Reasons to Live - a collection of flash fiction stories

Don't Go

It had been years since the band had broken up. It had been nearly half a decade since the last time they ran into each other in one of the nearly refurbished tube station that ran its arterial vein right to Camden. Jarrod had bumped into Renn as a mass of people moved through rush hour. Renn had melted into the ex-drummers embrace and clung onto him like a burr. Jarrod twirled the singer around happily, ignoring staring faces as Renn squealed in delight. When they had broken up all four of them had gone on their separate ways. They would all keep in touch with the occasional phone call and birthday card, but after nearly nine years sharing crowded coaches and smoky concert halls, a call and a card wasn't enough. 

Jarrod remembered how giddy he'd felt when he saw the blond-haired singer. When Renn stood back up on his feet and cupped the drummer's face in his hands, something in Jarrod's stomach did somersaults. Years and years of pent up desire broke free. It rushed forth with a single glance, like a gush of violent water bursting through a dam. So many years of watching Renn sway and sing up on stage, image after image of him falling to his knees, his powerful lungs bursting forth some melancholy tune about forgotten lovers and painful reminders. Jarrod remembered how his stomach used to do little flip-flops whenever Renn would saunter over towards the drum, pouring out his heart in melody while Jarrod kept the beat.

He recalled grabbing Renn by the collar as he squeezed past ignorant bystanders and shoved him behind planks of wood and workmen's equipment. Away from steely gazes and the scent of the underground, metal, mildew and human skin mixing with newly cut planks of wood and the smooth dullness of paint. Behind a horde of oblivious Londoners Jarrod pinned Renn against the harsh, cool wall. With a feral need, the pair clung onto each other. Fingers gripped tightly onto jacket collars, breaths turned rough. They kissed like they had never been kissed before.

That night they shared shots of tequila in a corner bar reminiscing over old times, memories and what joy and sorrow they bring. The pair never made it home. The morning's rays found them waking groggily in some trashy hotel. A pretty Chinese girl had given them the key with child-like giggling, and a lot of blushing on her behalf. Two bodies intertwined under cool cotton sheets clinging onto each other as the morning spread over England.

They promised to keep in touch as they said their good-byes. Jarrod grabbed Renn tightly and held onto him. 'Don't go.' 

Renn whispered multitudes of words about love and life and the bitter-sweetness it brings.'It ain't good-bye forever, you know.'

The last thing Jarrod remembered was watching the pretty singer walking down the street; his hair glistened, freshly washed. He still remembers now what clothes Renn was wearing, black jeans, black boots, a cinnamon button-down obscured by a well fitting wine colored jacket. A newly lit cigarette dangled from his lips, Jarrod took a deep breath as the phantom scent of the other's cigarette floated around him. Renn had paused, looked over his shoulder and waved before disappearing into Camden Town tube station.

For months after his heart ached and his soul felt hollow. Even the phone calls would not suffice. He missed his old band-mate. He missed him so bad that sometimes it hurt to even breathe.

Then one day he got a phone call waking him out of a deep slumber. Before he could even said hello he knew it was Renn. Before nightfall, they had arranged to meet up. Renn was back in London and he said that he needed to see Jarrod, proclaiming that it had been too damn long.

Jarrod had nodded into the phone and spent the rest of his day in a daze sitting by the window, smoking cigarette after cigarette. He counted down the hours until they became minutes then counted down the minutes until they became seconds and he saw Renn walking up the pathway to his house.

* * * *

'Weren't you the one that said that you'd never switch to smoking menthol?'

'Weren't you the one that said that we'd always be a band?' Renn sat on Jarrod's over-sized couch, boots long since kicked off, a Salem dangling from his fingers. Jarrod looked at those pretty fingers as Renn absentmindedly twirled the cigarette between index and middle and his face radiated from the glow of the candlelight making him look ethereal.

'Things change.' The singer shrugged. 'Days fade, blend into each other like water colors; hues twine together creating some psychedelic blur. It was time, we needed to move on.' Renn leaned forward and looked down at Jarrod who was sitting on the floor nearby; he reached down, fingertips grazed gently over the drummer's cheek, eyes caught into each other, brown and green and speckles of blue swirling together. Renn's psychedelic blur.

Jarrod felt the pace of his heart quicken. He could feel the thumping as Renn inched closer, breath upon his skin, Renn's fingers worked their way back over the drummer's cheek and over his jaw bone, resting only when they found the back of his head. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of mint.'Have you moved on, drummer-boy?'Jarrod nodded, but in his heart of hearts he knew that he could never move on, not when he held onto the past so tightly. He could not let the thought of Renn go.

'Don't look so glum, chum.' Renn teased as he ran his fingers through the other man's long hair. 'Even if we have nothing else left we'll still have the memories.'

Jarrod knew what would happen. Renn came back into his life again only to be gone before Jarrod woke up the next morning. Every time Jarrod thought of him now, it was like pouring salt on his wounds. There were times he would wake up alone, wondering how he would make it through another day. He had to move on. But how can someone move on from this sort of love? Memories came to wound, the monotony of his heart kept beating, and with every painful thud it echoed sadly, 'Don't go. Don't go.'

© Christine Bottas. All rights reserved 2015-2017.