Page 65 of Deliverance

“Is it here?” A light touch on my jaw. “Or here?” Another one a little lower, next to my collarbone. “Or maybe here?” Even lower, above my left breast.

My nipples are strained against the padded cup of the bra and it hurts. In a good, needy way, which is odd because the sensation is hardly familiar.

“Yes, there is good,” I moan, half-baked from the effect of his lips on my skin.

And you better enjoy it, Andrea.

“What about…” Zander tugs the fabric down, and cool air prickles my breast. “…right here.” I hear him sucking in a loud breath before he lays a barely there kiss on the sensitive puckered flesh.

Say it. You fucking useless cunt. Say you’re enjoying it.

Panic crawls through my belly and twists my gut. “Zander… I…eh—” I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t breathe.

His body caging me to the floor suddenly feels too heavy. Foreign even.

He tears his mouth from my nipple and lifts his head to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Voice splintered, I withdraw my hands from his hair and bring them to my chest to rearrange my bra.

Zander pushes himself up. “Did I do or say something wrong?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Drew—”

“Please… Leave.”

He rises up to his knees, his eyes wide and confused, and I expect some kind of retribution. Maybe he’ll scream or maybe he'll slap me for wasting his time. But nothing happens.

Zander simply stares expectantly.

“Please leave,” I repeat, my entire body shaking, my chest heaving. I’m still on the cold floor with my eyes trained on the ceiling because I can’t look at him right now. Darkness coats the corners of my vision, reminding me of my own brokenness, reminding me that no matter what new name I chose, what new clothes I wear, or how creative I get in hiding my scars, I’ll never get back what’s been taken from me.

Zander shifts forward, reaching for my knee. “Drew, I didn’t mean for things to move this fast.” There’s fear in his tone, and deep down, I believe he means what he says, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment.

“Please leave,” I request, this time louder, my hands balled into fists.

He gets up to his feet, grabs his clothes, and walks out the door without a word.

For a while, it’s just me, the music, and the cold cement beneath me.

It should be peaceful now that Zander’s gone, but it’s not. His scent is still swirling in the air, teasing, reminding. And my mind clings to his presence with desperation.

I’m not certain how much time passes before I finally find the strength to fight the invisible force crushing my bones and squeezing my heart.

I push myself up, legs and arms weak and wobbly like on a crippled doll. My stomach bottoms out. Ignoring the wave of nausea, I straighten and stare at my tools and the film laid out on the paper. The emotions that rose from somewhere within start to choke me.

There’s an angry scream in my lungs and it wants out. It wants to escape. It wants the world to know how I feel. Wrathful and nasty, it rumbles up my throat, rolls through my mouth, and fills the studio.

Every noise surrounding me is wiped out by the sound I didn’t think I could produce, the sound of an animal in captivity, wanting to break free while knowing it never can.

12 Zander

I’ve donethis a million times, yet today, I feel like a fish in a tank with all these people gathered to watch me play.

Too many things race through my mind. Too many things I shouldn’t be thinking about while behind my drum kit.

On the other side of the glass separating me from the control room, Leo, Toby, and Luca are exchanging words. Stevie Malone, the second guitarist who’s been with the band for a couple of years now, is sitting at the far end of the couch, looking positively frazzled. Next to him, leaning against the wall, is Jacob Stall. He replaced the original bassist in 2016, and if my memory serves me right, dude used to have his own outfit that released one album via Red Eye Records during the early 2000s, when screamo music was at its peak, but musically, the band didn’t really go anywhere.

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