Chapter 15
DEREK & THE DOMINOS
I don’t hear songs first, I feel them.
It starts in my body—
heart pounding,
hands shaking,
stomach twisting.
The beat always hits my chest before the words ever come, warning me I’m about to write a song set to ruin me.
And that’s the exact feeling slamming through me the second Andrew and I step into the lobby and Ben’s standing there waiting.
Pain’s here. It just doesn’t hurt yet.
It’s sitting. Waiting. Taking up space.
Getting comfortable. Holding my heartbreak.
Letting me know the hurt is coming.
Ben is standing inside the doors,
leaning against the wall.
Joggers. Damp hair.
Car keys twirling lazy around his finger.
Casual, relaxed, unexpected, uninvited,
seconds from ripping Andrew away from me,
seconds from peeling the skin off the life I didn't think I wanted.
Sun's rising behind him,
honey yellow crawling across the floor,
casting long streaks through the shadows.
It's too warm, too dreamy next to the bass guitar Pain's strumming in my chest as I stand there, stuck between two worlds.
Between Sonny and Baby.
Between Andrew and Ben.
Between the warmth of the boy who makes me feel alive… colliding with the shadow of the man I trained to keep me numb.
This sunlight pools at my feet,
and I don’t know who I am standing in it.
My heart’s pounding so fiercely
it might break through bones and skin
and hit the floor.
My throat’s swelling.
My eyes dart around the room,
searching for an explanation
or a hole to fall into.
Andrew slows beside me.
“Ay—Sonny.”
His hand reaches for mine. “You good?”
I don’t give it to him.
I can’t nod. I can’t lie.
I can’t even say I’m fine.
My voice turned its back on me.
Ben spots me.
A pause knocks into him.
The quiet what-the-fuck-is-this? flaring behind his eyes.
He peels off the wall and walks toward me.
“Yo, Raymond said you might need a ride.” Phone in his hand, jaw stiff, his gaze slides over Andrew—quick, cold, disgusted. Then it’s back to me. “Guess not, huh?”
My mind blanks,
trying to scramble for my next move,
but every word’s wrong.
Every move’s a mistake.
I’m caught in headlights,
nowhere to go, nothing to say.
I don’t know what will save me,
so I do nothing.
Ben's staring down at me the way men do when they already know the answer. How they just sit back as you hang yourself with the silence. “No intro?” he says, entertained. “Aight. I’ll just stand here like a dickhead.”
Andrew’s staring at the side of my face, lost,
his confusion hitting me in waves.
He’s waiting for me to explain,
introduce him,
to make this okay.
Ben’s amused.
Andrew’s bemused.
And I’m just… the muse.
I got nothing.
But I also can’t risk Ben filling the silence, dropping pieces of me I’m not ready to hand over.
It’s my say. My mess. My story.
Andrew deserves to hear the whole thing.
I deserve to be the one to tell it.
Not some warped shards or half-truths.
“Ben. Not now, alright?
“You can leave. I’m fine.”
I’m fine.
Two words that taste like shit.
I’m not fine.
My heart’s breaking my bones,
building a coffin,
clawing at my chest to dig its own grave.
All the eyebrows in the room react to what I said—Andrew’s brows jump. Ben’s brows pinch together.
“You ain’t even gonna say his name?”
Ben asks, half-grinning.
He cuts Andrew a glance, sizing him up.
“Shit, I’m sure he’s got one. Right, bro?”
Andrew's mouth opens—
“Jesus, Ben,” I step in. “I told you to leave.”
Andrew withdraws.
Whatever he was about to offer,
he folded it up and put it away.
I can’t meet his eyes.
I already feel the difference, and my heart’s tearing into me so fucking hard. She’d rather be buried alive than feel what’s coming.
The color in Ben’s face drains as his gaze slides between Andrew and me, the truth dawning in his cold-blue eyes.
One look is all it takes.
He knows I’d push him out of my life
before ever letting the system or my addiction
touch what’s standing next to me.
He now knows Andrew’s off-limits,
which only means one thing:
I give a fuck about him.
I’d protect him.
And in all my years,
I’ve never protected anyone or anything
but myself.
Not even my songs.
Which makes Andrew the most dangerous thing in the room,
and me undeniably,
involuntarily,
thoroughly
fucked.
“Lemme ask you somethin’,” Ben says to me.
The grin’s still there, but it’s not in his eyes.
“I gotta worry about this guy, or what?”
Yes, this one guy could shake the entire system I’ve built. He'll rip away your home, your financial security, everything.
But the words don’t come out.
My lungs feel stomped on, keeping me quiet.
Ben’s mouth’s still smiling,
but the rest of him isn’t.
“Cool. Crystal clear.”
He twirls the car keys once around his finger and heads off. But right before the doors slide open, he glances back, a look meant to slash through me.
Then he’s gone.
My chest caves, air ripping out.
Andrew’s eyes burns into me, breath jagged,
hands locked on top of his head,
trying to hold himself together.
“Well, fuck me, Allison.
“Now I’m standin’ here, confused as fuck.”
“Sorry,” I whisper,
because it’s the only honest thing I can say.
“He’s… protective.”
Of his fuckin’ allowance every week.
Andrew stares at me for a long second.
“Brother?”
I shake my head.
His brow lifts.
“Family?… Friend of the family?”
I shake my head.
Again. Again.
Each one slower.
“Co-worker?” His voice fractures.
He already knows the truth,
but he’s clinging to hope.
I don’t answer,
and not answering says everything.
His shoulders sink as the reality settles in.
His eyes lose focus and stare past me,
trying to process it.
And it hurts watching the way it hits him.
When he swallows,
his throat works hard to force it down.
His eyes focus back on me,
but now they're different.
“Allison.”
He hesitates.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
The word hits the floor between us.
Unbreathable. Suffocating.
“Yes.”
The word is small but painful,
and I’m already shaking my head, rejecting it.
“But it’s not—”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ—” He pushes his hands through his hair, gripping the back of his neck with a hurt smile. “You’re jokin’. Allison—please. Please tell me this is a fuckin’ joke.”
“It’s not how you think it is—”
His jaw tightens.
“No? Then tell me. How long?”
My next breath gets caught in my chest.
“What?”
“How long you fuckin' been with him?”
I stall a beat too long.
“Three years.”
It lands in his eyes first, glassy devastation.
Then the rest of his body.
His gaze falls away from mine,
like my answer was too heavy to hold up,
like this end was always written across his bones.
He hangs his head,
scratches his brow,
pockets his hand,
and scans the lobby.
When he looks at me again,
he clears his throat.
“You safe with him?”
My inhale stops short. “What?”
He gestures to the door.
“That guy ever hurt you?”
I scoff, my hand coming over my forehead.
“So this I get to explain to make you feel better about walking away, huh.” I laugh only because I’m trying not to cry. “Yeah, no. I’m the only one doing the hurting.”
His jaw ticks, words locked in his throat.
Whatever he wants to say dies there.
He nods, more done than pissed,
and steps back.
He’s walking away.
And my heart's pounding from inside my ribcage, screaming at me—do something. Fucking say something. Anything. Please.
But he’s turning his back to me.
Walking.
Leaving.
I move to speak,
but nothing comes out
‘cause those knives he left in me are twisting.
He said he wasn’t going anywhere.
Guess I should’ve asked when.
Now I’m staring at his back as it moves
farther,
farther,
the distance between us stretching
wider,
wider,
anger keeping my feet nailed to the tile,
heartbreak holding my mouth shut,
shame keeping the burn behind my eyes.
Then he slips out the glass door,
fading,
fading,
gone.