Heaven or Las Vegas

(Hey folks, I notice we’re only $16 from triggering a Saturday post! I’ll keep an eye on it! -ctan)

I should have known that this wouldn’t just be one of Jordan’s regular parties at his loft. But until Tony pulled the limo up to a velvet-roped line somewhere on the Lower East Side, that’s what I had been picturing.

I should’ve realized Ziggy wouldn’t have bothered to have his hair and makeup done for just a loft party. Continue Reading »

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Dangerous

It was full-on rush hour when we got to the New York metro area, and getting down to Ziggy’s place in lower Manhattan took over an hour. When the limo dropped us off at last, I was feeling slightly car sick and I just wanted to lie down.

I did that while Ziggy made some phone calls. He took the phone into the office and closed the door, I guess so he wouldn’t disturb me? Or maybe so he could talk about me. I don’t know. For an otherwise uneventful five-hour car ride, given how little we had spoken, it had felt like an emotional rollercoaster. I didn’t even know how I felt: up, down, or turned around.
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Something Got Me Started

You would think that Ziggy, being a total attention whore and proud of it, would want lots of it when he was in pain.

You’d be wrong.
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Who Wants To Live Forever

The next day I slept in, which was beginning to feel like a regular occurrence. I had slept even better than the night before, and I didn’t wake up already worrying about something. Amazing. That wall between me and Colin had been more of a weight than I realized. I made a note to talk to my therapist about that.

And I had that lingering feeling of virtuousness I associated–as Ziggy had pointed out–with Catholic guilt. The whole “I feel superior because I didn’t give into temptation” thing. When you think about it, it’s kind of fucked up. If something is the right thing to do–or not do–you should feel good because of that, not because now you get to go around with a golden halo on your head. You still don’t shit gold, you know what I mean?
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The Soul Cages

(So it turns out that the bonus sex scene I wrote that comes before this chapter ended up with a lot of important talk about relationship issues in it. So I recommend reading it first if you have it. If you don’t have it and you want it, drop at least a dollar in the tip jar and I’ll send you the scene! For those skipping the smexy scene, I’ve tried to recap the gist of the conclusions Daron and Ziggy come to within today’s chapter! -ctan)

I woke up with a beam of afternoon light coming through the bedroom window. I did not feel the slightest bit guilty about sleeping late. I’d been explicitly told by my doctors that long, deep sleeps (drug-free) were good for me, both my brain and my body.

Ziggy was awake. He was in bed next to me, reading one of the professor’s books. This one was some kind of philosophy. He had a bemused frown on his face as he read.
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Make Out Alright

We stood there, at the unofficial border between the dining room and the living room, holding onto each other. You might’ve thought a million things would race through my mind. Maybe normally they would. But I stood there gradually stretching each finger on my right hand to try to relieve the cramp and letting all my attention, all my brainpower, be on the physical reality of Ziggy in my arms. The scent of his skin and fabric softener, the rhythm of his breath.

His voice was hesitant. “Tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Terrified,” I answered. Continue Reading »

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Only Love Can Break a Heart

What do you do when your singer-lover-partner-muse has an ego crisis?

Well, the first thing you don’t do is blame him—i.e. you don’t say, hey, if your ego wasn’t so inflated to begin with, maybe it wouldn’t have popped like a balloon. (Even if you might be thinking it.)
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Smells Like Teen Spirit

I don’t remember buying the CD and I don’t remember leaving the store. I have a vague memory that before we left we got recognized by someone on the staff, but managed to escape before it could turn into anything. Maybe Michelle promised we’d be back or something.

Mostly I remember trying not to cry in public, but tears are the only thing that can break through a dam in my throat like that. I don’t actually remember when I started. I think some parts of my brain just shut down for a while. Emotional overload or whatever you want to call it will do that, I guess.
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Come As You Are

I felt like my hand exercises, unlike my vocal exercises, were too easy.

I would sit at the dining table at one end of the living room with my rubber bands in front of me and my feet flat on the floor, and do them. I had learned to have several rubber bands there in case I broke one or accidentally shot it across the room. I would do the exercises but I would wonder if I was doing them wrong because they were too easy.
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Everybody Plays the Fool

Ziggy swore and folded his notebook open in his lap as we sat at the piano. “I going to write us an English version of this. I swear she did this just to torture us.”

I hadn’t been too bothered by the fact that Priss’s homework assignment for me was to practice these German hymns, but Ziggy, who took to doing them with me, couldn’t stand the German. And he took it personally (despite the fact the exercises weren’t for him).
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