2. I Hope You Fall On Your Face #2
Blake proves he has not one hesitant bone in that gangly body of his. He stands and gives the audience one of the most dramatic bows I’ve ever seen. And since drama is my middle name, that means something.
In the audience, Devon Donnelly wears a satisfied smirk, but his wife isn’t smug at all. Her entire expression is a ray of sunshine as she claps. When we make eye contact, she gives me the thumbs up and mouths, “You’re in!”
I’m in.
Fuck. I don’t know whether to fall to their feet in gratitude or turn my back on Winslet and escape to another continent altogether.
What I do know is the chance of the worst possible scenario playing out tonight is nil to nothing. For tonight, I have this.
I’m home.
I pick up the glass of water waiting for me on a side table and take a sip. When I put the mic back to my lips, I introduce the next piece. “Let’s go old school. I hope you’ve been to the bar. If not, think about making it a double, because it’s getting hot in here. I think I have a Fever...”
And with that, I do my best to make Peggy Lee proud. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but for tonight, I’m going to make Winslet my fucking stage. If I get burned in the process, I’ll find a way to deal.
Payne
If the memories don’t slowly kill me, they’ll light a fire under me that will make me do something illegal at worst, or at least something I’ll regret to my core.
Ruby fucking Sinclair.
I never thought I’d see the day. I thought that ship had sailed.
No.
I fucking prayed that the ship entered the perfect storm and sank to the deepest and darkest pits of the ocean.
But it seems no matter what I pray for, God looks down at me, pats me on the head like I’m a private joke He created for His own entertainment, and says, “Well, son, I haven’t tried you enough. Here’s another boulder rolling down the mountain. I can’t wait to see what you do with this one.”
Little does He know, the previous ten are nothing. This is the one that will be the death of me. Hell, maybe I should pray for that. This is one boulder I might just step in front of and say, “I’m done. Put me out of my misery.”
It’s not like I haven’t seen her since she stomped on my heart and ground it into the pavement with the heel of her four-inch spiked lookalikes from a store that sells everything from garden soil to cottage cheese.
I’m not only a man with a burning curiosity, but I’m also human.
I might not have seen her in the flesh, but I have looked her up from time to time over the years.
I set my laptop to private and scrolled through countless pictures and videos, because I had to know.
I needed to know that the first love of my life got ugly, failed, and was more miserable than me. I needed her to gray prematurely, have a face full of wrinkles, and ... I don’t know. Suffer from high cholesterol and shit.
You know when the prescription drug commercials get to the end, and the lawyers take over with the long list of every single bad thing that could possibly happen from taking said drug?
I have my own list.
Common side effects for fucking over Payne Deacon may include but are not limited to: diarrhea, hair loss, drowsiness, insomnia, liver failure, heart failure, seizures, and maybe death. Oh, and let’s not forget decreased libido and zero orgasms.
Not that I’ve ever heard that last one on a commercial. I added that to the list of life-threatening risks for fucking over yours truly. No happiness. No enjoyment. And definitely no more fucking orgasms for her.
But as I stand hidden in the shadows in the dark room, I see that God is, again, laughing at me.
It’s clear not one of the symptoms I’ve wished upon her has come true.
And since she’s oozing sex as she sings every angsty song in the history of music—more than I had any idea existed—I can only guess that she has no problem in the orgasm department.
Fuck my miserable life. I can’t catch a break.
And all it took was one phone call from Dean to twist my shit inside out. Raw is not a strong enough word for how I feel, because the internet has not done her justice.
Ruby is spectacular.
Her hair is still blonde, but darker than it used to be.
It hits below her shoulders in long, thick waves.
Her lips are plumper, and her dress should come with its own list of life-threatening side effects.
Her tits are fuller than I remember, and her curves are curvier in all the perfect spots.
If any man in this room who isn’t consumed by another human doesn’t have a boner right fucking now, they’re probably dead.
And her eyes.
They’re a mix of the ocean on a clear day and the sky at high noon.
I doubt she has high cholesterol. Her perfection pisses me off.
She just announced that she’s got one more song to privately torture me with before she and her brother take a break.
There’s no way I can be here when the lights go up.
Someone will see me. The history of Payne and Ruby is practically folklore in these parts, not to mention, I snuck in right before she started.
If anyone sees me, it’ll be all over town before Carl can fry up his first slab of bacon tomorrow morning.
I move along the back wall to the rear exit, hurry through the atrium, and out the front doors. My life sucked before that phone call tonight. Now I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do with myself.
I’m familiar with rock bottom. My parents have done a bang-up job of landing there themselves.
But I didn’t cause this.
I was minding my own business ... and boom.
Here comes the boulder of all boulders.
I look up at the clear spring night sky. “Why me, God? They didn’t talk about your sense of humor in the Bible. I don’t find any of this shit funny.”