9. Chapter Nine
Iwalk down the front path, still crying over the loss of my guitar.
I hear a car drive by as I drop down onto the curb. What a fucking asshole! My heart is so sad thinking about my broken guitar.
Under the streetlight, I hold the whisky bottle up and see it’s still half full. It’s the perfect remedy to escape from all the shit that just happened. To escape the sadness of dwelling on my smashed-up guitar in that fucked up place called home.
I take a deep breath before lifting the bottle to my mouth, bracing myself for the strong taste of the whisky. Despite the burning sensation in my throat, I persist with no signs of slowing down. I keep chugging down until everything becomes a blur and I lose all sense of touch. Fuck, I hate my life. I hate everything about it, except for my music.
As I ponder my next move, I lie back and let the sight of the twinkling stars consume me. What the fuck am I gonna do now? My music is everything. Without it, I won’t make it. That asshole did it on purpose, knowing it would break me. What the hell am I going to do with all our new songs now that I don’t have a guitar?
Maybe I can just swipe one from the band room at school tomorrow. Yeah, that might work. I let out a laugh, knowing that Poppy would fucking go ape shit if she knew what I was thinking. She totally lost it over some dumb chocolate bars. If she finds out I’ve stolen a guitar from the music room, she’ll lose her fucking mind.
Numb and relaxed, I tip the bottle up, savoring the final few drops as they trickle onto my tongue. As I toss the bottle away, I cringe at the sharp smashing sound it makes as it shatters. I sit up and stare out into the darkness. It’s gonna be okay. I”ll get Ace to stand guard at the door while I steal a guitar. No one has to know. Especially not Poppy.
The mere thought of her causes me to turn my head.
As my eyesight blurs, I squint in an attempt to focus on her house. There are still lights on in her house. I wonder what she’s doing. Probably watching that stupid show with all those mean bitches. She really does like that shit.
The moment I stand up, the world spins, making my drunken shuffle down the street even more challenging.
But I want to know what she’s doing. Plus, she might give me another mind-blowing blowjob if I’m lucky. That’s if I can convince her to do it again. Fuck, I’m absolutely gonna try.
Balancing myself against the doorframe, I take a deep breath and feel my heart racing as I knock on her front door.
It’s a few seconds before Poppy opens the door, revealing her hourglass figure in a tight tank top and short shorts. My eyes roam her body, my desire intensifying as my dick comes to life. How the fuck have I not noticed how fucking hot she is?
“What are you doing here, Xander?” There’s a sassy tone in her voice. Annoyed, and I fucking like it. She folds her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up, catching my attention. She takes one look at my face and steps forward. ”Oh my god,” she whispers, as she takes in the shocking sight of my face. As she steps forward, her scent fills the air, awakening all my senses.
“Can you do that thing again?” I add, recalling the feel of her mouth during the best blowjob she gave me a week ago. “Will you give me another blowie?”
“Are you drunk?” She’s giving me a once-over.
“I don’t know. I might be, I might not be.” My heart races as I nearly lose my footing on the top step.
In a split second, she reaches out and grabs my arm, steadying me before I have a chance to fall. A flicker of worry passes over her features.
“What happened to your face, Xander? Did you get into a fight?” Her eyes move down to my neck. “And there are dark bruises all over your neck.”
“It was just some harmless breath play that got out of hand. The chick went nuts, but fuck, it was hot. Wanna try it with me sometime? So can I come in now?”
“That all depends?”
“On what?”
“If you tell me the truth and stop acting like a jerk.”
“You think I’m lying, Princess?”
“Yes, cut the shit, Xander. Be straight with me for once and I might let you in the house.”
”Okay,” I nod, uncertainty lingering in the air. Other than Ace, Poppy possesses the unique ability to see through my act and call out my bullshit.
”Alright then, you can come in,” she says, her hand on the door. The hinges creak as she opens it wider.
As I step into the house, the delicious aroma of freshly baked cookies tickles my nostrils. I haven’t eaten all day, and the smell of food is making my mouth water.
