This is part six of the Writing Wenches Three Way Write Off where three of our authors rotate POV in the same story.
If you haven’t caught the rest of the series, here you go:
4. Maria II
5. Serenity II
Maria’s contralto takes my song and makes it hers.
“Your lips are my beacon in the night. The maps lie since we are never apart.”
I die on the inside. Hers is the best version of this song I have ever heard.
“Calendars mean nothing — time is measured in terms of holding you. Life is meaningless until we rot together.”
That song is no longer mine — if it ever was.
Maria strums into the guitar solo.
I was in a dark place when I penned that — and it still takes me there. My thoughts cloud with rage, loneliness, and hurt. The greatest illusion in my role as Savior is that people think my ballads are about love. This is not a state of mind that I like to visit. Yet, her rendition is so great I must hear it again.
Rick must read my mind. “Great job. Let’s listen to the recording.” Rick clicks start and Maria’s flawless performance starts again.
I ignore Rick’s prattling about missed notes — who cares if the guitar part has flaws?
Maria hits the part where I walked to the train bridge to jump before chickening out. I’ve sung this song hundreds of times and that’s rare;y the verse that gets me. But today, this is too much.
“There’s dust in here. I need to step out for a minute,” I whisper to Rick.
Outside I find shade and absorb the calmness. I have texts from Serenity. Like a robot I find myself calling her. What is it that I want to say? Hey, you know that song you love and thought you inspired — about that.
Voicemail saves me from that conversation. If Serenity had answered then I would have to lie. I do a lot of bad things, but lying is the one that makes me feel the worst. “Hey babe. I’m working on something and will be late.”
Jesus I want Maria to sing that for me in bed. I want to hear her voice reach the pitches that I used to be able to get her to reach.
“What were you calling her for?” Maria asks.
The puckering from my pants was loud enough to scare children for miles. I restart my heart while turning to face her. Good Lord, Maria is a ninja. “What do you mean her?”
“Like I couldn’t see the screen name on that television-sized phone. You were calling your plaything.”
Maria has such a great way to make me feel better. The sweet scent of jealously. Some guys hate when the ladies fight over them — those guys don’t know what they’re missing. Feminine rivalry is wonderful and this brings back a sense of normal for me. Maria may have taken my song with her performance, but I still own her. And there are few finer things in the world better than a lady with a fire going under her. “That rendition was so inspiring that I need to go work out some emotion.”
Maria’s gaze takes me in. Her eyes are still young — without the sign of the crow’s feet that my eyes have had for years. “But she didn’t answer?”
I shake my head no.
“Are you sure she isn’t off playing with a different ball of string?
Lunch threatens to make a second appearance. “How, I mean, what are you talking about?” Sure Serenity was screwing the drummer. I didn’t know for sure until her reaction when I called her out on it. God her gall pisses me off. It’s one thing for me to screw groupies, but she’s supposed to be my girlfriend.
“You look like you need to taste the good candy again.
My stomach boils as the oily torment of want meets the waters of commitment.
Maria crosses in front of me and unbuttons the top two of my shirt. She waits for our eyes to meet,
“You aren’t going to let the groupie treat you this way — are you Gabriel?”
Hell no — I’m the star and it’s time to act like it.