Point Where They Provoke
Monday, Remera’s POV:
I wanna be a child climbing trees somewhere
Breathing in the fresh outside air
And before I knew this life was unkind
Light is shining through my window, I’m sketching and almost crying. I haven't listened to these songs in a while.
An image of my cat lying in the sun is being poorly portrayed on paper, I'm no artist but I was bored, and I took classes throughout high school, though I skipped most of them to fuck guys in the hidden spot above the auditorium. The teacher hated me, I didn’t get along with most female teachers. I have had sex with teachers before, only when I needed the grades.
“Shit,” I mutter, realizing I still have to work today. I wipe my eyes and grab leggings from my floor, sniffing them to check they’re still clean. Shamelessly, I need to make myself look attractive while also looking like I don't care. Even better, I just took makeup off, so there's still a faint dark line under my eyes, and my lashes are still dark and curled, but technically I'm still not wearing anything. I jump into my closet, looking for a shirt. I have an Arctic Monkeys hoodie, no way I'm wearing it. I could wear something with another band name on it or tease some Southern origins, but I want something that matches my hair. Eventually, I have to decide between an Eminem or ICP shirt. I choose Insane Clown Possie for some superficial hope of intimidating him. I have a thing for making men feel weak.
When I walk into the living room, Celeste turns her head, “Are you going in today?”
“Yeah,” I nod, confused.
“What bus line do you take?” she tips her head, pink hair occasionally striped with black falling in her face.
“Blue?”
She sucks in a breath through her teeth, “Computers glitched, blue and orange are down. I’ll take you; guess you'll be early.”
I was so excited not to go for a moment, “Thanks.”
We drive in silence for a while in her tiny Volkswagen. I smile, deciding to spill the secret, “Ya know when me and Sylvia went out last Sunday?”
“And you came home in a taxi?”
I nod, biting my lip playfully, and she looks at me with spirited narrowed eyes, “Guess which band member?”
Celeste laughs, “You're lying,” I shake my head, seeing an odd tinge of jealousy; her first guess is carefully stated, “Matt.”
“Ew. No,” I give her a disgusted look, but the little look of relief bothers me, “Do better.”
“Did you shag Alex?” She smirks.
“I did not shag Alex I banged Alex. I didn't even know it was him when I did it,” after a short pause, I clarify, “Don't tell anyone.”
“I won't,” she promises, “So… what’s the deal?”
“A, not happening again. B, I'm fucking with his head 'cause it's a turn-on.”
She smirks at me, “Was it good?”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Do you hear your accent?” She asks, a hint of sarcasm edging her voice.
“Yeah,” I nod proudly, “I bet I could do a decent English accent, I just don't want to.”
It's a long drive to the studio, I'm tired enough that I don't mind sitting in silence. We pull up, the glass view of the studio lets warm light shine into a cold England autumn. As I step inside Celeste follows, a wave of energy and warmth flowing over us.
Immediately, I see a big grey dog running for me, claws clicking on hardwood. Clumsy and unable to cut its momentum, it slides into me, almost flipping me over. I lean down and pet it.
“If she breaks something-” Nick threatens.
“Fuckin’ dog,” Alex Shouts, “Marley, come!”
She obeys, energetically sprinting back and barreling into the couch.
Clay Mercer–their manager, is standing, leaning on a counter in the tiny office as he shoves chips into his face.
Matt stands as he sees Celeste, and they hug. I stare at them as I walk to my office. Sitting down, I notice me and Alex are giving them the same look. Matt is hugging a little low and Celeste has an odd feel about her, like she's trying to act even younger. He introduces her, and she leaves after getting as much small talk out of him as she can, winking at Matt as she goes out the door.
I groan to myself, running my hands through my hair, “Fuuuuck me.”
Honestly, if I didn't know what I was walking into, I'd assume I was at a house party, even though there are only six people here, including me.
Marley says hello again, popping into my office, Alex watching her. If I had seen him a week ago, I would’ve recognized him, sunglasses on, messy hair, wearing slacks and a dress shirt. He's slouched, elbows propped on the back of the couch—a fakely uninterested look plastered on his face. Marley rests her big head on my leg, I look at Alex. Every time I gaze through my open windows my eyes zone in on him, “Rescue?”
“Yeah,” he nods, a twinge in his face, almost like he's mad I addressed him. To be honest he looks utterly pissed right now, practically bitchy.
She sighs and lays down behind me, next to my door. Alex walks to my office entry and throws her dog bed in behind me. Without letting the others hear me, I grumble, “Need a tampon?”
His jaw twitches like he's about to say something, but I think he decides it's too mean, so he turns around and seats himself again while his dog curls up behind me. I wonder for a moment if he’s overstimulated or just tired, but if he’s been friends with these guys since childhood, I'm sure they would be able to tell.
Clay rattles off stuff to the band, he hasn't seen them for a while. They tell him they’re almost done with the album, scaring me. At a frantic look I’m reassured that I won't actually have to do my job and be a tour manager; it should be a while. Alex is silent but no one seems to think it's odd, I assume that's how he always behaves.
Clay reads their music and listens to them record. I close my door and windows, Marley doesn't like the noise. I'm much more of a cat person but Marley is an easy exception. She sighs, drooling a bit. Instead of doing my job, I'm finishing homework last minute.
My phone rings, I groan, and my head falls back, the old chair creaking in response, “Why can't you stay sober long enough to stop calling me?”
Kaleb's photo lights up my screen, his black hair is ruffled as he flexes and winks at the camera, wearing some frat boy outfit. The blue flannel he has on is still in my closet at home. It's hard to look at photos of him, more so than to not answer his calls. I'm reasonable enough to realize I'm across the Atlantic, though not smart enough to stop thinking about how much I liked him. I convince myself it’s superficial; he’s hot, I’m hot. I like having sex with hot people and every time I see that grin, I regret everything a little bit.
