Wherever You Are

I had sex with Michael Clifford. I didn't mean to. I wanted to, but the same thought process told me that I shouldn't. He said that he didn't want to start tour this way. I didn't want to start tour this way either so obviously letting it go that far was unacceptable. I couldn't bare to listen to that thought though, because the way his fingertips graced my thighs as he helped me pull off my dress had me at a loss of words.

His mouth tasted like Gellingam's Mint Beer from dinner. Good, I thought. That means that I must taste like the strawberry vodka. I wanted him to remember me like that. No, I needed him to remember me like that. I wanted him to think of me and be assaulted by the scent of my "Velvet Sugar" shampoo. I wanted to scar him with the memory of seeing my black lace bra that he found underneath my Iron Fist dress. If the sharp breath he took as he saw it was any indication, then we were off to a good start. "Michael looks like a kitten." I had heard someone say that at rehearsal once, but I thought that it was an absurd observation to have about someone. That was what I believed until I sat on top of that certain Michael, naked and covered with small goosebumps that freckled my pale complexion, and saw him look up at me with an expression of wonder. He was making it too easy.

Minutes melted away. They usually do when you're met with a certain pleasure. I'm not typically the vocal type, but damn if he didn't have my head rolling back. I begged when he asked me to, and he was happy to oblige in the strange fetishes I held dear. Still, something about those fleeting moments felt off. Was he looking at me too much? I tried to divert my gaze and was met with a painting of perennials. Bold reds and muted yellows flooded the frame while Michael groaned into the soft skin of my neck. His hands suddenly moved from their position underneath my hips, where he had been holding me as close to him as he could get me, and instead pulled my face towards him. Our lips met again, for what felt like the millionth time. And just as quickly as I questioned if this was a bad idea, I could feel myself falling through yet again. There were no waves or ripples or emotional wind. There was no surf or beaming sunlight. There was only the violent way my body tensed as my back raised and my hips jolted in place, all at once as I dissolved against him. Weak and tired and covered in sweat, I began to hate the high pitched squealing that pulled upward from my throat as his bones pushed harder against my own. And just like that, he cursed against my mouth, one hand attached to my chest and the other held above my head for much needed leverage. I could feel him twitch over me, against me, and suddenly I didn't regret it anymore as pride swept through my veins and across my face. I chuckled to myself as he rolled away and laid on his back rather briefly before departing to the bathroom. Upon his return, he climbed into the bed beside me and wrapped his arm around me. My body froze entirely but I didn't know what to say without hurting his feelings. Instead of risking my good mood, I relented and tried to fall asleep despite the annoyance.

I recognized the street as I stood on the sidewalk, posed just outside of HEY at Chuo Dori. I was fourteen, and still waiting for Caleb to show up. He was notorious for being late, but he was more infamous for blowing me off. When he finally arrived, an hour late, he swept in with his friends Takashi and Naota. The three boys laughed, a trio of troublemakers who wanted to rule the city. They were barely known around Akihabara, and even then their fame only came from the tricks they played and laws they broke. If Caleb's parents weren't already citizens, he probably would have faced deportation. Instead, he was a sixteen year old boy who did sixteen year old things like tell his girlfriend to wait for him at the arcade. He saw me standing there and didn't question why I avoided his gaze. Instead, he wrapped one arm around my waist and pushed me up against the cold brick of the building. It felt like ice had launched down my spine. Caleb leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head so that he was forced to kiss me on the cheek instead. He grumbled a curse under his breath and muttered in sloppy Japanese that I was being obnoxious.

He spent his whole life there with his parents who taught at a local university. His upbringing was entirely different from mine as my own parents were missionaries for the church of St Thomas. Before I met Caleb, I wasn't allowed to wear pants or read books or listen to anything but the good old gospel. The only reason I was allowed to attend public school at all was because my parents wanted me to convert the other students. Instead, Caleb tore into my life and made me realize the void that stifled my existence. He introduced me to The Misfits and Sex Pistols. He taught me how to kiss and how to smoke Blast cigarettes. I was fourteen, but I already had a padlock inscribed with the letter C chained around my neck and a handful of reasons why I had already had sex. I thought he was going to rescue me somehow, and rip me away from my parents and their insane religious beliefs. He fucked me up, instead. So we stood outside of that arcade, his friends laughing at the stupid scene we were. He called me a bitch and I called him a jerk. I told him that I hated him and he told me that he would cut me loose. Within twenty minutes we were kissing until he pulled me inside, an arm around my shoulders as he lead me around like the puppy that I was.

