54. Montana
54
Montana
H ow could it be?
After my meeting with Conductor Hopkins, I left the Institute, needing the cool night air to dampen the raging fire within me. My racing thoughts are momentarily interrupted as the hissing sounds from the bus indicate that my ride has arrived. I hop on, and allow the rolling steel to hold me captive as I ride around for hours like I so often do when I feel lost and without.
Holding my phone in my hands, I lean back into the vinyl seat and contact the only other person who’s given me a strange sense of comfort over the years. With sore and swollen fingertips, I text Markie, letting her know I’d gotten it all wrong. I don’t give any context to my message, but I hope like hell she’d respond anyway.
My phone rings in my hands soon after, signaling a call from Shane, but I’m just not in the headspace to answer. I can’t play the role anymore. I’m drained, disappointed, exhausted, and I need to be left to my thoughts.
I sit with my head against the cool glass, the chill of the night air seeping its way through the cheaply lined windows, watching as street after street passes and patrons hustle on and off the bus. The customers dwindle down until the last man, donning a navy blue painter’s uniform, departs at his stop, hobbling down the barely lit road. I’m the lone rider yet again.
I search within myself, questioning the purpose of everything, then grow irritable and restless when my thoughts circle back to my reasons for being here—pain, loss, and the ability to make things right again. All I ever wanted was to right my wrongs and the wrongs done to others. I just wanted to heal them and, in turn, heal me.
By the time I step off the bus, the streets are cloaked in an orangish-red, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon. The house is quiet, except for the dim light casting out of Wheeter’s room. I make my way to his door, hoping maybe he’s awake so I can siphon some of his positive energy, but when I look in his room, I’m surprised to see he isn’t alone.
Curled up together in the bed, Wheeter and Josiah have their legs tangled beneath the sheets. Josiah has a protective arm draped over Wheeter’s torso, and his face rested sweetly in the crook of his neck. They both look so peaceful, so free from the disturbing realities that linger. I smile to myself, glad to see that whatever arrangement they have together seems to be blooming into something deeper.
The loyalty these three have for each other is something anyone would envy, but the love between these two in particular is different. It has more depth than most relationships I’ve seen, and it warms my heart to witness it, especially knowing the loss Josiah has suffered. Wheeter is his antidote, his remedy, just as Shane is mine.
I sneak over to Shane’s room next, assuming his door will be locked as usual, but when I turn the handle, I’m stunned when it clicks open without resistance. Quickly and quietly, I peek inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. His heavy drapes are closed over his window, but his LED lights still glow their neon green. He’s lying face down on his stomach, with only a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The muscular ripples of his back illuminate as I see him clinging to his phone. He was probably waiting up to hear back from me, wondering why I never called back. My heart aches at the thought, imagining everything that could’ve been going through his mind in my departure.
Allowing him to sleep, I trudge across the hall to my room. Whiskers and nose hairs tickle my thigh as I finally lay back in my bed, losing myself in the view of the surrounding white walls. Rocco has been sleeping in my bed every day now, as if this were his bed all along. I don’t mind the free snuggles. Never thought I’d be a dog person in all of my life. Just like I never imagined Conductor Hopkins was innocent in the disappearance of Ella Marx.
Everything led me to believe he was the one. The painting, his elite and clean status, the sabbatical, the song…Someone had fooled me entirely, and processing that had thrown me into somewhat of a depression.
Rocco huffs in my lap, bringing me back to the present. I keep to myself, holing away in my room with only the company of my new furry friend. The house is silent, and I am working to embrace that. All I can do now is hope to suppress the noise of my racing thoughts and try to find peace in the nothingness around me, striving to give my weary mind some rest as long-awaited sleep finally claims me.
T onight is the night of the Midyear Performance Concerto, the concert I’ve invested so much time and energy into, only to not even be attending. But after sleeping half the morning away, my mind is still fidgety, and my bones feel unsettled. Something is stirring beneath the surface. A fervent tickle that won’t leave my veins. Somehow, somewhere, someone has to know the truth about Ella’s untimely death. They have to. And I’m the only person who knows the depth of her secrets, besides the one whose hands stripped her of her life.
Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I see I have three messages. One from Phil, who’s already inquiring about when and where to pick up his free tickets so he and Kathy can attend the performance tonight. He wanted to ensure they wouldn’t miss their dinner reservations afterwards, completely disregarding that the event was supposed to be about me. I haven’t yet said anything about my inability to perform tonight.
The second message is from Wesley, threatening to destroy my musical career if I tell his father anything about the recent events. Good riddance, frat boy.
And the last message is from Shane from only a few hours ago, simply stating one word.
Shane: Closet.
Confused by the strange message, I sit up, gently sliding off the bed so as to not disrupt the sleeping beast who’s still curled up next to me. Making my way to the closet doors, I pull them open, revealing a surprise I never could have imagined.
There, suspended before me on a wooden hanger, is the most gorgeous black satin dress. The high neckline and even higher thigh slit give it an air of sophistication, elegance, and class. Never in all of my life has such fine fabric graced these curves. I stare in awe, the expensive material sifting through my fingers like smooth sand, wondering why he’d go through all this trouble to buy me a dress, especially when he knows I can’t perform tonight due to his sporadic and impulsive actions.
