Chapter 8
Melody
I should have escaped quicker. Or quieter. The sight of him in the morning was enough to get you on your knees and be at his beck and call.
When he scared me, I could have screamed, but the man was shirtless, his chest armored with enough muscles that showed me how easily I could be tossed around.
It had been quite a few months, almost a year or so. Shit when was the last time?
He was like a walking god, and the temptation to lick and taste everything was stronger than my will to leave.
He took care of me. He didn’t have to, but the man wasn’t ready to see me leave just yet and I wasn’t going to fight too hard.
“Okay,” I answered him. More like squeaked.
I wasn’t going to say no to food, it would save me a few bucks. At least I know it didn’t poison us.
I wasn’t rushing only because whatever pain meds he gave me last night made me relaxed, feel at ease enough to sleep on a real bed. It was the most luxurious thing I’ve had to sleep on for months now. That was my barrier, my roadblock to overcome.
“I didn’t think you had a lot of food here. Judging by the lack of decorations, or sense of home, you don’t come here very much,” I said as he began to find another pan.
“Someone must be feeling better or somewhat better.” he chuckled.
“Merely observing.”
“How’s your bruising?” he asked, almost reaching over to see it while we were in the kitchen.
I stepped back, wanting to just show him that I was the lucky one. I lifted my shirt, revealing to him the somewhat darker coloring of my bruising.
The aches were still floating through me. They’d come and go with the radiation of the pain. I knew I would be sore, but nothing that my own pains or over the counter medication wouldn’t take care of, but the way he looked at me sent more goosebumps over my skin.
He looked at me as a sign of desire, a look of longing.
“I see,” He started scrambling some eggs. I’m not a breakfast eater to be honest, but I wasn’t going to bite the hand that wanted to feed me. He continued, “Most importantly, how are you feeling?”
I thought about that for a moment. Did I still feel like I got run over by a truck? I sure did. Was I going to tell him I couldn’t take care of myself? Absolutely not.
“I’ll survive.” I said quickly.
He clicked his tongue, like I said the wrong answer. “It’s not nice to lie.”
“I wasn’t lying.” I huffed.
“Honey, the way that you were moving, you look like you’re tolerating the pain. If you need another day of rest,” he started.
But I stopped him before he could think otherwise. “No,” I said quickly. “No, you’ve already done enough for me. And I’m sure that any girlfriend or partner of yours wouldn’t want to see me.”
Where the fuck did that come from? He snorted at my response. My off the wall response.
“No need to worry about that,” he let out before serving me eggs and some toast.
He only sat one plate down. He rested himself on his elbows, leaning over the mini kitchen island.
“Eat, and let’s really talk,” he said.
I nodded, taking the food and thanking whoever was listening for the man before me.
I ate in front of him as he just stared at me. I started to feel self-conscious, nervous of making the wrong choice. Jesus, I needed to stop acting like some young person.
“After you,” I snarked at him, curling a smile in his direction.
“Do you want to make a report?” he asked plainly.
I swallowed a big gulp of food, surprised at his bluntness.
Did I want to make a report about it? I didn’t remember what happened after I was stuck in a fetal position.
“I don’t know,” was my answer as I played with my food. “What happened after? Was anything done?”
He nodded his head. “I had my men take care of it while I had you in my care.”
“Then I’m not. If it was taken care of and I don’t have to see them,” I started rambling quickly, hoping to move on from the subject.
“Wait now. Although I would have supported and probably have said to make that report, it’s not what you think. They ain’t buried, honey. But they are taken care of. They know who they messed with and know not to hurt nor go after one of our singers.” he said.
I laughed softly. “Hound, I’m not a singer. We talked about this already.”
I went back to eating my food, thinking that I might as well just go back to any of these studios and ask them to take me back and I’d just keep writing.
“What were you going to sing?” he asked me.
“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter now,” I said, stabbing my food as if the rage inside about this subject were to shoot out of me.
I felt his finger lift my chin, giving me no choice but to look into his eyes. “Tell me anyway.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I sighed. “Fine. One of my own songs.”
I waited for a punch line or an “awe shucks” moment, but he didn’t break away. He waited for more, so I continued, “I’ve been a writer for over a decade but never sang my own songs on stage.”
Always behind the mic, never in the spotlight.
“Why not?” He kept pushing the subject. Why was he pushing the matter like he truly cared?
“You’re going to think it’s stupid.” I tried to break away from his eyes. I was stronger than this, able to put myself in the best positions.
“Try me,” he dared me.