“Got any food?” I ask as I settle down on the couch in the exact spot I sat over a week ago. The thought of what went down last time I sat here makes my dick hard. I hope I can talk her into doing it again.
”Sure, I”ll grab you something,” she says, her voice fading as she walks towards the kitchen.
Her shorts fit snugly around her curves, catching my attention.
”Alright, Xander, spill it,” she says, her voice carrying from the kitchen. “Tell me what happened and this time without all the bullshit.”
Giving me a quick glance, she reaches for a bowl from the cupboard, then makes her way across to the fridge.
I stay silent, watching her every move, because I’ve no fucking idea how to tell her the truth. How could she ever understand the shit that engulfs my life when she lives a life full of comfort? Despite her own challenges with her mom, she cannot fathom the daily struggles I endure.
She moves across to the microwave to warm up the food. While it’s heating, she turns and leans her hip against the countertop.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Normally I would just tell her to fuck off, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Is it because I’m hungry and want to eat? Or is it because I want her to give me another blow job? Or is it something more, something hidden beneath the surface?
I shift my focus to the TV, the flashing images on the screen a welcome distraction from the awkward silence. The bitches from Beverly Hills are back on. The TV is muted, but I can still see the intense drama unfolding on the screen. One crazy bitch is pulling the other bitch’s hair.
As I drop my head and pick a loose thread at my jeans, I feel the weight of her gaze on me.
“Me and my dad got into it,” I blurt out, the weight of the argument clear in my tone.
Without a word, she walks to the double-door fridge, opens it, and retrieves an object before heading my way.
“Here, put this on your nose,” she says, holding out a pack of frozen peas.
I take the cold pack and press it gently against my face, feeling the chill seep into my skin.
At the sound of the microwave beeping, Poppy walks back to the kitchen. With a bowl and fork in hand, she comes back over. As she hands it to me, the delicious aroma of the lasagna fills the air. With a flick of my wrist, I toss the frozen packet of peas onto the coffee table.
Poppy turns away, then returns a few seconds later with a can of Coke and two freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
As she sets them down on the coffee table, she sits beside me on the couch. My eyes follow her every move as she folds her long legs underneath her. It”s hard not to notice that she”s created more distance between us on the couch compared to the last time.
With every bite of cheesy lasagna, I feel Poppy”s piercing gaze on me. As I fill my mouth with food, I steal a quick glance at her. She focuses on the bruises around my neck.
”Does it hurt?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine with concern.
“Not now, it doesn’t.”
“Talk to me, Xander. Tell me what really happened?”
“Fuck, we just got into it, okay? You wouldn’t understand Princess.”
“Try me?”
Her blue eyes hold my gaze as I chew my food. “My old man hates me. Well, one time he didn’t, but now he does, now that he knows he isn’t my father.” I continue to stuff my face with food, my thoughts scattered and unfocused.
As she tries to decipher the words I am uttering, her brow creases with confusion.
“But the worst part is that the asshole smashed my guitar.” I try to control my voice as it wavers. “The only way I calm down when he pisses me off is to feel the vibrations of the strings under my fingers. But that’s fucked now because I don’t have a guitar.”
Poppy’s gaze lingers on me, and a heavy silence fills the air. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have shared all of that. I knew she wouldn’t understand. I don’t know why I fucking bothered.
While I load up another forkful of lasagna, ready to eat, she stands and walks down the long hallway.
I let out a long breath, feeling the frustration and confusion build up inside me. With a swift motion, I lean forward, snatch the can from the coffee table, and pop the top.
Right as I”m on the verge of taking a sip, Poppy”s footsteps echo down the hall, and my eyes narrow in on the guitar she’s holding. I place the can and my bowl on the coffee table and stand up.
“It belonged to my dad,” she says, coming towards me. “I saved it just in time before my mom tossed it into the trash.” She holds it out for me to grab. “It’s yours if you want it.”
It’s a 2000 Santa Cruz Om guitar. A classic that costs a pretty penny.
