She left her duffel bag on the floor and closed the drawer, and then crossed the room to flop on the bed. Satisfied... that was the word... and her muse was suffering, hadn't been satisfied in a long time. It was all over his handsome face--need. She wondered if that, along with the rip in time, had caused him to breach the void to come to her... aroused, apexing, breathless, unashamed, and begging her to return to him.
Again, a light tap at her door didn't startle her, but oddly annoyed her. She already knew who it was, but was enjoying the solitude of working the puzzle out in her mind alone. She murmured, "Come in," but didn't really mean it. What she really wanted to do was sit down with this strange being and ask him about inspiration. Where did it come from, what type of light sent it? How did it focus and become manifest from one side of the dimensions to the other? Did everybody get their own muse, and were they all as fine as he?
Carlos's form appeared at her now-opened door, but a thousand distant questions still pummeled her brain, then slipped away quietly and were gone.
"I just came to check on you."
She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I'm sorry."
"No apology necessary," he said, coming into her room and quietly shutting the door behind him. "Look, I know you don't wanna be back here any more than I do. But I was worried, baby. Out of respect, like you did for me, I didn't mention the darkening of your aura, and I'm worried that no one else picked it up, either."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. Besides, it was probably just residue left over from before finally purging out of my system. No need to get everybody all hyped." She tried to smile. "See, no fangs, no blood sweats, or anything bizarre."
"That's not the point, D. I'm still worried for a lot of reasons."
She nodded and let out a long, weary sigh. They were dancing around the real issue, the earlier fight. That was fine by her at the moment. She had no energy left for that.
"It was my fault. I freaked out, got everybody upset. So this is the result." She forced another smile and patted the side of the bed for him to sit down.
He hesitated. "You sure you want me in here?" She just looked at him.
"Earlier, it seemed like... I don't know." He leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, realizing how she must have come off Guilt gnawed at her. She had to let the Juanita thing go if they were ever going to move forward and get beyond it. Now she had a better understanding of how crazy drama could just kick off without it really being one's intent.
Knowing that made her finally stand up and go to him to touch his face. The dejected expression in his eyes made her want to weep. "Baby, listen, I was so wrong to lay that all on you."
His wounded eyes searched hers. "I just don't know what I did wrong by coming when you had an emergency."
Again, the unspoken problem remained like a paralyzed third party in the room. He clearly knew what he'd done wrong with the other unmentionable situation; she had made herself very clear about how that had made her feel. But they'd agreed by verbal omission to squash the impasse, it seemed. The silent truce was that they'd only speak on her most recent SOS call, and nothing further. The whole thing in the alley behind the club still burrowed into his brain. But all apologies and tenderness and making up would be focused on that, and nothing more. To discuss more meant opening Pandora's box, where an emotional tide could shift, a new argument erupt, and anything could leap out of their mouths. "If I had known coming would have pissed you off, I wouldn't have, because the last thing I wanna do, D, is make you go off... but that's a lie, because if I thought you were in trouble, even angry at me, I would still come to make sure you were all right--even if you didn't want me to. Figured--"
She kissed him gently to stop his words. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who's wrong." She leaned her forehead on the center of his chest, trying to find a way to explain something that had no easy explanation. "I was composing when all this went down. Something I really haven't been able to freely do in almost a year... and that takes a great deal of concentration, being alone, and just vibing to come up with something new. Then drama hit, and it was like everything went poof in a matter of seconds."
"Creative coitus interruptus," he said, chuckling. "Been there, and it'll make you evil as shit."
She tried to laugh, even though his statement made her cringe. "The song that was in my head was gone... I don't expect any of that to make any sense to you, but, trust me on it, when you're working and get interrupted like that, the frustration is beyond words."
That was as much, and the safest thing, she could tell him. She wanted to be honest with him, but there was a thin line between absolute truth and stupidity. Boy oh boy did she know that now. She cherished this man, her partner, her lover, but this part of her would probably always be a mystery to him. She could fully appreciate a black box, right through here.
His hands caressed her back and a soft kiss landed on the crown of her head. "I guess I've always been a little jealous of your time away from me to go hang out with your muse." He chuckled and deepened the kiss against her hair and fully embraced her. "It's like when you're with your muse, no one and nothing else in the world matters. But I can't deny you being with it; it's a part of you, and the music you create once you've gone off and communed with it is awesome."
She hugged him hard. His words carved at her conscience. If he only knew. "Baby," she whispered thickly. "I'm gonna leave my muse alone, okay? Maybe this whole music thing is a bad idea, long run--yeah, it paid the bills, and got us where we are now, but--"
"Are you crazy?" he said, pulling back and making her look at him. "D, from the time we met, you were singing. You would sit on my momma's sofa, scribbling in some old black-and-white-marble school notebook, coming up with the most kick-ass songs. Over the years I've watched you develop your work, seen it get deeper, more complex, sexier .. . just like you. And your performances are at the top of your game. If you stop singing, that would kill you--and if you did it because I was blowing your groove, that would kill me."
The pain in his intense brown eyes and the selfless compassion held within them made tears come to hers. There was nothing to do but love this man, hold him, and tell him without words how sorry she was for almost killing him by breaking his heart. He'd been possessed, she reminded herself of that. She knew a little of what that felt like now, too.
"No matter what happens, don't you ever forget how much I love you," she whispered thickly.
He kissed her slow and long and deep, and when he pulled away from her mouth, he crushed her against him. "I so wish that I could help you do what you do, but there isn't a musical bone in my body. I envy the other brothers in the house that can just sit down with you, pick up on a strand of your songs, add their own inspiration to it, and you all create a fusion that is so powerful... D, I can't even describe it. Sometimes you all are kickin' it so hard it brings sweat to my brow. So, you go on and do whatchu gotta do. I'll manage, will try to stay out of your hair while you're working, and will just enjoy being a spectator."
She almost cringed again as she closed her eyes and nodded. "Baby, listen, sometimes this thing can get out of hand--like an obsession. I'm gonna try to be more balanced, make time for us, cut it off when it's getting too overwhelming, and--"
"No, girl," he said with a sad smile, his hands running down her arms as he spoke. He chuckled and shook his head. "You get this look on your face that says, 'back off, I'm working,' and there have been days I've put my head in the studio or in your room while you were working, and you were gettin' it so good, were working a song down to the bone so hard that even I, the nonmusician, knew better than to interrupt that."
He was laughing, but she couldn't even look at him now. "Girl, for real, about the only time when I get that kinda look on my face is when I'm with you." He nuzzled her neck and nipped it. "That's why I am soooo jealous of that damned muse of yours, you have no idea. And half the time, when I'm looking for you, it's at some wild hour in the morning when I want to roll over and get back to where we'd been, but the muse would have you--"
"Jesus, Carlos, I'm sorry baby," she said fast, breaking his hold and halfway running across the room. "I swear I didn't know it was like that. You've gotta believe me; I never ever meant to hurt you or to do anything messed up. You know it's me and you, baby, just, I... I, lost my damned mind. See, what had happened was--"