I let it ring out, staring at his photo.
I jump, almost screaming when I see the outline of Alex in my doorway. He leans over to look at my phone. As fast as I can, I decline Kaleb's call and flip it over, it resuming the chiming only a half second later. Frantically, I run my hands through my hair, “Yes?”
His glasses are still on, though he looks a little more disheveled, a layer of sweat shining on the part of his chest visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt.“I can wait if you need to answer that,” he gestures to my phone. Quickly, I'm deaf to the sound of ringing.
“I don't,” He looks from the phone to me, smirking, taking a few steps forward and reaching for it, “No,” I say calmly lifting it from his hands, leaning back, enjoying the view of a sweaty older man leaning over me. He notices and retracts, eyeing me.
“You are an employee,” he reminds me, I click my tongue and wink at him, “Who's calling you?”
I shrug, “Ex.”
“Huh,” he's annoyed, “most of mine don't bother to do that.”
“This one only calls when it's drunk and lonely,” I show the screen to him.
“Is he thirteen?”
I laugh, “My age.”
“But not blocked?”
I chew on my lip, “Haven't thought of it.”
Alex scans the room before placing both his hands on the sides of my chair. A sinking feeling hits my chest, and I swear he knocks the wind out of me. My head tips up to look him in the eyes as I swallow. In an immediate reaction-Like some dog desperate to please-I find Kaleb’s contact, delete and block it. He chuckles, he didn't think I'd do that, and neither did I. Fuck, I'm staring. At his face, chest, the hint of stubble on his chin, the Adam's apple that bobs in his throat. My hand is desperate to reach for his chest, I hate this feeling of having to resist. I'm not a patient person. I get the feeling he isn't either, though he may not struggle with keeping it in his pants as much as I am with trying not to pull it out. The lights are so dim in this office, I see the dusty reflection outlining his jaw, his eyes are narrowed through dark lenses, but his mouth is open as he licks his lips and stares at mine. I'm surprised he can see anything.
He notices and pulls away, starting to walk off immediately, “Well, what did you want?” I try to ask. He doesn't answer but slams my door shut. Marley–who was sleeping–practically flies out of her bed. Poor thing.
“Jesus Christ,” I laugh, “There's no fucking way,” I look at Marley, “Did he just do that?” She tilts her head, confused saucer eyes staring at me. I scoff, “Women.”
My chair squeaks as I spin to my desk again, still laughing. Until I realize.
That fucker got me to block Kaleb.
And now the overwhelming urge to call him back hits me. I should leave it like this, but I'm also mad about Alex finding out about Kaleb. He wouldn't have told me to block Kaleb, but he was telling me I should. I get the feeling that Alex is more sentient plant than human. But Jesus Christ, is he hot. If he wants to have a professional relationship, he's going to be the one showing restraint. I'll ride Alex till his dick falls off.
Well… I needed to do it.
When they start recording again, I can tell he's singing better. They finish a few songs, followed by cheers, and almost as quickly as the energy hit me when I walked in, it's gone. Everyone leaves for a drink except Alex, who sits on a couch with a pen in his hand.
I open my door and windows again, raising my eyebrows at his piercing look. I feel his eyes on me as I drop into my chair, throw my legs onto my desk, and read my screen. I find a barrette and start clicking it in random beats.
His head shoots up, his jaw sets, and I smile at him, “When is your shift over?”
I pull out a bag of pepper-flavored potato chips, “Just go home, dude.”
“If I go home, I won't write.”
“Isn't it kind of redundant to start recording before finishing the songs? You're not very smart.”
“Thanks,” he says, hunched over a pad of legal paper. His head tips up to meet my eyes, and dark hair falls on his face, "Do you think by annoying me, I'll write a song about you?”
I snort, “Sure,” Seeing me trying not to laugh further irks him, “What’s that about? Do you assume I'm some… zealot? Well, I wouldn't say that. The look on your face tells me you don't know what that word means.”
He scoffs, “You’re not doing anything by shoving useless synonyms into sentences.”
“I would rather shave a nipple off than refer to myself as a fan girl, even sarcastically. What would you prefer?”
“To be writing!”
I throw a chip at his dog, who barely wakes up to eat it, “Want one?”
“No thanks.”
He returns to silence, he knows I'm paying attention to him. He writes, scratches it out, and does it again. I pick up the barrette again and continue chewing. Eventually, I start working, reading a textbook, still leaning back with my feet on the table.
But then he's the one that gets bored. I hear him sigh and look up, and he chews his lip, “Yes?”
“I'm bored.”
“And?”
He doesn't answer but angrily leans back, “What's with Celeste?”
“I don't know,” I put my legs down, “She's just my roommate, she was acting kind of weird,” he looks angry again, this time its genuine frustration, "Is Matt married?"
"Yes," he hisses.
"Jesus," I roll my eyes, "Attitude. Her bad decisions are not mine because you know her through me. She has a tattoo above her coin purse that says 'Insert 25 cents for service,' "
His head shoots up, "Seriously?"
I nod, "Yeah, she says it's great because when she needs to be 'modest' she can just grow her hair out."
"It's a good joke," he admits, "but I wouldn't think the same when a labor and deliver nurse is looking at it."
I laugh, "I doubt it'll be long before she's ready for her first. What's with Matt?"
Alex's jaw shifts, "He's taking a while to grow up, and so is his taste in women."
After a long silence, I say, "Its hard when a childhood friend starts turning into an ass, I assume."
He nods, "I need to go home," Standing up, he calls Marley and as he grabs her bed, "I bet you do too."
I'm a little shocked, sitting for a while. Fuck you mean, I bet you do too?