I glance up and study her, taking in the glistening tears that fill her eyes. Did I hear her correctly? She said it was mine. But the sad look on her face makes me wonder if I should take it. I really want to, but if it”s a special gift from her dad like my guitar was from my mom, I know it would really hurt her not to have it here.
”Nah, I can”t take it,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because it belonged to your dad. It means something to you.”
“Take it, Xander,” she says. “If my mother finds it here, she’ll only destroy it. I want you to have it.”
“Wow, your mom must really hate your dad.” As I take the guitar, our eyes meet and a wave of emotions washes over me. “Seriously. You’re giving it to me.”
“Yes.”
“Seriously Poppy, why would you give it to me?” This gift is completely unique and unexpected. Despite being a complete jerk to her the other night, this girl is incredibly kind. I can’t wrap my head around it. This guitar is amazing. It would thrill any musician to get their hands on a guitar like this. The sound alone will elevate our songs to the next level. I”m surprised by her unexpected gesture. It”s pretty amazing that she is giving me something like this.
“I want you to have it. For the past seven years, I’ve been worried that my mom will find it. And I know you will look after it. But there’s one catch.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
“I want to hear you play something.”
“I can do that,” I say with a smile as I sit back down on the couch.
Poppy moves across and sits on the couch.
As I run my hands over the front of the guitar, I find comfort in the smooth texture of the wood grain. Settling it down into my lap, I feel its weight and texture, and straightaway it brings a sense of calm. I position my fingers on the strings as if I’m about to play. I pluck a few notes. The sound of the strings are crisp and clear, each one ringing out beautifully. I lift my head and find her eyes fixed on me.
“Any requests?” I ask, waiting for a response. I can’t help but notice the way her delicate features come together to form her pretty face. Her long blonde hair falls in soft waves around her face, framing it beautifully. Her eyes are the color of the ocean on a clear day. A sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose makes her look even more beautiful. Her lips, with their fullness and softness, are irresistible. Despite my strict rule against kissing, I can’t help but be curious about the taste of her lips as I gaze upon them.
”No, you decide,” she says, sinking back into the couch.
“Okay,” I add, my eyes darting from Poppy to the guitar in my lap. I’m excited to share the song Ace and I have been working on for weeks. I’m curious to see how this classic guitar will change the sound of our songs.
As my fingers dance on the strings, the music sweeps me away, and then my voice joins in on the harmony.
As always, the melody pulls me in, drowning out the noise of my troubled life and leaving me with a sense of calm. I close my eyes, and the music engulfs me, cocooning me in its embrace. It’s like a warm blanket, wrapping me up and protecting me from the harshness of the outside world.
As the final note fades, I slowly open my eyes and return to the present moment. Poppy sits beside me, her quiet presence soothing. I turn my head to gauge her response.
“Wow! Xander,” she says. “I can’t find the right words to express how amazing you are. Your music is going to pave the way for endless possibilities.”
“You think so,” I smile, the corners of my mouth curling up. Never has anyone spoken to me in such a way. The label of being worthless - a no-hoper has been a constant presence in my life. It”s a good feeling to hear those words, especially coming from Poppy who is well-versed in music. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it? It’s a classic. I understand if you’ve changed your mind,” I ask, admiring the intricate design and details of the guitar.
“No. It’ll get destroyed if it stays here. It’s yours, Xander.”
Carefully placing the guitar next to me, I scoot over to hug Poppy.
“Thank you, Princess. You have no idea how much this means to me. You can trust me with it. I’ll never let it out of my sight.” I hold her close, feeling the warmth of her embrace, grateful for her kindness. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and let the tantalizing scent of her strawberry-scented shampoo fill my senses.
The warmth of her body lingers on my skin when I release her from my embrace and sit back in the plush lounge.
“I was about to have a bowl of ice cream before you knocked. You want some?”
“Yeah, sure,” I blurt out.
With a smile, she heads back to the kitchen. I focus on the guitar and run my fingers over the wood, stressing about how to keep it safe from my dad. I’ll leave it at Ace’s place. That will be the safest option.
