66. Alone Again Or

At midnight Christian and I returned to the hotel, wired on espresso-latte-bombs, and everyone else seemed to be conked out. Except Ziggy, who was nowhere to be found.

I spent an hour trying to read the contract and decided, yeah, I would definitely have to get a lawyer to read it. Maybe Watt could recommend someone. Good thing we were going home tomorrow.

I spent another hour tweaking the strings on the Ovation, playing around with that thing Tread and I had started. I was starting to call it “Windfall” even though it had no lyrics yet. When I got tired of that I stood in the hot shower until my fingers turned soft. At 2:30am Pacific Time, I got into bed and wished for a book to read other than the Gideon Bible; one of Matthew’s mysteries would have been perfect. I lay still in the dark and felt the caffeine wearing off, but I couldn’t sleep.

At three Ziggy still hadn’t come in. The more I tried not to think about where he might be, the more my stomach churned.

He’s not yours, I told myself. He likes to fuck you and you like to fuck him and it’s damn convenient when that works out, but you don’t own him. I thought about how, the past few nights, he’d been there, and this morning… was it only a week ago he’d begged me to show him what it was like? What happens when he gets tired of you? When he wants to go back to women? Then, what? Shut up. Just don’t think about it.

But even if I wasn’t thinking, doubting, rationalizing, I realized I wanted him there; I was missing him.

Damn it, maybe it’s for the best if he loses interest in you, I thought. How long do you think you’re going to keep this a secret? I thought about his hand on my cock while I told my own father lies. Jeezus, if Digger ever found out… If Ziggy didn’t want me anymore, I could probably go back to celibacy, couldn’t I? Just keep sex out of my life.

I thought about the way we’d looked into each other’s eyes during the show tonight, the intensity. He spoke volumes to me now with every look, with every slight move of his hip, and I liked to think I was speaking back, with every sustain, every riff, every note. Would that be lost?

Fuck. Ziggy, come home soon. Just come home.

He came in around four and I think I had just dozed off. He tiptoed through the dark and I could hear his clothes fall to the rug as he stripped down to nothing. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. He was obviously taking care not to wake me. I lay still, tensed, and wondered then if he’d get into the other bed. And if he did, if I’d lie here awake the rest of the night repeating all the arguments and doubts to myself all over again.

And then he touched me on the shoulder. “Move over,” he said in a soft voice. I did, and he slid under the covers and nestled himself against me, the warmth of our bodies making me drowsy all at once and I fell asleep with my arm tucked under his.
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(I was totally looking for “The Damned” version of this song, and then came across this one by Calexico which was too cool to pass up. -d)