Cloud Nine
I know better than to let my guard down. I do. But I let it down anyway, and I crawl into bed with Taylor like there’s nothing at all wrong in our lives. I suppose I’m trying to see things the way Taylor does, even though I know it’s foolish to be so optimistic. But what good would we be if we were both horrible depressive messes?
So I let him lull me into a false sense of security, all the time knowing that it’s only going to come back later to bite us both in the ass.
Everything that happens once we’re back inside the hotel room is a blur, which is strange, because we’re both totally sober. I think we’re drunk on power, though. We’ve just taken control of our lives back, at least for the moment, and it feels good. So then we lose control together, hips crashing desperately together and hands clawing at the sheets. It hurts both of us, I think, and threatens to leave bruises, but I don’t care and I don’t think Taylor does either.
Even though it’s what’s threatening to destroy us, this togetherness is also the only thing holding us together.
He takes a long shower afterward, and I struggle to convince myself that he isn’t just trying to wash and scrub me away. There’s something different about him today, though—different even from our last little getaway. I don’t entirely trust this change in him yet.
When Taylor finally ends his shower and walks back into the room, I don’t even try not to stare shamelessly. He notices, because how could he not? But he doesn’t say anything. He just dries himself off, pulls on a pair of my boxers, and climbs into bed next to me. He has his own room, but apparently he’s decided to spend the night with me. I’m not going to question it.
At least, I wasn’t going to question it. I wasn’t going to question any of this, because speaking the words out loud might ruin everything, but I can’t stop myself.
“Why?” I ask, the word hardly more than a hoarse whisper.
“Why what?”
“Why are you being like this? Staying here with me… being so, so… I don’t even know.”
Taylor’s brow furrows as though he’s in deep thought, really considering the nonsense I just mumbled at him. I don’t know how he can even attempt to answer the half question I asked him, but apparently he’s going to try.
“I guess… you know, it’s one thing to be constantly told that my wife is a horrible bitch. Because I live with her day in and day out, and she’s not. Not always. She’s nice to me, she’s nice to the kids… on a day to day basis. But when other people try to force me to see ‘the truth’ about her, I just want to rebel against it. Until I can’t. And I can’t now.”
I give myself a moment to digest his words. “Okay, but what does that have to do with my question?”
“Everything? Nothing? I don’t know.” He sighs. “I suppose… if one of the things I’ve tried to believe with everything in me—that I hadn’t married the devil’s sister—is proven false… then it makes me want to question everything else I thought I knew about my life. Does that make more sense?”
“Not much,” I admit.
“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you,” he replies, rolling over onto his back. He’s not angry, though, and trying to shut me out. He’s just sleepy. He settles comfortably against my side, and I take the hint and roll myself over so my front is pressed to his back.
I want to ask if one of the things he’s reconsidering is me and our relationship. If he was… I don’t know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. So I don’t ask.
“Hey, Zac?” He whispers. “You know how I feel about you, right?”
“Yeah,” I reply, even though I’m not sure that I do.
But right now, I think his actions are speaking loud enough that I can make an educated guess.
Whatever strange change of heart has come over Taylor, it continues into the morning and afternoon. We have a long day of rehearsals, interviews and inevitable run-ins with fans before our performance, but I don’t even mind. With Taylor there, actually giving me a genuine smile for the first time in months, everything else seems easier to deal with. I don’t know if it will last, but I’m starting to feel my hermit attitude fading away.
Maybe we really will be okay. At least we are right now. That’s probably more than we deserve, so I’m doing my best not to take it for granted.
The concert goes well. Really well. At the risk of sounding pessimistic, better than I expected. Better than any of us expected, I think, if the wide eyed smiles we keep shooting each other during the set are anything to go by. There’s just something about being on stage, though. When everything else in our lives is going to shit, we’ve still got the music. Maybe this little reminder of that will be enough to push us through this next album. Or maybe I really am just becoming far too hopeful.
I think I’m just high on optimism, in fact, because I have to keep reminding myself not to get too close to Taylor. Even if Natalie doesn’t have spies, no one else needs to see us together. I might be optimistic, but I still understand the gravity of our situation and how we’re resting on a knife’s edge. One wrong move and everything could be revealed.
The realization that we don’t even need Natalie to ruin this for us brings me back down to earth a little bit. But then I remind myself that I’ve harbored this secret desire for Taylor for half my life. If no one has suspected before now, then I think we’re safe.
Besides, who would really believe that I was in love with my brother? That’s just crazy talk, the kind of thing that only a really sick and twisted mind could dream up.
I’m definitely feeling more than a little giddy, and I can’t even blame it on any chemical mood enhancers, or the beer Isaac has been throwing back since we got off stage and began mingling with the fans. There’s no reason at all for me to be on cloud nine, except for those little smiles Taylor keeps shooting me. That one little secret look is enough to make my day, week, and month.
