Page 93 of Pierce Me

“Oh, didn’t you hear? I’ve been already fired,” she replies. “Five times over. Oh, wait. Maybe it was six? Or seven?”

“It was,” I say, looking straight ahead, “ninety-seven.”

“Oh, right. I lost count.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye: she’s fighting a half-smile. God help me.

“No, seriously,” she repeats, securing a strand of hair behind her ear.No, my mind reacts immediately.Leave that. It’s my job to tuck that behind your ear. Leave that hair for me.

Her new hair. New color, new texture. New curls. I need to touch it or I’ll die.

Smooth, Isaiah, real smooth.

I clear my throat and she looks at me strangely. I try to look normal; no need for her to realize I’m taking my last breaths right now.

“Oh, you’ve done your job,” I tell her. “Believe me. You’ve already done two years’ worth of your best work here.”

“Explain?”

I turn around to face her. Pooh has curled up on her lap and he’s sleeping soundly, a ball of black and white fur. Her fingers are scratching the spot behind his ears and I am completely fascinated by them. I am murderously jealous of Pooh right now. That’s where I am.

“The music,” I say. “It’s back. I can’t stop it, suddenly. And so are the words.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. You did that. Last night.”

“I’m happy for you,” she replies, then quickly looks away, her eyes going sad. What did I say? Isn’t that why she is here?

“As I said,” I clear my throat some more. Emotion is clogging my throat up. “It’s all thanks to you. Want to write the next one together?”

“The next one?” she raises an eyebrow and that small expression is so familiar, my heart jolts in my chest.

This could be my life, I realize. Her and Pooh and the sea. No managers, no tours, no assholes. She could be my life. She should have been my life all these years. She should not have left me. She should not have let me become this—

No, no, stop this.

Do not lay all your crappy life decisions at her feet. These are no one’s fault but yours.

“The next one or seven,” I reply. “The next ten, maybe. Who knows what will happen now the gates are open? I’ve written three so far. In five hours. What do you say we write three more before we reach Athens? Can you forgive me enough for yesterday to stay?”

Her eyes go huge with anxiety, and then she realizes that I’m joking. She bursts out laughing and my chest hurts, just watching her so radiant and gorgeous and… alive. She’s real and she’s here and I don’t deserve it.

You’ve been handed a second chance at the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t mess it up.

Oh, something tells me I will.

“I’m just an English lit student,” she says, looking at me doubtfully, “I’m not sure how good I will be at helping you create poetry.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh so you think my lyrics are poetry, do you?”

“Some of them,” she nods.

“Well, poetry or trash, you had no problem writing my first songs with me,” I say and she flinches imperceptibly. “Or starting to write them. I finished them by myself and they were kind of good, I don’t know if you heard. I kind of won a Grammy for one of them just the other day.”

I’m losing her.

She’s looking out over the sea, not even listening to me. And why should she? I’m raking up the past again. I can’t let go. I exhale slowly, suddenly furious with myself, with her, with everything.

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