Two rockers. Two different bands. One girl.
I sent him off to be a star, to chase his dreams.
I placed mine on hold so he could have his.
He kissed me, made love to me, and promised he’d come back.
The original plan was to show up and steal him back.
But in the process, I inadvertently fell hard for another rocker.
Now, I’m in deep with both of them.
I love one with my heart.
I love the other with my soul.
I want to keep them both.
They want me to choose.
How dare they. How dare they ask me to choose.
If I give my heart up, I’ll lose my soul.
If I give my soul up, I'll lose my heart.
Yet I’m terrified if I don’t make a decision, I’ll lose them both.
Ice Steam is up for pre-order for 0.99 on Amazon, and will change to 2.99 when the book goes live next Tuesday.
The door was matte-black. A gold embossed 409 situated at eye-level. A “Do Not Disturb” door-hanger swayed ever so slightly from the handle.
I could hear a familiar rhythm, stifled by carpets, curtains, bed sheets, wood and concrete, coming from the other side of the door. Massive Attack’s Angel.
The same base, drumbeat, guitar strum, and soft voice I lost my virginity to.
I pressed my forehead below the 409, pressed my palms flat against the matte-black wood, letting the muffled music seep through the wood and into my pores as the memories of that night floated around my head in lazy swirls, like spice-scented smoke from an illegal Cuban cigar.
My heart ached. Then it smiled. Then it ached some more.
The song ended then started all over again like it was set on repeat. I straightened up, curled my fingers into a hook, and made two gentle taps on the door. Possibly too gentle to be heard over the magical creation of Angel.
The music volume dimmed, and a few seconds later the door soundlessly opened.
Eyes of blue skies and cirrus clouds stared at me with evident conflict, as though he wasn’t quite sure whether he was glad I came, or wish I’d obeyed the capitalized ‘DON’T’ in his message.
With a five o’ clock shadow on chiseled jaw, his sturdy physique was clad in a dark-gray sweater and denims, white socks, no shoes.
Releasing the door handle, he took small steps backward into the room.
I walked in, closed the door and leaned back against it.
Black Doc Martens were kicked off haphazardly by the bedside, a chocolate-brown duffel bag vomiting clothes out onto the bed.
His fiancée was under the impression that he was still in New York spending quality time with his sister.
Instead he was here, in a hotel room, staring at me, keeping his distance like I was an apparition, fists clenched tight.
I let my handbag fall to the floor, my hands left dangling at my sides like a puppet, letting the blood flow freely so I could think clearly.
“I begged you not to come,” were his first words.
“I’m not Jesus,” I replied, voice quiet, “I don’t answer prayers.”
Pushing away from the door, I took a step towards him, but he stepped back. “What are we doing, Ally?”
S. Ann Cole is a passionate writer and reader, and a lover of anything that distracts her from the real world. Reader first and second a writer, S. Ann Cole is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to gold fishes in a tank. Because if they do jump out and try to attack her, the suckers will surely die…
She hates chocolate, schmaltz and arrogance.
She loves carbs, Chris Brown and humility.
She lives nowhere and everywhere.
Jokey people are her favorite people, as laughter is the way to her heart.
Never mind her foul-mouth (she’s working hard on changing that!), she loves GOD. Fiercely. And believes prayer is the essence of all good, great, wonderful and miraculous things, and the most powerful privilege given unto man.
Ann hopes that one day, the right day, when it’s her time (because nothing happens before its time), her hard work will be noticed and appreciated, and she’ll become a “NYT Bestselling Author”…
Uh-uh. Yeah. That’s what she said.
When Ann’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel, watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into hiccups (loves Disney & TBS!) studying the Bible, or guzzling booze.
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