Poppy returns with two large bowls of ice cream. The scoops piled high and topped with chocolate topping and whipped cream. After handing me the bowl, she reaches for the TV remote and presses a button to unmute the television. As we eat, we sit watching the Housewives’ petty squabbles play out. The entertainment value of this show is off the charts, despite its train wreck nature. I know I shouldn”t indulge in shows that thrive on chicks tearing each other down, but damn it, I can”t resist. Poppy’s infectious giggles fill the air, and I can’t help but chuckle along with her as we lounge together.
It”s refreshing that Poppy never asks about my father and what went down, leaving the painful memories buried for the night.
As we watch three more episodes, I notice the silence, the absence of Poppy’s infectious laughter. I glance over to find her asleep. I look at the clock on the back wall to see it’s well past two in the morning. Wow! That time went quick. I’ve never just hung out with a chick for the sake of enjoying her company.
My movements are deliberate and gentle, ensuring that she remains undisturbed as I get up.
I take a moment to gaze at her, listening to the sounds of her steady breathing, before reaching for the cozy throw rug from the back of the lounge. As I tuck the blanket in around her, she stirs slightly but settles back into a peaceful sleep. Moving a strand of her long hair back behind her ear, I notice the peaceful expression on her face. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. I reach out and touch her cheek, marveling at the silky feel of her skin beneath my fingertips.
Shaking my head, I pull my hand away, wondering what the fuck possessed me to do such a thing.
Wasting no time, I snatch the guitar, my mind already racing to find a secure hiding place in the backyard, far from my father”s reach.
Hours later, I wake up early and walk to school trying to avoid seeing my dad. I stand in the usual spot, waiting for Ace to arrive.
Ace’s car screeches to a halt in the school parking lot. He looks up through the windscreen and his eyes widen at the sight of the guitar in my hands. Without taking his eyes off it, he jumps out of the car and comes towards me.
“How the fuck did you come across this?” he asks, taking the guitar and running his hands along the surface, feeling the texture of the wood.
“My old man destroyed mine last night.”
He looks up. His brows furrow, his eyes narrowing as he finally notices the swollen bruises on my face. “He was awake.”
“Yep. Like he was waiting for me.”
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah,” I confirm with a simple nod of my head.
His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he shifts his attention back to the guitar. “A 2000 Santa Cruz. How the fuck did you end up with this?” he says, playing a few notes.
“Someone gave it to me.”
“Who?” he mumbles, his focus unwavering as he keeps his head down and plucks the strings. “We don’t know anyone with this kind of stuff.”
Silence follows his question. I’m struggling to find the right words to say to him. I wanted to avoid his interrogation about what I was doing with Poppy. After a brief pause, he raises his head and looks at me, waiting for my answer. Fuck it. I’ll just tell him.
“It was from Poppy Reeves.”
My answer is so unexpected that his eyes widen in disbelief. “Why did she give you this? What did you fuck her or something?”
“No. Her old man left it behind when her parents split.”
“Does she know what it’s worth?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you got it.”
I try to evade the question because I don”t want to confess about the blowjob or my drunken escapade last night in the hopes of getting another one.
“Apparently, her mom went nuts and kicked out her dad. Her mom trashed everything of her dad’s, but Poppy saved this.”
His lips curl into a cocky smirk as he continues to watch me. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why did she give it to you?”
“Because I told her my dad wrecked mine.”
His gaze lingers on me for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Poppy Reeves, huh,” he says with a hint of amusement. “Who would have thought? Got any secrets to spill? You two hooking up?”
“She”s not really my type, you know.”
It didn’t sit well with me to lie to my friend. But I couldn’t risk divulging too many details about Poppy. I didn”t want him to know that I couldn’t stop thinking about her - or how I think about her lips wrapped around my cock whenever I jerk off - and how amazing she is at giving head. Because last night, even though I went there hoping for a sexual favor, I ended up just enjoying her company. I don”t think he”d understand, because I was having a tough time understanding it myself.
I redirect the conversation to cut off any more of his questions.
“I need a safe place to keep it. Can I leave it at your place?”
“Sure,” he says. “But I know you just avoided answering my question.”