To the Beat of My Heart

Our Night Under Stars

There's this hill in the middle of nowhere and no one goes there. Save the three of us.

You don't get too many stars in civilisation. But drive out just far enough into no man's country and the skies open just a little more for you. That's where we flee with a bottle of cheap wine and a lavender-scented, salsa-stained blanket. It's all we'll need for a night like this, a night desperately in need of a few more stars in the sky.

"One?!" Chelsea snorts, flicking the blanket out for effect. "You dolts brought one? Yeah, 'cause this napkin is gonna cover the three of us. It can barely cover Clay's fat ass!"

Clay puts a hand before his mouth. "It's petite. And very attractive, thank you very much."

"I can attest to that," I smile, squeezing Clay's left butt-cheek as I pass him to grab the wine. I'm really not sticking to this alcohol cleanse. Well, whatevs, tonight is not a night for rules.

Chelsea shivers, rubbing her hands together, mist slipping through her lips. She's always looked like her mother, the same dark skin, wild hair and eyes, but it's been almost a year since we've seen our best mate, and her hair has grown out, and she looks more comfortable in her stance. She reminds me so much of Jaz.

I always thought she was the height of confidence and strength, but if the three of us dolts, as Chelsea so eloquently put it, have one thing in common, it's the act we put on before the world. Before our friends. Why do we have to hide so many truths from those closest to us? Why can't we trust people to love us unconditionally? We judge so quickly, no matter what we say. I wouldn't trust words said to my face when they can just as easily be twisted behind my back.

No, fuck off brain! You're not doing this tonight! Let me enjoy this. Stop thinking so damn hard!

We scramble up into the back of Chelsea's pickup truck. The cheapest she could afford. She refused Clay's offer of a nicer car, just as she's refusing his help tonight to clamber up top with us. She watches our feet, warning us not to scrape the paint, so message received loud and clear: she loves the bloody thing.

Chelsea joins us standing awkwardly in the back and just glares.

"Lay down."

"Right," I say, rubbing my hands together, Clay mumbling assent to my left. The truck rocks as we sit, then lay back, the cold metal biting my neck. Chelsea throws the blanket wide and it covers me entirely in the middle... When I look over at Clay and Chels, uh... at least one of their legs gets the warmth, right?

It's eerily silent, and then Chelsea snickers. Clay snorts a little, and then we're all laughing.

"Not what you were expecting," Chelsea says after her laughter trails off, tilting sideways and leaning on her elbow.

"Hmm?" I ask.

"This. Getting out of that... gorgeous house, just for a night. Out here, no jacuzzi or fancy heating system. Even your touring life was a palace."

"You want to stay on a tour bus that freaking long?"

"Yes! Yes, you moron! Ah—nah!" she interrupts as I try and explain. "Not hearing it. I've heard it all a thousand times the last two tours. It's uncomfortable. Mind-numbing. Oh no, we don't get the hundred-inch—"

"Eighty-inch," Clay mutters. Chelsea glares at him till he disappears in the glow of his phone light.

"We don't do this enough," she hums. "Strip it all back... just the stars. Just us."

"Good booze," Clay comments. "Shit wifi. Non-existent."

Chelsea looks flustered. "I wanted to say... oh jeez, what did I want to say? Honestly, Clay, you're so exhausting."