I briefly wondered what our souls would look like if we could see them. What kind of shape would mine have? I decided Will’s would be the ever-changing clouds in the sky: heavenly; serene; but sometimes dark, brooding, and filled with electricity. Then I thought about what his soul would look like on fire. I cringed.
Instead of pleading and begging or calling Will dramatic, I just calmly said, “I made a huge mistake that I have regretted every single day. I’ve changed. I know what I want, but it’s too late and I’ll never get over that. I just want him to know that I’m sorry and that I did love him, I do love him, and I just want to see him.”
Her expression changed from tolerance to sympathy. She had my best interest at heart and I didn’t always like what she had to say, but usually she was right. Sometimes things were as black and white as she saw them and even though she wanted to help me, she knew when to step back—she knew when she couldn’t help. “I’m sorry too, Mia. I believe this has been a very tough year and half for you, and I feel really bad, but Will said he doesn’t want to talk to you or see you under any circumstances.”
I tried to mask my frustration by drinking more and changing the subject. “Do you want to go to the club around the corner and dance?”
Clubbing wasn’t really our scene, but I think Jenny knew I needed to burn off some steam.
“Sure.”
Once outside I started heading toward the end of the block. Jenny stopped dead in her tracks. “Let’s go this way.”
“It’s twice as far that way—it’s right around this corner.”
She huffed and then caught up to me. She talked fast the entire way, I think trying to distract me, but it didn’t work. When I got to the end of the block, I heard the glorious sound of Will’s music in the bar across the street. The haunting drumbeat and a long bluesy guitar riff were floating through the air with Will’s smooth, soulful voice. My heart was pounding in my chest. The sign outside said Will Ryan every Sunday night. I shot a scorching look at Jenny and then darted across the street as she yelled at me to wait. When I got to the bouncer, he said the bar was full. I stood outside and peered through the crack in the doorway while Jenny stood behind me. I watched Will onstage along with three band members I had never seen. He was so composed behind his guitar—he wasn’t the type to run around or even interact much with the crowd. He just focused on singing well and playing perfectly. It was always just about the music for him. He told me once that he loved playing live to small crowds that didn’t know him because he liked to change the songs up. “Songs are always evolving, Mia, like us. That’s what it’s all about. That’s why we play so well together… because playing and singing is more about listening and feeling than anything else.” Funny how he wouldn’t listen to me now.
There were a handful of girls vying for his attention at the front of the stage, but he remained centered in the song. Until it ended, anyway, and then I watched him take his guitar off, walk up to a girl in the front row, bend down and kiss the back of her hand; all the groupies went crazy. He was wearing black jeans and bright pink T-shirt that said I’m A Virgin in big bold letters; underneath in small writing it said but this is an old shirt. Rolling my eyes, I turned around and took off toward the club without saying a word to Jenny.
She stood next to me at the bar as I ordered us both two shots of tequila.
“So he still plays?” I yelled over the loud, uncing house beat. She nodded impassively and remained silent.
When the bartender pushed four shots toward us, Jenny narrowed her eyes. “Just one for me tonight. I had too much sake!” she yelled, but I knew it wasn’t true because I downed pretty much the whole bottle.
“Suit yourself!” I smiled as I threw back one shot after another. We danced for at least an hour; I had a couple more drinks and my mind was severely clouded. Jenny stepped out to call Tyler, so I took the opportunity to get one more shot.
A blond, blue-eyed muscle head in a tight shirt approached me. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, arching his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah? And?” He looked exactly like Dolph Lundgren, except this guy had a Jersey accent.
“You can drink.” He grinned like he was impressed. Really he was mistaken, though, because my brain had become nothing but a tequila whirlpool at that point. “You wanna dance?”
“Sure,” I yelled, pulling him onto the dance floor.
Once on the floor, he started groping me and trying to get me to grind on him—yuck. I tried pushing him away but he persisted. Finally I stopped moving and pushed him back. “Quit it!” I yelled, but it fueled his attempts more. His giant arms reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me onto him. I squirmed, trying to get out of his grip.