand of the beach. The overwhelming fear that if I didn’t hurry the waves would swoop in and prevent me from righting this wrong consumed my mind with dark thoughts.

The lobby was still illuminated in stormy gray hues making the visibility quite questionable. I was almost certain Jack wouldn’t try his luck braving the growling thunderstorm, and I was right. After a brief search, I found Jack slouched in the lilac chairs located in the east wing of the lobby.

His profile was silhouetted against a rain spattered window as he flipped a quarter up and down, catching it in his palm each time. Though he didn’t look up, Jack sensed I was there, “Heads or tails?”

The fire burning in the past few moments were only embers as I approached the band member with measured caution. As I commandeered the ataman directly in front of his chair, I told him softly, “Tails never fails.”

Flipping the coin, Jack quickly covered it with his palm and then stole a stealthy peek, “Heads.”

“Damn. I was never good with probability. I’m pretty sure I failed statistics in high school and college too.”

Jack laughed stiffly, “Maybe that explains things.”

Kicking a leg up, Jack leaned his foot to the right of me on the ataman. I distracted myself with looping the shoelace around my index finger while I chewed over an easy way to broach the troubling subject at hand. A name slip like the one in the stairwell was more than regrettable, it was almost unforgiveable. The sour expression on Jack’s face was clear evidence of that.

I drew in a steady breath, “Listen, Jack. What happened back there--.”

“Please just… just don’t say anything.” Jack’s blatant words were shocking. He looked slightly worried that he had offended me with his blunt words. It took me a moment to close my gaping mouth and swallow the words I was about to speak. I waited patiently for him to go on, but after a while it was clear Jack wasn’t going to approach the elephant in the room.

Softly, I bit my bottom lip, “Are you going to--?”

“I just need some time to think, okay?” Even in anger, Jack was still being sweet about telling me to get the hell away from him. But somehow the kind words stung me more than if he’d yelled and slapped me in the face. At least that way I’d know what he was thinking.

I stood up slowly and shuffled my weight from side to side, debating if I should venture into the conversation despite the guitarist’s protests. I quickly decided against that idea and flashed him a look I hoped would say, “Sorry I fucked up” before leaving the room.

Grudgingly, I scaled the steps for what felt like the twentieth time that day. By the time I made it up to the fourteenth floor again, I felt out of breath and exhausted both mentally and physically. All I wanted to do was collapse into the mercy of sleep and forget about what was happening for a while. Everything was a mess.

However, when I entered the hotel room Alex was still sprawled out on the bed. Caitlyn had stolen the singer’s room while Rian and Zack had finally given up on two-man poker. The cards were still thrown out on the carpet. I groaned and prodded Alex with my hand gently to wake him up.

The band member only yawned and slunk farther into the comfort of my bed. There was a little crook of space near Alex’s feet and I managed to squeeze into the corner, draping my legs over his hips like a blanket. That got him awake.

Even in the midnight light, the bloodshot eyes of Alex were clearly visible. He squinted at me until recognition dawned on him. A wide grin broke out across his face and he sloppily said, “Hey stranger.”

“Still drunk?” I laughed softly.

“Alcohol is good,” was Alex’s only response. I took that as a yes.

Jabbing him with my Converse, I disagreed, “Not too much.”

“Why are you down there?” asked Alex sloppily. He tried to shift under the cage of my legs but found it too energy consuming and soon gave up on the attempt.

I snorted, “This is my bed. I should be asking you what you’re doing here.”

The singer stared up at the white ceiling as he replied, “Sleeping. Living. Breathing. Any of those answers will work for me. And this sofa is actually really comfortable. It’s like I could stay here for a long time.”

“As crazy as it might sound, I need to sleep,” I reminded him dryly with half a grin.

“Bullshit. And come on, Melanie. Get up here.” Alex opened his arms wide and smile by way of invitation. With much less resistance than I should have taken, I crawled over Alex’s torso, pretending the act wasn’t the least bit sexual, and fell into his arms.

The two of us laid chest to chest on the narrow strip of couch. Alex hung his arms around me and I never felt as safe as that in the storm all night. Blowing out a sigh, I could feel much of the built up tension and stress uncoil from my muscles and leave me in peace.

“You smell good,” Alex whispered into my ear, tickling with his lips.

I shivered, “Do you want something?”

He laughed and skimmed his fingers up my arms teasingly, “Nothing at all. I can’t believe you’d even accuse me of such a thing.”

Chuckling into his navy blue T-shirt, I said to him, “You must be a horny drunk. Your ex-girlfriend is right in the next room. The one you’re dating again now.”

Alex scrunched his eyebrows, “Did I say that when I was drunk?”

I knocked on his forehead, “You’re drunk now! And how should I know? You say a lot of things to people. But Caitlyn seemed pretty adamant about the fact that you two are going to start dating again.”

“This is too much to think about. Right now my memory is shot. Ask me this in the morning and maybe I’ll remember something.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll be too preoccupied with a hangover,” I smirked.

“Alex Gaskarth doesn’t get hangovers,” he informed me with a scholarly air about him as I held back the urge to roll my eyes.

After a few moments, I noticed the beat of Alex’s heart aligned with mine. Somehow that struck a deep chord within me and I snuggled closer against his chest, clinging to his T-shirt as if it were my salvation. Alex pressed his lips to the top of my head easily and with every breath he took I could smell the alcohol though it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Do you want to know a secret?” questioned Alex sounding like he was emerging from his drunken haze for a moment of clarity.

My answering reply was pianissimo volume, “What?”

Alex rocked me gently in his arms, “I miss this.”