The Dream Is Not Over

Rough to Rocky

Over the next couple of weeks, our relationship seems to mend a little. We still fight but we make up right away in our usual fashion. We sweat it out on the mattress for hours and I can't lie, it's been fun. We can go back to how we were when we were young for a while and everything seems to resolve itself...except it doesn't. As time goes on, the fighting gets more frequent, knowing the reward for him is more passion in the bedroom. I know, because I've caught him challenging me, trying to instigate a fight with me over anything. Yesterday it was over the proper way to cut the toast, diagonally or vertically. Nice try, Linds. Today, he's throwing his weight around and I bite the inside of my cheek trying not to say anything as he pounds his boot heels into the floor, marring the wood, or how he slams the cabinet directly over my head. I see him smirk as he nearly catches my fingertips in the drawer he shoved closed with his hip. I shake my head, willing myself to keep my mouth shut.

"What's wrong, Steve's? Cat got your tongue?" I shake my head again. "You seem like you want to say something."

I lean over the counter, ignoring him as I continue to read my book. Suddenly, he comes over and knocks my book off the counter top and I see red.

"What the fuck is your problem, Lindsey? I'm not doing a damn thing to you!" I shout and he smiles.

"Finally a reaction! You seem to forget there are two people in this house, Stevie!"

"How can I when I see you everywhere? There are dents in my coffee table, in the floor...you've nearly taken off my fingers!" He chuckles. "You're so immature. If you want attention why don't you just ask me?" His smile fades. "It's not that hard. For some crazy reason I still love you. I want to be with you but I'm tired of fighting!"

"Then let's go upstairs." he offers and my temper flares again.

"I don't want to go upstairs! Are we even making love anymore?"

"Does it matter? It feels good, doesn't it?" He looks utterly confused why I could possibly be upset.

"It matters to me."

"But does it feel good?" he presses and I nod begrudgingly.

"There's no doubt about it, Lindsey but it's not the same if there is nothing behind it."

"There's always something there, Stevie. You know it and I know it. Hell, probably half the block knows it!" he says and I blush. "Come on...don't you want to make it better?" He snakes his arms around me, kissing my neck. His soft kneading of my muscles triggers an almost pornographic moan. The warmth of his lips on my skin sets me on fire. I wrap my arms around his neck and the next thing I know we are completely naked and spent, tangled up in each other's embrace.

—-

Hours later, I pull myself from our bed and kneel down to grab a bottle of alcohol from my hiding place under the bed. The mini fridge in the office provides me with ice I need to make myself a drink. I come back into the room, tug my robe from the bedpost and yank the doors open that lead to the balcony. The sun is going down and my sanctuary is bathed in brilliant purples, pinks, blues and oranges. I smile, sitting down on the ground rather than a chair and light a cigarette. Lindsey watches me, his eyes narrow and I try to ignore him.

"Stevie" he barks as I blow smoke into the air, taking another drag. He's quiet a moment, getting up to put on a pair of boxer shorts. I look at him briefly, taking a hearty gulp of my drink. I chuckle as I amuse myself with making smoke rings in the air. "Stephanie" He stands over me, looking down at me as if he were about to scold a small child.

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice already becoming more husky due to the drinking and smoking. When I stay away it usually gets a bit better.

"I want you in the studio tomorrow. We aren't finished and I'm tired of you refusing to go. You're fucking the band over."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll drive you, just try not to be drunk this time...or high."

"I wasn't high! If anyone was, it was you. You were rolling joints and passing them out like cigars after the birth of a baby." He half laughs and I stand up, annoyed that he took this time away from me. "I'm not going and you can't make me." I take another drag off my cigarette and he steals it from my lips, sticking it between his own. He takes a long drag, blowing the smoke in a steady stream above my head and extinguishes it in my heavy crystal tumbler.

"Suit yourself" he says and walks off. I hear a click but think nothing of it. He's probably just having another temper tantrum. I look into my glass, frowning as the expensive amber alcohol has gone to waste. There are ashes floating in it. I huff, going downstairs to throw away my soggy, wilted cigarette and dump out the remaining liquid. As I stand at the sink, he watches me intently.

"You're not funny"

"I wasn't trying to be." he says, crossing his arms.

"I'm still not going."

He scoffs. "As if any of us actually want you there. We tried to record here and it didn't work so we had to get another space."

"Could have used the old home studio."

"Sure, there isn't enough sound proofing in the world to drown out your drunken cackling."

"Well, you can just go take a long walk off a short pier, Lindsey."

"Gladly" he says, kissing my cheek. He jogs up the first couple stairs and gives me a look. I nod and he hurries back up to the bedroom, waiting for me.