Page 27 of Come Back To Me

“Pussy is pussy,” I said. “When women offer, men take.”

“Not true,” he said, frowning. And then—“Ah, well I’ve felt yours and there’s no going back.”

I smiled grimly, his words not offering me comfort. And why did I need comfort? David and I had a deal. I was here to inspire him, not fall for him.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” I told him, somberly. “It’s all the slags who want to shag you.”

“Slags who want to shag me,” he repeated, his eyes glowing.

“Yes, David. You’re a musician. When you hold your guitar, women treat it like you’re holding your dick.”

He held his stomach as he laughed.

“Why would I want anyone else? That cute accent and ass,” he said.

“There are plenty of cute accents and asses where I come from,” I told him.

“Oh shit, well let’s never go there then,” he said.

I shook my head at him.

“I want you, English. I think about you all the time—no—scratch that. I obsess over you all the time. You’re my muse. Wasn’t that the deal? You’re worth every penny.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I liked it. I liked it so much I stopped to make out with him right there on the sidewalk.

“Dumb,” I said. “Ridiculous.” But I meant to flatter him with those words.

“Why you gotta be that way, English?” he said, reaching down to cup my backside. “When we have babies can they talk like you?”

I smacked his hand away. He was so good at this.

Petra aka Beanie Girl did not evaporate from our lives like I willed her to. On a Friday night in August, she came to The Crocodile in fishnets, a rose gold miniskirt, and a black wife-beater. She’d dyed her hair silver like those uber posh too-cool-for-school Suicide Girls, and in her sweaterless state I could see the ink all over her arms. Her whole look screamed—I don’t give a fuck because I’m a sex kitten.And I really resented that. Some of us were not sex kittens. Some of us wore proper pants and didn’t scribble on our skin, and we didn’t exactly know where our place was in life, but we actively tried to find it. Girls like Petra undermined the process. They made us feel dumpy and plain. They perhaps made our boyfriend think we’re dumpy and plain. Who knows? I didn’t want David to see her, but that was like asking for a rainbow to not be seen.

Throughout the night she carried around a bottle of organic beer. She watched out for herself even when getting drunk. Honestly, I wanted to puke at the sight of her. It didn’t feel right—her being here when David was playing. What exactly was she playing at? The band came on around ten after the opening act, and maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like she crept closer to the stage. She’d been dancing for the last hour with a careless abandon I didn’t possess, like it was just her in the room. David probably wouldn’t recognize her, she had different hair, and she wasn’t wearing a beanie. He’d be in the zone, ready to perform and probably high. He’d be looking for me in the crowd, not her. I was blowing things out of proportion. Plus, the more the merrier, right? We wanted to fill their shows, pack the house, get likes on the Facebook and Instagram pages. I found a spot in the back where I could watch everyone watch David and clutched my warm beer in my hand. I felt too sick to drink it. My favorite thing about coming to their shows was the effect they had on people. It was addicting to watch.He’s mine!I wanted to scream.

They were halfway through a song called “Babylon” when he recognized her. It was subtle. I’d only known him a few months myself, but I’d seen his eyes light up when he found me in a crowd. So when his eyes lingered on her a second longer than normal, and I imagined they made eye contact even though I couldn’t really be sure, I got chills all the way down to my toes.

Petra was there to steal my man. I threw my warm beer away and sulked along the back wall, listening to songs I’d heard a dozen times before.

After the show, I beelined over to where David was standing surrounded by people.What people?I thought, straining my neck to see. The room was still packed and I had to push my way past the crowd of drinkers to reach where he had hopped down from the stage. The soles of my shoes stuck to the floor where drinks had been splashed. When I was just a few feet away, I saw the backside of Petra’s silver hair as she stood in front of David. She was nodding vigorously, as vigorously as her little neck would allow her.

“Absolutely,” I heard her say. “That’s the thing about art, isn’t it?”

I wanted to snort, I wanted to reach out and yank her fairy hair until she screamed from the pain.Stop talking to my boyfriend about art, you cunt.

David spotted me and everything changed. First he smiled, a deep smile that reached his eyes. Then he excused himself from the group that was gathered around him and pushed toward me.

“Hi, English.” He grabbed my face and planted a good one on me. I hoped that Petra was watching.

“Hi back,” I said. He smelled like sweat and adrenaline. I wrapped my arms around his torso and hugged him. The whole band was on fire tonight.

“That was fantastic,” I said. We stayed like that for a good thirty seconds with all of the disgusting liquor-soaked bodies bumping into us.

“There was an agent here,” he said. “On vacation with his wife. They happened to wander into this shit-hole and heard us play. He wants us to fly out to LA to meet some people.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. I searched the crowd for a couple with an LA vibe, but all I could see were sweaty, liquor-bloated faces.

“We’re going out for a drink to celebrate.” He motioned for the guys who’d finished packing up the equipment and were looking around for him. I felt so relieved. That’s why he was practically glowing, not because of Petra. I pictured a record deal and how many more Petras there would be.

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