I growled out, “I’m not good enough, okay.” I paused to watch his reaction. Then I continued, “Well, that’s what the studios tell me.” And the truth was set free. “I believe I’m good, I believe that the music I create will take me places. But the way they see it, they’ll take my songs, but not the voice behind it. I don’t fit into anyone’s world or style. Guess my mama was right, I’m just not special.” I laughed.
If only Aria, my sister, could see me then, confessing a truth that I hid behind.
“That can’t be true,” he said, letting loose our gaze.
“Well believe it, Hound. That’s the cruel world that we live in. There’s not one place for Melody Rae Hart.” I finished my food. I stepped away from the island trying to make my way to the living room, hoping my bag and case were there.
“How about for payment or a reward for saving your life to live another day, sing for me,” he said, stopping me in my tracks.
I froze. This wasn’t a happily ever after story where the girl sings and the man falls in love. I had my life to live and money to make to survive, or attempt to at least. I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I will repay you for your kindness with anything else, but really, I can’t.”
I turned to look at him, and he was giving the most puppy dog eyes that beckoned to let him do whatever he wanted to do to me.
Or get on your knees for, you know.
“You really don’t take no for an answer.”
“Always a yes. So your answer is “yes Hound, I’ll sing for you”. Then we’ll be even.” He smirked.
I tossed around the thought of denying him again. I bounced back and forth.
“Ugh, okay. Fine. But can you please get a shirt on? I’m already nervous enough, I don’t need your sculptured barbaric abs to make me sweat any more than I already have.” I groaned, turning to find my case.
When he came back, he got comfortable on the couch and the rush of imposter syndrome flooded me. I already knew I couldn’t sing in front of a crowd, what made him think that I could simply sing in front of him?
I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking long enough to grab the guitar from my case. I had to quickly tune it. Hound stared at me like I was the most intriguing person in the room. Everything was shaking, my nerves got the better of me.
“Um, could you, um, turn around?” I asked, barely looking at him.
“Turn around?” he asked.
I nodded my head. He cocked his head. “I’m not judging you. I just wanted to hear you sing, give you a chance to share your voice.”
I threw my hands down. “I know it’s just I can’t have anyone look at me. That’s why people get my recordings of the demos, nothing live.” The studios were always able to get my songs, just never live. Some didn’t care as long as they got something they wanted.
He paused for a moment then adjusted himself to look away from me. I started to strum to a tune that was going to be my song that night.
I was down by the old oak tree,
The one where promises are born.
Where the names never fades,
Where the roots stay grounded.
Even after all this time,
Those memories were still.
Swingin’ and kissin’, laid out under the stars.
Dreamin’ and lovin’, fightin’ until tears were shed.
Because after all this time.
I’ll never say goodbye to that old oak tree.
I got carried away by the vision of young love that didn’t know if they would make it or keep fighting for their love.
The melody swayed, sounding like the old blues country, where the emotions resonate the times of yesterday. The song reminded me of when we would be in Granny’s backyard, back in the mountains.
Was it my strongest song? No, but it was a special song that meant more than I could say. I had closed my eyes when I hit the last chorus, singing that I’d never say goodbye to that oak tree. I played the last few notes. As my eyes fluttered open, Hound was looking at me with a big smile.
Instantly the nerves came back, knowing that this man saw me get lost and heard me. I slowly took off the guitar, setting it back down in the case.
He was speechless. He just stared at me in awe. Maybe that was when I should have seen the exit. Maybe he was lost in thought. Maybe he was entranced by the song. Maybe I unlocked an obsession for him.
“Please say something so I know that I’m not going to die at the end of this.” I nervously laughed.
“I was right,” he said.
“About what?”
“You are a little songbird. Where did that come from?”
I shrugged.
He tilted his head like he was being pulled back into a memory. “Your song sounds familiar, have you ever given it to someone?” he inquired. I shook my head, this was one song that was mine. No one else had it.
“Like I said, I write songs for others.” I packed up the case, then didn’t move. I didn’t know what else to do. “Did I pay my bill in full?”
I crossed my arms in front of me. Hound eased himself off the couch, walked over in my direction until he was close enough to when our chests were close touch. He bent closer to my face. “You already did when you woke up this morning.”
All the air in my chest faded.
I shouldn’t want him, he was a stranger. He belonged to a world that wasn’t very welcoming to people like me. People who were lost, people that had enough light in their heart, who wouldn’t hurt a soul. He seemed like the type that would break my heart, maybe not from physically hurting me but something else I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Come on, let me get you home,” he said, before disappearing down the hallway.
Oh yeah, home. About that.