And it’s definitely enough to make signing a billion and one autographs bearable.
Time passes so quickly, in fact, that it seems only seconds later we’re being shuttled back to the hotel, crammed tightly into a van with all of our gear. Even the less than comfortable ride can’t seem to put a damper on my mood, though.
But Taylor’s ringing cell phone can.
I don’t want to eavesdrop on his phone call, but how can I not? To my surprise, though, Taylor just lets it ring… and ring… and ring. Everyone in the van, besides the driver, is staring at him by the third time Georgia On My Mind repeats.
“Wrong number,” Taylor says with a shrug.
He’s lying. I know he’s lying, and I’m pretty sure everyone else does, too. Why would his default ring tone be that song? It has to be Natalie, but I’m too chickenshit to call him out on the lie.
I don’t have to, though. Within seconds, his phone—which he has now silenced—is buzzing in his lap. A long text message pops up on the screen, and my eyes are immediately drawn to it.
Natalie.
I knew it.
I’m not surprised that he’s ignoring her, but it does make me nervous that she’s calling and texting so insistently. That can’t possibly be a good thing. In fact, there’s only one thing it can really mean. She’s realized the pictures are gone, and she’s not happy. Then again, when is she ever happy? She’s always been this possessive, too; it’s not really all that unusual for her to call and call until he finally answers. Right now, though, I can’t help jumping to the worst possible conclusion.
I should have known better than to let myself get infected with Taylor’s reckless, foolish optimism.
His phone buzzes a few more times during the drive back to the hotel, but he ignores it entirely. It isn’t until we’ve made it into the lobby that he finally pulls it to his ear. He practically sprints away from us all, so I can’t even try to eavesdrop on his call. I’m not sure that I really want to, anyway.
With nothing else to do, I trail behind him, catching the next elevator up to our floor. He’s nowhere to be seen and he doesn’t have a key to my room, so I can only assume he’s in his own room next door. Once I’m inside my room, I’m proven right. The thin hotel walls only muffle his voice enough that I can’t make out his words, but I can definitely still hear him. I would know Taylor’s voice anywhere.
And I don’t like the desperation I’m positive I can hear in it right now.
I throw myself face down onto my mattress and shove my face as far into it as I can while still being able to breathe. It almost drowns Taylor out completely, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better. If I thought it would work, I would hold one of the cheap plastic hotel provided cups up to the wall connecting our rooms and try to listen to his side of the phone call. But I would still be left wondering what Natalie was saying, so it wouldn’t sate my curiosity entirely.
I just have to wait. Assuming Taylor even feels like telling me what she’s saying.
Surely he will. It concerns me, too—at least, I assume it does. I don’t know anything for sure right now, except that there’s no possible way this is a friendly phone call full of good news. There’s no way it can be anything but bad news for us.
It feels like I’ve spent hours laying here face down in the bed, growing progressively more lightheaded from lack of oxygen, but I’m sure it’s only been minutes. Finally, when I’m seconds away from forcing myself up for air, there’s a quick, insistent knock at the door. I don’t hear Taylor’s voice on the other side of the wall, so it has to be him at the door.
I scramble from the bed as quickly as I possibly can and hurry to fling the door open. I almost wish I hadn’t, just because I can’t handle the way Taylor looks right now. He looks like he’s deflating before my very eyes, the happiness he’d worn as a defense failing him entirely and leaving an empty shell of a person in front of me.
“She knows we took the pictures,” he says. “But… she made copies.”
I don’t remember falling, but the next thing I know, I’m in Taylor’s arms and we’re practically holding each other up as we walk toward the bed. We collapse onto it together, neither of us willing to let go of the other. I’m not sure who’s anchoring who at this point, but I do know who’s trying to pull us under, even from hundreds of miles away.
“W-what’s she going to do?” I ask once I’ve found my voice again.
Taylor shakes his head. “I don’t know… she didn’t believe that we hadn’t… done anything. Probably because it was a lie.”
All I can do is nod.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he admits. “There has to be… something.”
He doesn’t even sound like he believes himself, and I’m not sure how he could. Even though it seemed like an escape was in sight, it never truly was. Nat’s still holding this over our heads, and as long as she is… we can never escape this hell.
We’re back to the same two choices. One, never be this close again. Or two, constantly walk on eggshells in fear of Nat’s wrath. Neither one seems all that pleasant… or even possible. Even though Taylor’s suggesting a third option, he doesn’t even seem to know what it is.
I wish I hadn’t seen this coming. But I did, and I still fooled myself into being happy. I let myself believe we were free, only to have that freedom ripped away from me mere hours later.