Page 61 of Grip Me Tight
A shiver runs down my spine. “Can you even do that?”
“I have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
“This is some fucked up shit, Vera.”
“I know, but Tanner. It’s over. You guys don’t have to convince everyone you’re in love anymore.”
My head snaps up. Sterling gets up off the couch and I wave her back down. She ignores me and walks into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. “Vera,” she says. “I thought the label wanted this behind-the-scenes look at his process?”
“Oh, they do. They love the idea. And frankly, they really like the posts you’ve been doing. Tanner still looks like a bad-ass sexy rock star, but now with a romantic side. But they want new music more, and they know Tanner isn’t happy about this whole arrangement. So, you guys can figure something out, as long as Tanner still looks good. Remember, no cheating, drugs or rehab. Oh, I have to go. Sterling, let me know what you guys go with so we can support you on this end.”
The call disconnects and I hold the phone against my forehead. I cannot believe this.
“Good news, you’re not going to be a fake daddy.”
“Can you believe this?” I turn to her.
She takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I really can’t. The bit about Natasha taking stuff to get your DNA. It sounds like a soap opera. That girl is crazy.”
She’s crazy.
You know how the stork brings babies, Tanner? Well, sometimes it’s not a stork, it’s a demon and he leaves his seed in your belly. That’s where you came from darling.
I’m not crazy.
Tension winds up through my shoulders. The whole thing is too much for me. My mother, not being able to write, Natasha.
I’m too broken for anyone.
“Maybe it’s not her fault.” I focus on the bag sitting by the door. It reminds me of all the times I sat my backpack by the Whitlocks front door. I never had anything I could call my own except the clothes on my back and a beat-up old pair of running shoes. And my notepad filled with all the things I was too afraid to tell anyone.
“No one forced her to do this to you. Tanner.”
I hear the ice cubes rattle in her glass, as brittle as I feel. I need to get away. I grab my running shoes and a pair of socks from the bag.
“I’m going for a run.” I pull on my stuff, lacing up my shoes.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe make up a story about your fling with a rock star? Your brush with craziness?” I bounce on my feet, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes. “You said yourself this was temporary. We can only pretend for so long.”
I head outside, jogging down the crushed stone path until I find an opening in the trees and turn off, my knees absorbing the change in terrain to the soft springiness of tree needles carpeting the area. The scents of pine and cedar mingle in the warm air and I drag in deep breaths, settling into a rhythm as I chase the sun slanting through the trees. I pound through the forest, hoping for a thread of music, but the only thing I hear are the insects buzzing around me and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I am empty. I’ve been running for as long as I can remember to block out the noise from my old neighborhood or to get away from my mother’s craziness or sometimes both.
The music in my head scared me at first, the little snippets of words and music always playing in the background. Sometimes it would wake me up at night. When I was little, around five or six, I told my mother about it and she grabbed my shoulder, her nails digging into my skin, her eyes wild.
You hear them too?
It would be years before I realized we weren’t hearing the same thing.
Running helped clear my head, made the notes and threads of lyrics fall into a rhythm that made sense. Once I figured it out, it became a part of me, like an injury you learn to adapt to. At first it hurts like hell and your body fights it with every single step you take, but if you keep running, your gait changes and you push through the pain and you miss it when it’s gone.
Gone.
My mother is gone.
The music is gone. Except when I’m with Sterling. What happens when she’s gone too?
I push and push, the sweat dripping down my face, my eyes burning. I’m better off alone. All alone with whatever legacy my mother’s left me.
