Page 82 of I Do With You

“Last tour, yeah? I think that one sold out halfway through,” she says with a friendly smile, “so you’re a lucky bitch.”

Okay, this isn’t so scary. I’m alone in a strange city, about to go into a club for a concert, but I’ve already made a friend in line. I smile back. “I didn’t know that. Guess that makes it even more special that he gave it to me.”

“He?” she says, wiggling her brows, which are both precisely done with matching slits. “Come, gimme all the tea.” She waves me forward. Normally, I would never cut the line, but everyone’s invited, so it’s not like I’m taking someone’s place. When I join her, she hooks her elbow through mine. “I’m Nightingale,” she says.

“Hope.”

The line moves quickly, and before long, we’re inside. I’ve been to clubs before, but this is different from anything back home. There’s music playing already, loud and thumping so hard that I can feel it in my chest. The stage is dark, the walls are draped with purple curtains, the black floor is filling with people, and the bar is backlit to show off a wide variety of liquor bottles. It feels wild, like anything’s possible here, and nothing’s actually even happened yet.

“You want to be up front?” Nightingale asks, shouting in my ear and then pointing toward the stage. I nod, grinning wide. Like a pro, she works us through the crowd, and we get close to the stage, just off to the right side a bit. “Good?”

I flash her a thumbs-up and she starts dancing, swaying with her arms in front of her. Her movements are soft and flowy like a bird in flight, in contrast with the DJ’s music, which is hard and fast. I wonder if that’s how she got her name as I copy her, letting the beat guide me.

There’s no introduction, no transition. One second, the stage is empty. The next, there’s a flash of strobe lights and Midnight Destruction appears, instantly going into one of the songs I already know.

The crowd screams, the high-pitched screech in contrast to Ben’s deep guttural growl, which only seems to hype them up more.

“Welcome to your destruction ...”Ben roars.

Except it’s not Ben. I know it is, but there’s nothing about the man onstage that’s my Ben. This man is angry, stomping around, and though I can’t see the lower half of his face because of the mask, you can get a hint of the way his mouth moves and imagine the snarl behind the fabric. His eyes are blacked out with contacts, and his face is coated with black paint, making him look like a void beneath the hood on his head. The only thing I recognize are the black button-fly jeans that send a jolt of electricity to my core when I remember trying and struggling to get them off so Ben could finally fill me the way I desperately wanted him to.

I’m in awe as the show really gets going. It’s intense, wild, raw. But I can hear Ben in the lyrics I do understand, though I don’t understand all of them. As they roll into a song I haven’t heard before, I can hear our story in the lyrics. He’s written song after song about us.

It’s poetry, but screamed out in pain—of love found and love lost, of beauty discovered and wasted, of fury and vengeance against those who operate against us.

In short, though it’s hard and harsh, it’s Ben’s love letter to me.

And I suddenly understand every word.

Chapter 29

BEN

Chaos in a bottle

Going wild beneath the lights.

Prettiest train wreck I’ve ever seen

Covered in your glittery midnight.

Coming to life

Resurrected from the ash of mediocrity.

Bury me six feet under

I’ll feed your righteous femininity.

Hope, when I have none

Love, when I’m all alone.

You make me

Unexpectedly . . . home.

Use me, take me

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