I woke up to the sunlight burning through my closed eyelids. I was clammy and hot, and the dream that I'd had about the days I'd rather forget was more than enough explanation. Michael was still sleeping, his long arm still weighing down on me. Somewhere in the middle of the night, our legs became intertwined and he had buried his face into my hair. I was annoyed by it. We'd slept together, but that didn't mean that I wanted to cuddle and actually sleep together. I grimaced and peeled our bodies apart, starting by removing his arm and letting it fall and smack himself in the abdomen. He awoke with a jolt.

His eyes darted around the room as I pulled myself up and out of the bed to get dressed. I opened my suitcase on the foot of the bed as Michael stretched his arms above his head and gave a low pitched yawn. "What time is it?" He asked, clearly still too sleepy to function. I didn't bother to look at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand. "Time for you to leave." I muttered, with no verbal reaction from Michael. I could see him in my peripheral vision, sitting in bed and watching me pull on a pair of dark wash shorts to cover my plain black hipster briefs. A whole lot of nothing happened aside from me finishing my outfit so, after I pulled my shirt over my head, I picked up his clothes off of the floor and tossed them at him. He looked offended but I didn't feel bad for him. He couldn't honestly have expected more from me, right?

"Are you going to get dressed any time soon?" I asked sarcastically, zipping my suitcase closed and placing it beside the closet. Michael let out a deep sigh and nearly leapt from the bed to get dressed. I could feel his thoughts of me burn and it hurt rather badly. I interrupted his racing mind, once again. "You said that you didn't want to start tour this way." It was true, he had said that. Perhaps even those exact words. As he pulled on his shirt, he scoffed and retorted quickly. "Yeah but fuck me for thinking that we both had a good time." I rolled my eyes and turned away from him, leaning against the wall so that my forehead was flesh against the wallpaper.

"It was fun, kid." He interrupted me, his voice rough. "I'm not a kid." I was growing tired of him saying that.

"I don't want a boyfriend, Michael." His sudden burst of laughter made me jump away from the wall and turn back around. "And you think that's what I want? A relationship? You're a good screw but nobody's that good." I glared, picking up one of his shoes from its place on the floor beside the foot of the bed, and I tossed it towards the place where he stood. The first show struck his arm, and the second one fell just short of him and landed at his feet. "If you don't want a girlfriend then what the fuck was with the god damn snuggle fest?" It was his turn to roll his eyes now. "Don't act like you don't get lonely. Don't you ever just want another person there?"

It hit me hard that he could openly admit it about himself. I'd spent several years of my life trying to forget what intimate human touch was like. I'd slept with people, sure, but I had never needed anyone to hold me. Still, as I took a seat on the edge of the bed I couldn't help but realize that it had felt nice. There was a certain feeling of safety when we were intertwined in that bed. I swallowed gently and Michael sat down beside me to put on his shoes. I looked straight ahead and could see our reflection in a wardrobe mirror. He was so colorful next to me, a blur of black with a bright red spot from the right side of my head. I needed to brush my disaster of a hairstyle, but first I needed to establish the boundaries of this tour.

"Okay then. So, then we can both accept that the sex is good and the snuggling is comforting." I could see him smile wide with pride in himself, but I interrupted him before he could comment on it. "But we never get emotional and attached." Way to make it sound like a movie, I thought. I knew that I could trust myself to keep a tight grip on what was sexual and what was simply emotional and passionate. Could I trust Michael, though? He seemed to think so because with a nod of his head, he had agreed. "So," he mumbled, hardly annunciating before continuing in a much clearer fashion. "The sex is good, eh?" I chuckled at the inquisitiveness of his voice and attempted to leave my seat. Before I could put distance between me and the bed, however, Michael reached out and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me down to the bed with him. Just like that, our clothes were back on the floor.

We ordered room service somewhere after lunch. I could only tell that it was after noon because they switched menus. We ate a pizza made with too much care to be enjoyable and scanned for shitty programming on the television. As the sun faded into the horizon, we decided that we had spent enough time at the hotel and needed to make the most of an off day. We both redressed and walked down the block to a pub advertising half priced drink specials. I ordered another strawberry vodka, just as I had the night before, and watched him drink a simple beer. I watched him lick his lips between every sip and remembered those lips on mine, and the way they traced my skin in the dark. It was odd to believe that I would be so casted out on this tour, but perhaps it would be far more eventful than I could ever imagine it to be.