Taking place in the summer of 1978, the story follows 18-year-old aspiring music journalist, nicknamed Goldie, tasked with following up-and-coming UK rock band - The Orphans - while they do their first tour of the U.S. New to life on the road, Goldi...
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It's one of those rare South Carolina nights, in the early stages of dawn, where the hot sun peaks through the horizon but the shade lays cold. A damp cloth is rubbed against her forehead as Goldie comes down from her extreme high. Life with Harry always felt like standing on a grand mountainous peak, but in this moment, the sensation never felt more literal.
"There she is," Harry's deep voice mumbles as Goldie flutters her eyelids open. He's shirtless. All the windows are open. Blankets are kicked off and crumpled in the corner of his room. Having overheated from the immense amount of drugs she consumed, she's shirtless too. "Had me worried there for a bit."
"I'm sorry," her dry throat struggles to respond.
"You better be." Harry chuckles, shifting his weight to lay beside her more comfortably.
"I hope I didn't ruin everyone's time. I'm so embarrassed."
"No reason to be embarrassed, my belle. I blame the humidity."
She giggles, rubbing her nose against his wrist as he caresses her brow. She was in a dark, cold place for a moment. Thrown back to a state of mind she never wanted to live in yet felt like she could never escape. Her heart warms at the thought of Harry's tenderness. The happiness he induced is much like the sun. It radiates a warmth that has the capabilities to drive the human soul from a chilly, winter-like state.
Goldie's shaky hand reaches up and tugs on Harry's earlobe. She smiles at the feeling of the peach fuzz against her fingertips. It's like she picked him from a sweet orchard in the middle of nowhere. A place that few people had witnessed the beauty of. A patch of bright orange and dark green in a tundra.
She moves her hand down to his bottom lip, feeling the chappedness of this entryway with her thumb. How she'd love to free fall into the crevices and roll down the hills of the texture.
Harry envelopes her thumb with his coral mouth. The sharp edges could cut a diamond but instead rest gently around her knuckle, the heat and softness of his tongue providing an added layer of sweetness.
"I'm sorry," Goldie whispers as she slides her finger out from behind his pillowy lips.
"For what?" He dips the washcloth into a bowl of ice water and continues to pat down her face.
"I don't know. I feel so much better now and it hit me... I said so many things. It's just... I'm scared what you might think now."
"So, do you remember everything that was said?" Harry nervously drops his head, having never said the words he admitted to her shortly before now. He'd taken a dull knife and cut into all his major arteries. He made a deep enough incision to cause bleeding. Enough to fall into white noise. "Please remember," he whispers against her forehead.
Goldie remembers. There isn't a fiber in her that would allow her to forget Harry's admittance of love. She had already tattooed it on her brain.
She grips onto the bare skin of his shoulders. He links his arms under hers, digging his fingernails into her blonde hair and scalp. They cling to one another, still required to stay attached to real life. Their sticky bodies are magnetic, too strong to be separated.
