Rumor Mill

Chapter 8 - Machine

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, everyone. Sorry for updating so late! I got a little overwhelmed by schoolwork. Don't wait until the last minute to do homework! It creeps up and stresses you out. Without further ado, I present the next little piece of the story. Be excellent to each other and thanks for reading!

[Jess's POV]

I cannot remember the last time I've had a hangover this fucking awful. What did I drink? How much did I drink? Who was this girl in bed next to me? Her hair was wavy and brown... and she smelled like... no. It didn't matter how nice her hair was or what she smelled like. She wasn't Tay.

She woke up shortly after I did and said she needed to leave for work. I don't know why I told everyone that she was my girlfriend. I think that I only did it to get a rise out of Tay. Well... she did get upset. Maybe there was still hope for me, then. 

I rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and a tank top. I had a few texts.

Stephen: Hey buddy. I hope you're good right now. You went pretty hard last night.

Alexa: Jesssssss. Happy hangover day!

I smiled at the sight of my friends thinking of me, but one text in particular caught my eye.

Tay: Hey. We need to talk. Can I come over?

What could she possibly want with me after the way that I acted last night? Well, I wasn't going to find out unless I let her.

Me: Okay.

I wanted to go to the garage and drum, to blow off some steam, but my head was killing me. I took a few aspirin and chugged a bottle of coconut water to good measure. I went outside anyway. I boomed and crashed and snared away. I did my best to let everything out. I wanted to play guitar when I was a kid, but my dad told me to drum instead. He said that I'd thank him later. I'm actually glad that he and my brother goaded me into it. I still like guitars and listening to people sing, but I feel like drumming can convey just as much emotion. I can play loudly, brutally, like the firing of a war battalion or the wrath of God coming for all of us... or I can play quietly. Sweetly. Smoothly. It didn't matter how big the drums were or what cymbals I had. I could always sound the way that I felt on the inside. At that moment, I played with reckless abandon. I wanted to just run away and never come back.

I relaxed at a time enough to see Tay stalk up my driveway; I stopped. I felt like I should have gotten up and met her halfway as usual, but I sat and waited.

She stood there, silently, for a while. "Hey," she finally said. "Aren't you hungover?"

"I was."

"You're playing kinda loud."

"That's the point."

"But, doesn't it hurt?"

"Taylor," I said, shutting the door on small talk. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to say that I was sorry, about last night." She paused. I didn't say anything. I didn't even want to look at her. "You were right: I don't know how you feel about me right now. It was wrong of me to say anything of those things to you and I am really, really sorry. You know how I feel about you. And you're my best friend. I just didn't know how to react to any of it. Okay? I'm sorry."

You know how I feel about you. Do I? "Tay, it's okay. I wasn't right, you were. I never gave you a chance. I never gave us a chance. I'm the one that should be sorry. I was just scared, you know?"