To the Beat of My Heart

The Devil's Thrill

For the first time in what feels like aeons, I lose myself in the show, in Clay's music. I remember, a liberating bloody revelation, that he has this amazing gift that transcends countries and language barriers. The Italian crowd are wild. I want to be out there with them. I want this single night where I forget it all and lose myself to ecstasy and euphoria, feel my heart pound against my chest, feel the music seep into me so deeply it hurts. But it hurts good. I want to look up at Clay with stars in my eyes and wish I could be with him, be him.

I linger by Jaz and she grins at me. It feels so bloody good to just get swept up in the music and the rush again. It's why I'll always be envious of Clay, never getting sick of this, why this is a high that's worth chasing.

I know it's next to impossible to pick out Leo in this crowd. I still squint at all the faces. I try texting them but no answer. Go figure! Why would you be checking your texts in the middle of all this?

I know I'll get a chance after the show. Leo gets a one-on-one sesh with Clay. I really hope Clay doesn't put two-and-two together. Honestly, I'm gonna be tense that entire fricking hour but no chance in hell am I going in that room. I get shivers thinking about it now.

I feel dirty-as-shit for rigging this. I can just picture Leo there pretending to be starstruck while Clay asks what their favourite tracks are. I told them to do their homework. I know this felt necessary. I still hate myself for abusing my power. No shortage of reasons to despise myself. What's one more dark stain, right? If there's a hell, I'm bound for it, so pile on sin after sin.

Okay so maybe I'm a little drunk. But it's been like two hours since the pub heart-to-heart with Ansel. I think that was enough time to settle back into the snug self-loathing state I am oh-so-familiar with. Really, just a coat I can't take off. It's stuck. I'm burning up.

Jaz saying something snaps me right back into reality. So much for losing myself to the music. I nod and grin like I have the first clue what she was going on about and then I whoop when Clay finishes this number. I feel sweat pouring down my neck. The lights, the atmosphere with thousands of other sweaty bodies under one roof. Really, what else is there to be sweating buckets over?

What Ansel said meant something. I know everyone is trying to help. Even then... I'm so despicable. I'm still me. A me I hate. And that me wants Leo all to myself. No one understands.

Fuck, I'm feeling dizzy. I need to just sit down, yeah. The lights flare, stinging my eyes and the sounds dilute, until I feel them in my chest, but there's this ringing in my ears. As I lower myself, I stumble, crashing into the side of a lighting stand. Jaz reaches for me and I brush her hand away. I tell her I'm fine. I'm just clumsy.

She sends me a look that tells me she can see right through that bullshit. I smile anyway, a jagged thing. And then I retreat, to the sanctity of the dressing room, to wait for a euphoric Clay to swagger back in, to kiss me, maybe take it further.

***

Clay rides me and it's just the steady harmony of grunting and familiar groaning of the chair. His arms coil tightly around my neck and his lips find mine, break off, bite at my lip. I hold firm to his hips as he slams down on me again and again. At some point in the relationship, at least the sex side, I became the dominant one. I didn't feel like getting fucked tonight. I needed to be the one inside him. I need that sweet release.

We weren't supposed to talk, or at least the silence is enough, but even so, I can't help myself. "Is it good?"

Clay sniffs, slides down me further. Fuck, it feels amazing. "Yeah."

"Are..." I stop. Yet again I find myself trying to ask if we're alright. This is nothing, Fletcher. This is an exchange. Carnal, impersonal. When did it become impersonal?