Chapter 7
seven
Archer
T hank god there’s a built in seating ledge in the shower. I’m not sure I’d be able to remain standing for even a quick wash. This time the music drained me totally, leaving minimal energy reserves. I’m not sure what might have happened if Bailey hadn’t shown up and given me a new focus.
Leaning forward I shift so the water beats against my back and reach for the tiny, complementary bottle of shampoo. I glance at the label. Turquoise Creek Goat Milk Shampoo. There’s a cute drawing of a goat. Another of Alice’s businesses? Once my hair is lathered and rinsed, I find enough energy to stand and soap my body with another goat milk product. Along with the lather, the water sluices away more of my confusion.
Bailey is going to have a lot of questions and I’ll answer them all to the best of my ability. There is so much of my creative process I don’t understand myself. When the water begins to cool I wonder how long I’ve been standing under the spray, still lost in time.
Toweling my hair, I let the rest of me air dry. A swipe of my fingers is enough to coax my damp hair into submission. My mouth feels stale. The universe must be looking out for me because I discover a plastic wrapped toothbrush and mini toothpaste in a vanity drawer.
Dressed in my favorite, well lived in sweats, I exit the bathroom to the empty bedroom. Disappointment fills my chest because she’s not here waiting for me. I shake my head at the stupidity of that thought and the room spins. I sit on the bed until the dizziness passes. It’s going to take longer than usual to recover this time.
The sounds of movement and metallic clunking draw me from the bedroom to the open living space. Bailey is at the kitchen island fussing with a couple of containers from my stash of meals. Intent on what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice my slow approach.
As I ease onto a barstool, she looks up and drops the spatula she was using to try and stir the cold macaroni and cheese she dumped from a pan into a microwave container. “Well, shit,” she mumbles and disappears behind the island to retrieve the food covered utensil.
“It’ll mix up better once it’s heated a bit,” I offer, hoping I don’t offend her.
“Yeah, probably. I’m trying to hurry it along.”
“I can wait.” I reach for a banana hanging from a wooden holder. “If it’s okay, I’ll start with this. And more water. Please.”
She sets one of those filtering pitchers on the counter and asks if I want ice. At my nod, she adds cubes to a tall glass and sets it before me. “Drink up.”
I’m tempted to guzzle the water but know my empty stomach might rebel so I sip carefully. Bailey keeps casting me curious looks and I know she’s trying to give me space before plying me with questions. I need her to understand, so after I finish my banana, I flatten my hands against the counter and begin.
“You might have a difficult time believing what I’m going to tell you. Truth is, I don’t really understand this myself. I write songs. The music and usually the lyrics.”
She nods. “I know. I’ve… uh… been reading about you online.”
I manage a grin. “So, you are checking up on me.”
Her silence hangs in the air for a long moment while she puts the macaroni in the microwave. When she faces me again, I continue. “A fair share of my compositions happen in what’s considered a normal way. There’s an idea or concept. I sit at the keyboard or mess around with guitar chords until the notes come together. Sometimes I fit the words to the music, other times the music happens first and the lyrics need tweaking to match.”
“That’s how I would imagine songwriting to happen. So why?—?”
“Occasionally something, a thought, an experience, maybe a person will spark a bit of music that will burst into my head. Then it’s like it simmers in the back of my brain until complete. If for some reason I don’t write it down, the notes will haunt me, distract me from everything else until I do. If there’s words associated with the music, it’s even more important I empty my brain as soon as possible.
“One tune I can manage. Occasionally there’s two competing for completion.”
“I still don’t understand. What does that have to do with how I found you today?” She climbs onto the stool next to me and after a moment’s hesitation, rests one of her hands over mine.
I angle to face her. “That need to compose is all encompassing, consuming. It’s like something, some compulsion, takes over my brain, my body. I can’t do anything else until the song is done. When it’s just one or two, that’s not usually a problem. This time… ah, Bailey, this time there were four songs woven together. Four. Complete with varied musical tracks, and lyrics. It’s the worst when words come, too. The cacophony in my brain is deafening. It keeps pounding at me until I can’t think of anything else. The music possesses me. Controls me until I empty everything onto paper.
I can’t sleep. Don’t eat unless there’s food I can just grab. I am unable to function otherwise.”
“Does this happen often?”
I carefully shake my head. There’s still enough wooziness at the edges of my consciousness I need to be careful. “Only once before this.”
“Do you have any idea what causes music to take over everything like that?”
“I think,” I say slowly, “I think when there’s only a single song, it might be because I was ignoring the initial spark of inspiration. When there’s more than one, it’s emotional.” I pause and consider my words, remembering how many powerful emotions I’d dealt with when Mars started using. “Intense feelings.”
Bailey tucks her fingers under my hand and gives a soft squeeze. “Do you know what might have precipitated this, umm, attack of creativity?”
I do, but I’m sure as fuck not going to tell her right now. That would chase her away again. “Yes, but I need time to process before I say anything, if that’s okay?”
She smiles. “Of course. I totally understand.”
Does she? Probably. Everyone has secrets.
The microwave dings, effectively ending this conversation. After another squeeze of my fingers, she rises and circles the island. A shiver of longing runs down my spine. I need her skin against mine, even the tiniest bit. I want to experience all of her, touch every inch. Imprint her on my soul.
Another melody dances at the edge of my consciousness and I cover my face with my hands and groan.
“Mars? What’s wrong?”
I will not allow the compulsion to overtake me again. Not where she will witness the craziness. Where’s my music? In the bathroom. I need… “I need my music. On the floor in the bathroom.”