Taking the stunning gown from the hanger, the tips of my fingers dust over a little note pierced through the wood.
Ugly moths were always my favorite, anyway.
My heart swells, and I hold the dress to me, closing my eyes tightly and embracing the fabric almost as if it were him. When my eyes open again, I’m hit in the gut with another surprise. The air leaves my lungs, my lips parting, and I stare vacantly in utter disbelief.
It can’t be.
There, seated in the back of my tiny closet, lies an oversized custom cello case. My stomach drops to the floor, and I fall to my knees, my hands working quickly to open it. With held breath, I crack the lid, and the Davide Pizzolato comes into view. Inspecting the glorious instrument, I shake my head, awe and shock causing my eyes to flood and the walls around me to go hazy.
Shane was the one who put it on hold?
“Seems I got enough firewood,” I hear a comforting voice behind me.
Turning, my tears spark to life, raining down my face. I rush to him at the door, wrapping my arms around him and sealing my lips to his. He kisses me back with such tenderness, and his hands mold to my body, one gripping around my lower back by my hip, the other cupping the back of my head possessively. I part from the kiss, breathless and hazy. I love him so much it hurts.
“How could you know?” I whisper, disbelief still wracking me.
“I read your diary,” he quips.
“I’d never be dumb enough to write my darkest secrets in a book that can be easily found.” I slap his arm, pushing away from him. “Seriously, where did you get the money for this? And don’t say drugs.”
He brushes my arm away, pulling me back into his embrace.
“Well, it could be considered a drug by some.” He smirks, gazing at the ceiling longingly.
Our online videos. The royalties. He spent it on me.
“Shane,” I say, shaking my head. “Seriously, how? How could you know?”
“I know what matters to you, even if I don’t understand the reasons behind it. Music means something to you. It breathes life into my broken girl, and I’d be a fool not to give her the tools to access that.” He stalls, letting me absorb his words before kissing me on the tip of my nose.
“No.” I try to escape his grip. “I can’t accept this. I-I can’t—”
“Montana,” he says softly, capturing my face between his rough palms. “Montana, stop. I know it hurts for you to accept gifts. It feels weird, uncomfortable, and almost painful at times.” His softness shifts into an audacious smirk. “But you better get used to the hurt, sweetheart.”
My eyes flood again as discomfort finds me. I’ve never had anyone care for me like this. I still don’t believe it’s real.
“I just want you to go out there and play. Don’t play for me. Don’t play for anyone else. I want you to play for you. Today, you prove to that stage that a girl from the trenches can overpower the best of them. Today you embrace your dirt. You show them that beauty is in the abrasion.”
I lean up on my toes, pressing my mouth forcefully against his. His firm body molds to mine, his hands circling my back, holding me in a protective embrace. My lips slant against his mouth, and his tongue flicks mine, creating a swirl of urges low in my belly. He tastes of lingering cigarettes and toothpaste, an odd yet delicious combination that’s entirely his. A deep rumble coasts its way up his throat, making my skin sizzle in remembrance, and he swiftly pushes me up against the wall, his hips securing mine in place.
“I missed you last night. I was worried,” he says between kisses, his mouth to mine like he can’t breathe without me. “I called you a few times and waited for you to return.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, peering down at the necklace that’s always hanging around his neck, toying with it absentmindedly. “I just needed some time...”
“I understand,” he says softly, tipping my chin up with his fingers. “I know where you go. Where you always go when you need to think.”
The bus . He really does know me better than anyone.
“I understand how much this concert means to you, and I figured you’d been booted from the orchestra because of the events with Wesley. I wanted to give you your space, but fuck, not seeing you last night ate away at me. I can’t stand being away from you now. It’s fucking with me, Montana.”
My conscience eats away at me because last night, I didn’t simply need time to deal with the orchestra. It was so much bigger than that, and I hate lying to the only person who truly has my heart. His care, his attention, his love…it overwhelms me, yet fills me with a feeling I can’t decipher. But as he once told me, people lie for all different reasons, and my reasons for this are with good intent.
My hands skim along the smooth skin of the back of his neck, toying with the softness of his faded cut while his roughened palms circle around to cup my jaw. I pull him closer, needing to prove my love with my actions alone. He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss as new sensations flutter through me, and I work to give the most valuable part of me to the only one who understands. The only one who’s ever understood.
Sometimes I forget that I’m human. I forget that I, too, have the ability to embrace and nurture some of life’s greatest aspects. Love, respect, loyalty. Life has always been a fight, starting in the pits and crawling my way to get what I want. I've never given myself the chance to even hope for the simple pleasures that more privileged individuals experience. It’s just always been an uphill climb, the weight of my traumas always trying to drag me back to the bottom.
Even still, little glimpses of a life with Shane flash before my eyes. Riding behind him on his bike, my arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him tightly while the sun casts a golden glow, warming our faces. We drive to our new home, pulling up the driveway to see Rocco eagerly waiting in the window, full body wagging. Kissing in the rain after dinner, making love on our patio beneath the light of the stars…
I’m brought back to reality when Shane releases my lips, resting his head against mine.
