Chapter Five
Naomi
* * *
Chemistry is a bubble. If it exists between two people, that bubble grows, expands. Or if it doesn’t, that bubble deflates, occasionally popping. That’s what my father always told me. He had it with my mother. She was a teenage popstar. Like me. She wrote and produced and sang incredible songs all before the age of twenty. Like me.
And then she met my father.
Together, the two of them wrote more love songs than I can even count. Their music has been covered and reproduced by hundreds of artists in every single language. Even redone into operas and Disney movies. Their love headlined news shows and took over glossy magazine covers.
And then I was born.
Destined to be a star before I even knew it was my dream.
At fifteen, I hit number one and stayed there for six straight weeks. At sixteen and seventeen, too. Three albums in three consecutive years to hit number one. It was something no other artist had ever done before or since.
My albums spanned the globe. My songs on every radio. My face everywhere.
Then I met Florian.
I was seventeen and he was twenty-six. Illegal and illicit? Without a doubt. But damn, did we fall so fucking hard. We wrote together. Sang together. Played together. The moment I turned eighteen, we came out as a couple and created albums together. I collaborated with his band and he performed on my solo albums.
Then my mom was diagnosed with end-stage breast cancer and died three months after that.
Then my father turned to heroin to dull the pain.
Then I found my father overdosed in a hotel bathroom.
And the only one capable of dragging me out of that most gruesome darkness was Florian. His love. His light. His strength. His words. I clung to him. Absorbed everything he was willing to give, feeling so lost and alone and hopeless. He pulled me through. Kept me going.
Then he started using drugs.
Then he chose those drugs over me.
Two months after I walked out of that hotel room, I saw him at the Grammys with some woman with platinum hair and triple E tits plastered to his arm. I even had to accept the award for song of the year with him because I wrote it, so they announced my name with his. I went up there, stayed in the back, and didn’t say a word while Florian, the man who wrote that love song with me while we were naked in bed, tangled in each other’s bodies, thanked everyone under the sun.
Except me.
Nothing could hurt worse than that moment, especially when the malevolent prick turned and smiled at me. Nothing could have hurt worse…
Until it did.
And when that happened, when I went through all that alone, I knew I would never be the same person again. That I likely wouldn’t ever fully recover from all that I’d endured. I accepted that Florian was truly gone to me. That our love, our life together, was over.
No do-over. No apology. No, I’m so fucking sorry Naomi, I didn’t mean it, and it’ll be okay, and I love you forever the way I promised you I would. He doesn’t even know what happened to me after the Grammys. He didn’t even care enough to try to find out or pick up his fucking phone.
I haven’t heard from or seen him since that award show, though I know he’s around. Whether he’s clean or not is a mystery to me.
I lost the love of my life. I lost everything.
And there is no rebounding from that.
So, yes, I safeguard myself. I sing backup. I do voiceovers for audiobooks. I don’t get involved. I don’t date… I don’t fucking live. Because goddamn, living is impossible after you’ve experienced the all the beauty of it, and subsequently had it ripped away from you.
I hit the street and walk down the four blocks until I reach my car. I bought a Tesla SUV and honestly, this car is too smart for me. I start her up and drive out of town, down toward the Pacific Coast Highway. Toward my house, but that’s not where I want to go right now.
I need air.
I need water.
I need nature to remind me just how beautiful the world can be when all I feel is its ugliness.
So, I drive to some random beach with a long boardwalk. Parking my car, I climb out and drift toward the sand and the waves.
The sand is packed with people, natives and tourists, as they take in the California setting sun. It’s not cold, but it’s definitely not warm. Mild, I guess you’d call it, but with the breeze hitting my face, I almost wish I had a sweatshirt. I drop into the sand, tucking my knees up against my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The leather of my pants clings to my skin, sticky against the moisture of the salty air.
All I can think about are Florian’s eyes the last time I saw them at the Grammys. Cold. So freaking cold and angry. Hateful. Spiteful. The man used to infuse my every cell with his love. I’d feel his smiles all the way down in my toes. He made me feel connected and precious and taken care of.
The words we would write and sing together…
That’s why I cannot sing this duet with Gus.
I don’t even know what he wrote, but it doesn’t matter. I know the concept. The heartache. I know all of it.
And yet you can’t stop wondering about it. Or thinking about him.
I growl under my breath, shaking away my useless thoughts. My hands glide through the rough grains of crumpled shells and sand, allowing them to seep through my fingers. The crowd begins to clap, as they always do when the sun finally descends beyond the horizon, disappearing into the water, and the sky grows darker and the air cooler.
One by one, they depart, leaving me here, and I can’t force myself to follow.
I hate how I still question if Florian actually hated me the way he demonstrated to the world that night at the Grammys. If it truly was the drugs he loved more or just the fear of letting them go that drove his actions. If he ever wonders about what happened to me.
I sit here in the looming darkness and let go. I cry in a way I have not allowed myself to cry in years. Not since those first few weeks when I didn’t think I’d ever be able to stop.
But I did stop.
I forced myself to survive.
But am I actually doing that?
Or am I surviving on stagnant air and faded memories and old heartache?
Am I the survivor or the cautionary tale?
Wiping away at my face, I stand up, walking toward the dark waves. I bend down, drawing up the thick, heavy sleeves of my leather pants until they’re past my knees. I slip out of my flats and take a step and then another, wading deeper into the frigid water.
I love the ocean. The tang on my tongue and the wind on my face and the mist on my body. It’s what truly grounds me to this life. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing my eyes as gentle waves crash against my legs. My mind clears and with it, thoughts of Florian Heart.
I take another small step only to have strong, unrelenting hands wrap around my waist, tugging me back and twirling me around until I’m facing the opposite direction. My eyes pop open wide, blinking against the harsh streetlights out ahead as startled squawk crosses my lips. I smack at the hands clutching to me, ready to belt out a scream, just as a furious Gus Diamond appears in my view.
“What the hell were you doing?” he bellows.
I gasp only for it to turn into an incredulous laugh. My eyes narrow. “Me?” I snap. “What the hell are you doing following me?”