Chapter 41
PIA
Istare at her sleeping for a long time. Minutes pass, and I don’t move. My car is outside, my bags already in the trunk, and I know I’m going to be late getting to LAX. But still, I don’t move.
What if I just stayed here?
What if I didn’t go on tour?
What if I gave it all up to live with Cassie, support her dreams, cook her meals, take care of her?
It’s more appealing than I would have ever imagined, but it’s not what I want.
Yes, I want Cassie. But I also want to write songs and sing them and tell fans through my music to fuck anybody who gets in their way.
So why can’t I follow my own advice?
I know the answer. It’s easy.
Because now I have something to lose. I have someone to lose.
It’s easy to go tell people to fuck themselves when you don’t care about them.
It’s easy to tell other people to get angry and to rebel and to be loud and take up space when you are consumed with nothing but that anger.
It’s easy to throw punches and pull hair and use my stiletto as a weapon when the only person I was putting at risk was myself.
It felt easy when the preppy librarian journalist was interviewing us to come out and say, “We’re women who like to kiss other women,” because that’s all it was. Kissing. Fucking. Showing that the world puts stupid fucking rules on what we do behind closed doors.
But now, we wouldn’t be saying that. We’d be saying “we’re women who love each other” and I am not sure I want to fuck with that.
Now, I have so much more at risk.
I have everything to lose, I think as I stare at Cassie sleeping, her hair spread out across the pillow, one hand above her head and the other on her stomach.
And I won’t do it. I won’t risk Cassie.
Maybe that’s why I’m considering sneaking out before she wakes up.
I know I was asking a lot of her when I requested that we don’t talk about the future, about going public.
I know it was unfair and cowardly and downright selfish, and I’ve felt all of that as an undercurrent during the last four days as we saw in a new year by making love countless times and seeing nobody but each other.
I deserve for her to ignore my wishes. I deserve for her to wake up and demand an answer, a plan.
But I know she won’t. Whatever our relationship is based on, there is a foundation of being honest. Of telling the truth. And besides, I can’t bear leaving her without another kiss.
Carefully, I crawl across the bed. I track the tip of my nose up her cheek, across her face, rubbing it against the tip of hers. I press my lips to hers, and my heart skips a beat when she kisses me back, like it’s a reflex of hers, even when she’s asleep.
But she’s stirring now, her eyes blinking open, her arms wrapping around me. I press a little harder with my lips until she’s opening her mouth, and my tongue is diving in, and I realise that this is the place. This is where I want to stay forever.
And yet, it’s an impossible dream.
“What time is it?” she asks croakily as she turns her head away.
“7:30,” I reply. “Or maybe closer to 8.”
“Shit, Pia, your flight.”
“I’m ready.” I lean back so she can see I’m fully dressed. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“But we were supposed to wake up together,” she say, panic flashing in her blue eyes. How I will fucking miss them.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I explain, but it sounds like the weak excuse it is.
Cassie sits up and grabs hold of me. “God, I wish you weren’t going.”
“Me too,” I say into her hair.
“This is agony, this is…” She stops speaking, and I know why. She’s abiding by our agreement – time for me to honour my side.
“I promise we’ll talk.” I grip her face in my hands. It’s only a small shock when I see tears in her eyes. “When I get back. After the Grammys.”
“After the Grammys,” she repeats.
And then I have to leave. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll stay forever and ruin both of our lives.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you too,” she whispers through her tears.
I let her go and walk to the door. I sign “I love you” once more. She signs it back.
And then I walk away, leaving my heart in bed with her.