“Wait here. I’ll get it for you.”
She’s gone in a flash and returns in seconds to lay the folio in front of me. “Now what?”
“Pencil?”
She whirls and digs through one of the smaller kitchen drawers and pulls out an open package of disposable pencils then dumps them all over the counter. Standing back, she watches with wide eyes.
I dig through the folio and find one half sheet of stave lined manuscript paper. “Not enough,” I mumble as I reach for a pencil and the notes begin spilling onto the page. I’m cramming notes together on the second side when a sheet of white paper filled with crooked and unevenly spaced staves slides into my narrowed view.
My hand shakes with the need to continue composing as I glance up to see Bailey using a ruler to create the lines needed to contain my music. I watch her rush through lining the paper and certainty fills my heart. I know what I already suspected. She is my muse. My destiny. The woman I will love until forever ends.
I flip the paper I’ve already filled with oval dots and scrawl the song’s title. “Until Forever Ends”. The lyrics are still hidden from me. I know I will hear them soon. All of the music I’ve composed the past four days has been inspired by her. There will be more. A lifetime of more.
Mars has been wanting to do an entire album with a ballad style. But I don’t know if I want to share this music with him. Or with the world.
That’s a decision I’ll make later. Once Bailey knows how I feel. Knows the music is for her, about her. It will be her decision whether to share my love, and hopefully our love, with the world. If she says no, then these notes will go no further. Mars and his next album be damned.
Once I accept my feelings and my love for Bailey, the static and frantic agitation eases. I take a deep breath. Then another before setting the pencil aside.
Bailey pauses in her line drawing. “Are you okay?”
Closing my eyes, I search my mind and find quiet and an odd contentment. I look at her and nod. “I think so. The compulsion is gone for now.”
“How long until it returns?” Worry draws her brows together and tightens her lips to a flat line.
“Unfortunately, I never know. So, we’ll—I’ll—make the best of it. Eat. Go back to my room and sleep. Probably for at least a day.”
“No,” she says forcefully then softens her voice. “I mean, I’ll worry about you if you leave. You’ll need to eat more. Make sure you stay hydrated. What if something happens while you’re sleeping? Besides, it’s a mess over there.”
Excitement settles low in my body. Even my dick, which is seldom roused after one of my obsessive incidents, shares a twitch of interest. “What do you suggest?”
“Stay with me. I mean, stay here. There’s that empty bedroom. I’ll leave you alone as much as you need but I won’t worry so much if I know for sure you’re eating and doing okay.”
A single question needs answered. I have to know whether to be hopeful or, god forbid, denied. “Why are you so concerned?”
A full minute passes as we stare at each other. While I imagine exhaustion is the only thing my face reveals, so many emotions pass through her eyes and open expression. Someday I’ll catalog and understand each one. Each one a song. Today I hope only to hear one thing.
She draws a deep breath. “Because I really like you.”
After finishing off the super creamy and delicious macaroni and cheese and a shared pint of Bailey’s favorite ice cream, my jaw-cracking yawns make her shake her finger at me. “You go to bed. In a few minutes I’ll bring in ice water to keep by the bed because you need to drink more. Then you sleep as long as you want.”
“What if I need something?” I mentally roll my eyes at myself. I sound like a cranky kid who refuses to do what he’s told.
“I could put my number in your phone. Or is it back in your room?”
“Might be in my jeans. In the bathroom.”
“We’ll check.”
“Probably dead.”
“I’ve got all kinds of chargers around here. I’ll see if one fits. Or ask Alice if she has one. Come on. Stand up. Time to go to bed.”
It takes all the energy I have to arch my eyebrows in a muted suggestive manner. She merely smiles softly in return. Exhausted, I struggle to my feet. As we pass the island, she grabs my folio and hands it to me. “You probably want to keep this safe.”
She’s got to be curious yet there’s no hesitation or questions. She’s giving me the opportunity to trust her, showing me that trust won’t be misplaced. “Thank you.”
I find my phone and hand it to her. She holds it up and grins. “Same kind as mine. I’ll go find a charger while you get into bed. I’ll be right back to get you settled.” Then she picks up my filthy jeans and tee. “I’m going to wash these for you. Before they stink up the place.”
After a wink, she exits and closes the door behind her. It doesn’t take me long to strip and climb between the smooth cool sheets. I’m starting to doze off when there’s a soft knock.
“Come on in,” I call.
After she sets a large thermal pitcher and glass on the nightstand next to my folio, I get a mouthwatering view of her heart-shaped ass when she bends to plug in the phone charger. “I put your phone on the charger in the other room long enough to put my number into your contacts. Under Bailey. If you need anything and I’m not close by, just call.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
She shrugs one shoulder and glances around the room. The moment she notices my clothes tossed in a chair in the corner a blush fills her cheeks. I’ve never been able to sleep wearing anything. Even as a kid. Drove Mom nuts. I like Bailey’s reaction better. She softly clears her throat. “Rest well, Marcus.”
“Don’t I get a good night kiss?” The words are out without thought and once they’re hovering in the air, I have no desire to take them back.
Her blush deepens. Someday I am going to make her blush then follow the path over her body. I’ll make her blush until she comes apart in my arms.
With a soft exhale, she leans over me and pulls the sheet up under my chin before pressing her lips to my forehead. “Go to sleep, Mars. I’ll be here when you’re rested.”
The door closes with a muffled click behind her. I turn on my side and stare at the door until the straight lines blur and sleep is all I know.