Chapter 5 Riot
Riot
I stand in the alleyway at the back of Hightide Records, powering through my third cigarette and staring up at a sky that reminds me too much of Eloise’s eyes.
The sight of it has haunted me this past week, reminding me of her when I least want to be—and the constant reminiscing tears at my heartstrings.
I think of her shy smiles and gentle spirit.
Her cherry-blossom hair and her sunset-painted bike.
But more than that, I think of how she makes me feel when all I’ve done is drown.
For the first time in three years, the thought of putting down the bottle, the act of pulling my aching bones from bed—neither has been impossible. For the first time, it’s easy.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. The numbness was comforting. It was safe.
These things I feel for Eloise… they’re as inexplicable as they are overpowering. I thought by now my infatuation would fade, that I would return to some normalcy. But the more time passes, the more enamored I grow with her.
It makes me worry.
In the distance, the shop bell chimes, and my heart takes off once more. I stub my cigarette against the wall and hurry inside, the scent of tobacco and ash following me into the shop.
I come to a stop in the middle of the room, the ground shifting as my eyes lock onto Eloise. She’s in a pair of baggy, ripped jeans and a black Rolling Stones shirt tied in a knot beneath her breasts, showing off the strip of soft skin above her belly button.
“Hey,” I say, my voice slightly hoarse.
“Hey.” She takes another step inside, allowing the door to close softly behind her. Electricity crackles in the space between us, pulling me closer and warning me away. “Sorry I’m late…”
“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” I give her a smirk I hope doesn’t betray the wild pulsing of my heart. In truth, I had been counting down the seconds, convinced she was going to bail and I’d never see her again. This is so much better than the alternative. “Ready to get started?”
Eloise dips her chin in a nod, clasping her hands tightly at her front as she follows me to the practice room.
I watch her closely the whole lesson, trying not to cringe at how awkward her movements are as she attempts to strum. I know this is only her second time playing the guitar, but hell… even Jane was less stiff.
It’s hard because I can tell by her expression that she really, really wants to get this right. She picked up the basic chords right away, but when she tries to strum, she has a terrible time keeping rhythm.
Ironic, considering she’s apparently some world-renowned pianist.
After ten minutes of little improvement, Eloise’s cheeks are flushed, and her lips are pushed out in a full-blown pout. I’m worried about how frustrated she’s getting and extremely concerned with the negative things she keeps whispering under her breath whenever she messes up.
“I think it might be a good time for a break.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the emotion swirling within seems an awful lot like fear. “I promise I’ll get it. I just need a little more time…”
I reach out, covering her hand with mine before I have the chance to think better of it.
Instead of jerking away, Eloise’s mouth parts, heat rising in her cheeks as she continues to meet my stare.
“I know you will,” I whisper, all sincerity.
“But right now, you need to take a break. I promise it will help.”
Taking her lip between her teeth, she nods, shifting out of my hold to place the guitar gently onto its stand. Once her hands are free, I hold out a pen, to which she frowns.
“What’s that for?”
I tap the inside of my arm with the pen.
“This is how I learned when I first started.
You draw the chords on your forearm, so you can get the muscle memory down faster when you're not trying to recall which finger goes where. Then you can really focus on the rhythm of your strum more than the chords.”
Hesitantly, she takes the pen and immediately switches it to her left hand before beginning to scribble.
“Wait a second…” I assumed Mac had asked her but… maybe not. “Are you left-handed?”
“Yeah?” She looks up, her brows furrowed in confusion. “So is one-sixth of the population.”
I can't help but chuckle, which only makes Eloise even more confused. “That wasn't a joke.”
“No, I know.” I shake my head with another hushed laugh. “It’s just that I realized why you're so shit at guitar.”
Her mouth pops open in indignation. “Pardon?”
“Fuck, sorry… But you kinda are.” I can’t help but smile at her angry little scowl. “The good news is, now we can fix that problem.” I reach to my side, picking up my guitar by the neck and thrusting it toward her. “Lucky for you, I’m also left-handed.”
“I… don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”
Her suspicion is fucking adorable. “You've been playing with the wrong hand. That’s why you’re so stiff and awkward.”
“How can there be a wrong hand?” She gazes down at the instrument in her lap like it offended her. “Either should work just fine.”
I shake my head. “It's like writing. Your dominant hand is the one you want to use to strum. Here, take mine. Try it.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to damage it… it looks kind of expensive.”
I nearly choke, thinking back to all the things the poor guitar has had to endure over its years in a rock star's possession. “If you do, I’ll be impressed.”
She looks dubious but places her guitar onto the rack and takes mine, switching the direction of the instrument in her lap so it’s facing the correct way.
Positioning her fingers on the frets still looks awkward, but far less so than it had a moment ago.
And when she strums, she’s able to keep a steady beat as her other fingers work the frets.
I love being right. It happens so very rarely.
“I think you’ve earned another break.”
Eloise picks her head up, frowning as she strums the strings gently. “But I just got the hang of it!”
