Twelve
Avory
Sawyer's bag is thrown over his shoulder as he hastily jumps the stairs and beelines for the shop door. His breathing grows louder and quicker, the words “sorry”
and “breathe”
muttering through those tinted lips of his.
Yes, I notice the shine that has blessed his lips.
All I want to do is reach for his hand and pull him back to me. I crave to rub my hand between his shoulder blades until his breathing transforms into the same gentle hum he had when he was resting against my chest.
His hand reaches desperately for the door handle and as it swings open, stronger than he expected it to due to the seaside winds outside, he stops for a moment. His eyes meet mine as if he’s trying to tell me something. His lips part and close over and over, but the silence remains between us.
I should be stopping him. I should be grabbing him by that beautiful face and feel the shine that is glazing over his lips blending into a blurred mess between us, but I can’t. This fire that burns for Sawyer inside me is being fanned, fuel is being added every second and it is intense. An intensity I’m not used to, but I don't want it to calm down.
He nods goodbye as the door shuts behind him and I watch him fly down the high street, his feet looking like they never touch the ground. I lock the door behind him, but the urge to slam my head through the wooden frame is festering.
I've felt attraction before, but not one that creates this tugging sensation from my chest to his. A string that knits itself between every rung of my ribcage which tugs, pulls, strains towards him.
Your lips were moments away from mine, and a deep regret grows in my mind for not pushing us together sooner. Sooner, before your phone vibrated and your entire demeanour changed. I watched you collapse in on yourself, and all I want to do is collect every shard of Sawyer Sombre, and piece him back together, placing us back on that amp. You intrigue me, Sawyer Sombre.
When Marcus told me that he had bought himself a new outfit for our shows, I did not expect this to strut out into our living room. Step by step, Marcus’ feet strut in front of each other with his arms extending either side of him, I'm convinced he’s popping his hip with each step.
The sheer volume of his boots on the hardwood floors tells me how powerful and how attractive he feels in this new outfit. Black snakeskin boots surrounded in silver buckles and chains choke his calves as a tight pair of faux leather trousers hug the rest of his leg.
He dons a white silk shirt which screams elegance. The neckline plunges down to the beginning of his abs and layers upon layers of ruffles surround his visible pecs.
He displays his usual beaming grin, and his hair flows naturally compared to usual, sections of black and silver hair dangling over his forehead. My jaw has dropped and there is no bringing it back from the floor.
“While I know I look stunning, like I'm talking incredible, genuinely I have never looked this good.”
Marcus continues to slowly spin around, pulling all sorts of poses to display his favourite assets, before signalling to my entirety. “But look at you! We look fucking incredible!”
You know what? He’s right. We do look fucking incredible, even if this is miles out of my comfort zone.
Marcus has somehow convinced me to wear matching leather trousers with him which gives a crystal-clear picture of what I pack in the back and front for anyone and everyone who could be watching us. Not that I necessarily have anything to be embarrassed about, especially with these heeled boots which make my ass perkier and the trousers crease underneath my cheeks.
My eyes follow my silhouette from the heel to my midsection, which is fully on display. I have a Bright Lights shirt which I ripped directly under the logo, creating a crop top and showing off an asset of mine which I don't mind all that much. I always try my best to stay in shape, especially with our greasy eating habits and outrageous amounts of caffeine, and it’s clearly working with the darkened lines leading into my trousers and the abs developing over my stomach.
My wrists, neck and fingers are wrapped in leather bands and silver, and I somewhat neaten up my usual eyeliner and stretch the wings to meet my temples.
I stand with Marcus until he throws his arm around me and raises his eyebrows. “Get your phone out then! We can't forget this.”
I roll my eyes at him as I pull my phone up and we squeeze our heads into the screen. My painted nails appear as I press the camera, two beaming faces with toothy grins squishing into the most recent photos gallery.
“Come on you, we need to fill the van and get going.”
Marcus struts away, spinning the front door keys around his finger.
“You go ahead, I'll be down in a second.”
Marcus rolls his eyes as he starts jogging down the stairs, his voice echoing up the stairs as he yells, “I already told you that acapella is not an option; I'm not those Pitch Perfect girls!”
I open my phone once again, and a smile is already growing over my face for what I’m about to do. I press his name, the memories flooding my head with everything that happened in the studio and my body grows hot, my trousers grow tight – which is difficult with this leather. I attach the photo of myself and Marcus and send it his way.
Avory: Hey Sawyer, we're performing tonight and we're looking pretty damn good!
This is a weird friendship.
The moon is glowing silver this evening, that same silver reflecting all over the living room. Marcus is parking the van around the back of the building as I begin to wake all the light bulbs up and create the warm shine around our home.
I haven't been able to check my phone all evening since the show was waiting for its performers and the drinks were waiting to be drunk, and my mind only wishes to see something from him, anything.
I've never felt this for anyone before, that want, that craving for something, anything from one particular person. I’m too used to no feelings or memories attached, and this feeling for some guy I have only just met is intense, an intensity I have never felt.
In all honesty, I can't remember the name of the last person I messed around with, yet all I want is to say “Sawyer Sombre”
over and over just to feel how pretty it is in my mouth.
For someone who should only be a friend at this point, no, an acquaintance, it is feeling all too natural between us. Well, except for Sawyer leaving so abruptly.
The studio, the space that is just ours, is so quickly opened back up to the world to see and feel and be a part of, and it sparks worry in me. What if I have already jumped off the deep end for that sweet barista while his toes are still testing the temperature?
It isn't my place to dig at him, but I feel I should know if we are on the same page, let alone in the same book. A chat bubble icon sits on my screen, and I have never clicked faster.
Sawyer: You guys look incredible! Good luck tonight <3!
I never thought I would be the man who overthinks a fucking heart. I need to see him again soon and try to figure out what's going on.
Avory: It was amazing! Would've been better if you were in the audience :)
The idea of looking from my guitar to the audience and seeing Sawyer's face causes a toothy grin to plaster itself over my face alongside a chuckle at the thought of what Sawyer has reduced me to.
“What are you giggling at?”
Marcus begins kicking off his boots, a bassy groan escaping as he pulls his feet free.
“Nothing. Feel good to get those off?”
Marcus waddles his way over to me, hissing through his teeth and cursing with each step. “We'll talk about that some other time.”
He signals down to my phone as his grin grows wider. “But thank you once again my boy, for a phenomenal performance! All of those people dancing on the floor, you throwing your guitar pick out to the audience, you were born for this life!”
Marcus plants a wet kiss on my forehead as he grasps both sides of my head and continues the harmony of hisses into his bedroom. How could I even begin to describe all of this to Marcus?
My train of thought is interrupted by my screen lighting up once again. That damn chat bubble.
Sawyer: If I can ever get out, then I'd love to <3
That heart. Ugh. Wait, “if he can ever get out?”
That's something I need to find out more about.
Avory: Are you free tomorrow?
Sawyer: Working :(
Does he do anything other than? I'll find a way around this, watch me.