Pain crushes me as the dreams I have for us slip from view, ripping away something I didn’t realize I’d found. How could it ever be possible?
“Bury me,” I murmur as the air sizzles between us.
He hums, running his nose along my cheek and stealing quick kisses wherever he can.
“That day in your mother’s house, after you arrived, bloodied and drunk from meeting with your father.”
“How did you know I found my father—”
“You said bury me so deep I can breathe again,” I say, interrupting him.
His jaw flexes, and he nudges his temple against mine. “I did. Surviving you isn’t something I wanted. I wanted you to bring me that sweet, relentless death. It’s home for the stragglers like us.”
Home for the stragglers like us. I reiterate his words in my mind, my soul slowly crushing like a tin can in a powerful hand.
“Cheating death is something we’re good at,” I comment, my tone shakier than I’d prefer.
A grin toys with his lips. “I agree.”
“But such is not the case for many.” My back teeth clench together.
I work to hold in my memories, to not allow them to unleash and consume me. The one thing I couldn’t accomplish here was seeking her justice. No one knew the other side of Gabriella Marxon. I’d hold the secrets of her online alias, Ella Marx, until the day I died. Josiah would never know his promising older sister dabbled in the same world as me in order to keep their lives afloat, nor would he ever get his answers.
“I always dreamed of an existence within this life,” I continue. Shane stares into my eyes, focusing solely on my words, and his smile evaporates from his lips. “A reality where we could be this . Be us .” I utter quickly, working to keep my composure.
He dips his head, eyes questioning.
“I wanted a happy ending of my own, like the kind you see in movies,” I whisper as I touch his chest, running my fingers up his shirt to reach his necklace. My body shivers against his. “You planted these hopes and dreams in my mind of plans I’d never imagined before you. Had me seeing stars, wishing for things out of reach.”
“It’s not out of reach. If it’s what you want, then you’ll get it, Montana,” he says argumentatively. “I’ll give you this world and whatever other worlds you require. Every dream you can conjure. Every happy ending imaginable, from whichever story you choose. It can be ours. It will be ours.”
My lips flatten into a forced smile, working not to appear disheartened.
“What are you—? Why are you saying this? Why are you shaking?” His hands slide up my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length.
I look at him, needing to implant this moment in his memory. “That night,” I say, my voice unsteady, “that night before he took the blade to your arm…do you remember what I told you?”
His lips part as he tries to read me, eyes searching around the room before focusing back on me.
“It’s the slow decay of hope that kills the living, not the beasts subjecting us to their bite.”
I nod, fighting back my tears. “You remembered?”
He lifts his shorts, exposing the words tattooed above his kneecap, next to none other than a newer tattoo; the name, vEn0mX, higher up on his thigh. My heart fists in my chest, disbelief swirling through me.
“I once wished for death, but I’m convinced this was the only thing that kept me alive. Accepting the pain I’d been subjected to, but fighting for any sliver of hope within the torment. Even when that hope was masked in revenge.”
He gazes into my eyes, and it's as if I can see his walls wanting to rebuild to keep him safe from the one who almost destroyed him. But just as quickly, he shakes his head as if trying to wash away the doubt.
“Don’t lose hope for us now that we’ve found it. It’s always us,” he confirms, his forehead furrowed as he rests his head against mine. “In any form.”
I close my eyes, embracing this moment of ours before a knock at the door disrupts us. It was only a matter of time. Defeat steals the earth from under me, and my legs feel as if they could crumple to the floor. Sigh’s murmured voice echoes from behind it, informing Shane of a visitor.
“Tell them to fuck off,” Shane says, still solely focused on me.
“She said she’s not leaving until she sees you.”
His head perks up, and our narrowed eyes peer toward the door.
“She?”
“Lana,” he answers, sounding agitated. “She’s outside and won’t leave until she talks to you. She’s hysterical.”
Distaste wrinkles his nose, but I grab his chin, turning his head to face me again. “It’s okay. Go to her. I have an event to get ready for.” I smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “I’ll hop on the bus. If I’m lucky, I can get in a quick rehearsal before the show.”
“I don’t know why she’s here, Montana. I’m not seeing her.”
“I know.” I slide my palm against his neck, running my thumb reassuringly along his cheek. “You don’t need to justify her actions.”
“But you don’t trust me. You don’t believe me. I don’t want you calling Alek for some ride or hopping a bus in spite of the situation. I can take Wheeter’s old truck. See if it’ll start up again. I can take you, I can—”
“Go, Shane. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll look for you, but I’ll play for me,” I whisper, planting a soft kiss on his full lips and giving him what I hope is a comforting smile. “Only me.”
Sigh’s voice breaks our trance. “You can’t just burst in here, Lana!”
Shane heads toward the door but turns back to me before leaving my room, shooting one last longing look in my direction.
“Go,” I urge, working to give him some sort of reassurance. “I’ll see you later.”
He stalls, not wanting to move, searching my face for some sort of understanding. But I make it easy for him, striding over and opening the door for his departure.