Page 20 of Creed

To hear him reject taking care of me hurt. I understand that he’s this busy rockstar, but I thought I was family to him. I didn’t care that I would’ve had to sit on a tour bus for hours on end. It would’ve been fucking paradise compared to the life he forced me to live instead.

Over the years, I tried to not blame him for the way my childhood turned out, but anytime I heard one of his new songs, or saw his face on the news, or heard his voice on the radio, the only word that came to mind when it came to Creed St. James was “betrayal”. I was a kid, rationality wasn’t a part of my vocabulary, as much as I tried to understand his reasoning. But in the end, no matter how much sense he made, all my mind heard was “I don’t want you” from both Asher and Creed. My own family didn’t want me, so why would anyone else?

I stare blankly just past Guy’s head and when he sees he’ll be getting no reaction or rebuttal from me, he finally gives up and releases his grip on me. Of course, he has to do it in such a harsh manner that has my skull bouncing off the wall making my head throb for several moments as he stumbles his way out of my room, slamming the door to his own when he finally gets there.

I take a few steadying breaths before I grab my old iPod that Asher had gifted me so long ago after he left for college, along with my backpack that contains my wallet and work uniform, then I grab the envelope from under my bed and quietly sneak out of the house, avoiding all of the old floorboards that creak.

Guy knows I have a job at the local bar as a waitress so it’s not like I’m sneaking out, I just don’t want to chance any more encounters with him than I have to. Just as I slip out the front door, I pull my old flip phone from my back pocket and send a text to my boss, letting her know that I’m finally on my way. Luckily Marta is super laid back and though I’m sure she’s unaware of my living situation, she doesn’t pry about it. Both avoiding stirring the pot by asking, and equally just not giving a shit.

I slip my worn headphones over my ears, leaving one muff resting away so I can keep one ear open to my surroundings as I open my streaming app and turn on the metal core station.

Of course, of-fucking-course, the first song that comes on is Silent Suffering by Dark Sins. The beat is slow and tortured with a heavy drumbeat. Their music has always sounded phenomenal, but it only got better with the addition of their new drummer, Riley Graves. My steps falter as the vocals start. Creed’s voice croons a haunting melody with a low voice. It’s a deep, rich timbre that’s been clouded in smoke. His voice has a sexy-as-fuck rasp to it, making the words he sings sound even more tortured and angry.

I’ve always loved listening to Creed sing. I loved watching him sing. When I was little, I would either sit in Asher’s room and listen to him or lay in bed and drift off to sleep to the muffled sound of his voice from the other side of the wall I shared with my brother.

My mind winds back to when he would play David Bowie songs for me so I could sing along with him.

When the chorus hits hard through the headphones and Creed’s voice bellows through, portraying the hurt and pain of the story he’s telling, goosebumps break out along my body, sending a shiver up my spine. He’s always had this effect on me, but recently it’s been for more reasons than him just having an amazing musical talent.

As a kid, I had an innocent crush on Creed. But recently, I can’t see his face or hear his voice without having an entirely different reaction. A reaction that has my skin flushing and makes me clench my thighs tightly together. One that has my hand sneaking beneath my panties late at night to relieve the pressure of the fantasies he invokes in my mind.

My mind feels so conflicted when it comes to that man and of course he doesn’t have a clue as to how I’ve felt my whole life. I haven’t spoken to him in eight years other than the few letters he’d actually responded to, not that I’d ever tell him if I did actually speak to him.

I’ve followed Creed’s life and career throughout the years. I watched his band rise to the top of the music charts and hold strong there for eight years. I’ve seen paparazzi photos of him and his bandmates and I’ve seen some personal images he’s posted to his social media from my coworkers accounts.

One thing I’ve noticed is that he’s never seen with women. At least, he’s never seen with a woman more than once. He’s never committed to another person long-term. Part of me wonders why as much as the other part of me is filled with a sick satisfaction at the possibility of him still being single. Not that I’d ever see him again in person or ever have a shot at him. If I ever did encounter Creed again, I’m not even sure how I would react. How he would react. Because no matter how I try to rationalize it, all I think about is how he rejected me and left me to a life of neglect and abuse.

My mental and physical reactions to him are constantly warring one another.

I switch off my iPod before the song ends and stuff it into my backpack as I approach the bar. I round the corner and make my way to the heavy metal door in the alley on the side of the building. Dave, our shift manager is smoking the last bit of his cigarette as I approach. He’s a big biker guy with a tough exterior and a soft heart. He strokes his graying beard as he snuffs out the cigarette butt and tosses it into the dumpster. My eyes catch his as I pass and he offers me a smile.

“There she is, welcome back, Colli-flower!” he laughs, offering a meaty fist to me. I roll my eyes at the cheesy-as-fuck nickname but I smile back at him as I meet his fist bump in the middle.

I had taken a few weeks off to finish school. I opted to skip graduation because walking across the stage won’t make a difference in my success and I don’t feel like listening to the deafening silence in the crowd when they call my name. I smile at the burly man and pat his chest as I step up to the door. “It’s good to be back Dave.”

I nod my thanks when he opens the heavy door for me and follows after me inside. He nods toward the office he shares with Marta. They’ve got a private bathroom and shower in there and I use it before each shift because I don’t trust Guy to not barge in on me while I shower. Dave nods at the office while dropping his key in my hand. “Go. Get ready. I’ll wait out here for you.”

I offer a tight-lipped smile and wordlessly head into his office, locking the door behind me once I enter. I step into the bathroom and wonder why the fuck men like Dave couldn’t be my foster dad. He’s always been super protective of me and he stands guard outside his office when I need to get ready. I’ve never told him about what my home life is like, but I think he was able to put two and two together when I continually shower here and not at home.

I stuff my regular clothes into my backpack and grab the envelope to stick in the office mailbox. No way in hell would I risk putting it in the mailbox at Guy’s house just to have him find it and snoop on the private things I tell Creed and Asher in their letters.

After a quick shower and braiding my hair back into two French style pigtails, I check to make sure my tight shorts and bodysuit are in place and the bruises on my shoulders are covered before leaving the office. The usual uniform here is a pair of cut-off short jean shorts and a barely-there crop top—think, Hooters, but more redneck—but between Marta and Dave’s protests, they insisted I wear a bodysuit instead, so that I’d have more appropriate coverage, considering I’m not even eighteen yet.

Just two more weeks.

Leaving the office, I gently squeeze Dave’s bicep reassuringly when he notices me pulling at the short sleeves of my shirt. “I’m all good, big guy. I’m going to get to work.” I say with a confidence I don’t feel before I place a chaste kiss on his bearded cheek and walk down the hall and onto the work floor.

I keep myself busy to keep my mind off of my letter of desperation and how badly I wish for Creed to answer me just one last time.

Chapter 10

Collins

(AGE 18)

Two weeks and six new carefully placed bruises later, I sneak out at midnight to check the mailbox one last time. Guy never retrieves the mail from the mailbox on the day it arrives, so I’ve been lucky enough to check without him noticing. I don’t know why I feel disappointment so heavily when I find that Creed hasn’t responded to my last letter. I’m just stupid enough to cling to hope when it’s useless. He hasn’t responded in so long but still I hope. The result of that hope? Still nothing.

I also notice that Guy’s luxury sedan is gone from the cobblestone driveway so I breathe a small sigh of relief that maybe I can do this without him noticing right away.

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