“Which is exactly why you need to stop. Unless you want to make your fingers bloody—up to you.”
She sighs but puts down the guitar, giving it a longing look as she pulls her hand away from the neck. “I can’t believe how much nicer it sounds compared to mine.”
“What do you mean? That is yours now.”
Her mouth drops open. “What? No! I—this is your guitar. I couldn’t.”
“You can. And you should. It’ll probably get more use with you anyway.” My mouth tips upward. “I’ve made up my mind, Eloise. It’s quite a final thing.”
She blushes, turning her gaze down to her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I… thank you. No one’s ever… That’s incredibly kind of you.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve been meaning to get a new guitar for months now. This is the perfect excuse.” I’m not sure why I tell her this lie, only that it probably makes me seem less desperate. But oh, am I desperate for her.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Eloise turns to me with a shy smile and a sparkle in her gaze.
“So how did you get into this? Teaching guitar, I mean.” Her neck heats with the faintest shade of pink as she adds, “Seems like you should be touring in a rock band or something.”
“It’s funny you say that.”
“Uh… Why?”
“Because I am in a rock band. Or used to be, I guess.” I smirk to hide the painful stab of grief the words bring. “It’s been years since I played.”
She tilts her head, her sky-blue eyes brimming with interest. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“You were really in a band? You’re not just messing with me?”
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“I mean, no… it’s just strange that you’re here in Saltbloom,” she murmurs, taking her lip between her teeth. “Would I recognize any of your songs?”
“Maybe.” I turn my attention to the guitar in my lap, plucking a few random chords. “We went by Riot Rush.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not ringing a bell. Sorry.”
I’m overcome with a strange rush of relief. She doesn’t know about me or my past. Has no idea how bad I really am for her. Fucking amazing.
“No worries,” I say. “It’s been years since we were relevant.” I switch gears before she has a chance to ask me why I ended up in Saltbloom, which I’m positive will happen if the conversation continues this way.
I lean forward. “Well, since you know my dirty dark secret now, it’s time for you to tell me one of yours.”
I’m not sure why, but this is the wrong thing to say. The blood drains from Eloise’s face, and she jerks back like I struck her. “What are you talking about? What secret?”
My brows rise, the hairs along my arms prickling with awareness. “I just… was going to ask why you decided to take guitar lessons?”
“I… Oh. Of course.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Well?” I prompt her, not willing to give up just yet.
I’m desperate to know more about Eloise than the bits and pieces she accidentally lets slip.
I need to understand what’s making her so sad.
“I’m not trying to pry. If I know why you want to learn, it will help me tailor our lessons to your personal goals. ”
She looks away and twiddles her fingers in her lap. “My reasons… they’re kind of silly…”
“You can tell me. I'm the last person in the world who will judge you.”
Eloise takes a deep breath, still not looking at me.
“I really want to be able to play a Stevie Ray Vaughn song. His version of Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Little Wing,’ specifically.
It was my mom’s favorite. She… Her love of music is really what makes me want to play.
I don’t have many memories of her, but I do remember her smiling whenever that song came on.
Doing this… will allow me to feel closer to her in some way. ”
The way she says it makes me think her mom has passed, and I tell myself it would be wrong to push her any more than I have. In actuality, her statement reminded me of how my mother handed down her love of music, and I’m not ready to deal with the emotions that come with that thought.
“Well, I don’t think that’s silly at all,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”
She blushes. “So you think I can do it?”
“The song is extremely advanced. But I’m sure you’ll be able to do it eventually. If you put your heart into it.” I bring a hand to cup my chin. “That is… if you take my guitar home and practice.”
Eloise freezes, her carefree expression shuttering. “You don't understand. I can't.”
“Because of space, right?”
“Yes.”
I eye her critically, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to budge. Sweet Eloise has a deeper secret, and she’s holding it very tightly.
“Alright.” I hold my hands up, conceding. “But if you want to play that song, you’ll need to practice more than once a week.”
“I know. I want to, but—” Her expression closes off, and that icy, emotionless mask she’s so fond of takes over in the next heartbeat. Shutting down. Shutting me out. Eloise gives me a fake smile, her eyes dulling with the lifeless sheen of her mask. “It’s getting late… I should probably go.”
“We still have ten minutes left.”
She just shrugs, gathering her things without looking at me. “Maybe I’ll beat the rain home.”
“Eloise… if I said something to offend you, I’m sorry.”
She lets out a small sigh, then turns to me with her practiced expression.
“You didn’t. It’s just the truth doesn’t always feel good.
Not your fault.” Without another word, she moves toward the exit.
She stops at the threshold, but doesn’t turn her head around as she says, “I’ll see you next week, Riot. ”
She exits the store, leaving me with a festering pit of hopelessness in my stomach.
I don’t understand how it could be going so well one moment, and complete and utter shit the next. What is she hiding? What is it that she’s so scared of?
I lean forward, resting my head in my hands as the weight on my shoulders becomes unbearable.
At least she said she would be back.
And I can only hope it’s true.