Epilogue

(Two weeks Ago)

"You're up!"
A tall brunette pushes her palms into my back and ushers me to the stage. My heart gives a nervous jolt as a I feel a clutch of panic fill the pit of my stomach.
I try to stop her. I only just walked into the lounge five minutes ago. There were three other girls a head of me. I still have my coat on. Panic. I'm panicking and there isn't enough time to have a full-blown freak out.
On stage the lights fall on me. The brunette disappears into the outer edges of darkness. I can't see anything because the lounge lights are off. For all I know it's just me, but I know that's not true. My trembling fingers are still clutching the audition flyer that my new roommate gave me.
I take a deep breath and fold the paper into my jacket. Then I peel out of it and sit on the black barstool. I feel the eyes follow my every movement as I reach up and take the microphone.
"Hello" I pitter out nervously. "I'm Aspen Glover, auditioning for the lounge singer gig."

No one says anything. Of course not. They know why I am here. I sound like a bumbling idiot and my nerves are just getting the best of me.
"I-I...did you have a request?" I squint into the darkness.
The awkwardness of the silence causes me to play with the seem of my jean skirt. I rock in my calf-high brown boots. My eyes close and I take a deep breath. I remind myself quickly of everything it took to get here. Leaving home, my toxic parents, my famous cousin whose very existence overshadowed mine. I think about my painful childhood and the disappointment I constantly faced. And then I feel it. Like I don't belong. The very feeling I've been trying to outrun.
My lips tremble. "I'll just..."
His deep voice comes out of the darkness suddenly. "Sing me a love song." 
It's weird. I've never heard it before but there is something about it's warmth that instantly soothes me.
A love song. I smile inwardly as my mind conjures up one of the few happy memories I have.
"Come on, Aspen." My auntie's words pour in like she's whispering them into my ear. "Use that beautiful gift God gave you. Sing me a love song."
Etta James' A Sunday Kind of Love. That was Auntie's favorite song.
My eyes open. I no longer care about the unknown pair of eyes watching me. This is what I do. I've wanted it for so long and I won't let me get in my own way. I pull the mic out of the stand, push my shoulders back and I sing. Every note. Every Word. I sing because it's what I was meant to do. It's who I am.





Aspen

"How bad do you want it?"
"I want it so bad, Daddy."
"You want it, huh?"
"YES!"
Argh. I grab another pillow and bury myself even further beneath it. That makes four. Four pillows. Two blankets and did I mention that my door is shut?
"Yessss. Give it to me, Daddy!"
Seriously? How thin are these goddamn walls? Is every building in New York City made of paper-thin walls? Or is the pleasure all mine? Probably the latter. I'm having the worst luck lately.
"I'm cumming!" My roommate, Grace, shouts to the heavens above.
My brain kicks into overdrive and thankfully I remember the noise cancelling headphones I have in my backpack. Don't ask me how the hell I forgot about them. Like I said, I am having the worst luck. As if a fire has been lit under my ass, I dig myself out of my blanket and pillow ditch. Then I snatch up my headphones and my iPhone. Before Grace can climax, I'm falling back into bed with Sade lulling me to sleep. My eyes have fallen shut. All seems right in the world. That's when the urge strikes from my belly button to my core.
Maybe it's having to listen to Marcus, Grace's fiance, take her to pound town for the past twenty minutes. Then again, there is Sade's sultry and raspy voice that instantly puts my entire body at ease. Mix in my lack luster sex life and I am an inactive volcano waiting for the factors to line up right, so that I can erupt. If I can still erupt. It's been that long. I might just get ash and smoke shooting out instead of the hot lava I crave.
Fuck me.--Which are exactly the words I'd like to be screaming right now. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Two terrible night shifts at the club and my body aches everywhere. I need something to take my mind off this shitty predicament I call my life.
I turn over and dig into my bedside table. If I'm going to be up this late, I might as well let it be for a good reason. And at the very least, I can get my mind off tomorrow's audition. A good release will relax my body a little. I'll be able to go in with a clear head tomorrow. So technically, this is therapeutic. I don't feel an ounce of shame as my finger's clasp around my purple friend.
I let out a breath. Whatever song Sade is singing, it's becoming a backdrop to the pounding in my core. My right hand disappears beneath the blanket pressing the weight of my friend against my inner thigh. My left hand takes the scenic route. It trickles down the thick tendon in my neck. Rolls over my collar bone and straight for my breast. At the touch, I sigh happily letting my eyes flutter close.
Mmmm. I need a man to touch me like this. Someone who would take his time. Explore me. Honor me. Then devour me. My nipples ache as they harden against the soft material of my shirt. Ohh Goddddd. I need this. I need to be fucked. I suck in my plump bottom lip. Images of men flood my brain. Some that I've passed on the street. Some are celebrities that I've had crushes on for years. My mind spins their faces around like the wheel from the price is right. But no one face is enough to make the dial stop.
I fondle my breast harder. They're so full in my small hands. Their weight and the feel of them sends a wet heat pooling between my thighs. Why was I ever so ashamed of my curves? One reason pops into my head but I force it out. Not now. Not fucking now. No way. Think, girl think. Focus on this. Focus on what you want. I pinch my nipples and drag my tongue over my bottom lip. The slight sting pushes me further into ecstasy. Ohh yess. I know what I like. And I know what I want.
I want a man's touch. Big thick hands roaming my curves like they're built for him. Someone not afraid to take this full feminine body and own it. God. I want it fast and hard. I want it dirty. I want...
"You want me to take it from here, Texas?" His deeply masculine voice shatters into my private thoughts.
What the hell... My eyes shoot open. My heart drops into my stomach and I sit up in bed. My room is dark. Sade is still crooning her love song in the background and I'm still completely alone. But I heard his voice. Heard it clear as day and now I wish I hadn't.
Only one man calls me Texas. And he hardly means it as a term of endearment. I try to slow my pulse, but it's still throbbing in my core.
"Come on, Texas. You want me." His voice, deep and all baritone flutters in my mind.
I shudder and gather my blanket to my chest. I don't want him. I don't. It's just late. And I'm so horny that I'd think about any guy at this point. Even the coffee shop guy with the unkept man bun that wants my number. He could get me off at this point.
"Except, you're not thinking of him. You're thinking of me." 
Argh. I collapse backwards. So, what if I am thinking about him? He's tall, handsome and his dark green eyes look beautiful despite how troubled they can sometimes seem. And who can forget about his dirty blonde hair with peaks of grey starting at his temples. That sharp and rugged chin that makes me want to plant kisses along it as I straddle him.
"Mmm I like the sound of that."
I turn my head into my pillow determined to not over think this. Why should I? Plenty of people masturbate to sexy guys they know.
"So, you think I'm sexy? I didn't know that, Texas." He smirks.
Damn it. Even that little smirk is sexy. This is clearly a brain malfunction. I'm sleep deprived. I'm hungry. I'm nervous about my big audition. I've been waiting for this opportunity for years. And I'm...
"Wet." He adds, reeking of masculine arrogance. "Like you want to drown me when I put my face between your legs."
I chew my bottom lip with a small smirk of my own.
"Maybe I do."
Oh no. No. No. No. Don't talk back to the voice in your head, girl. Don't you know that makes you certifiably insane?
"Relax, Texas. You want this. I want this."
I pinch my nipple between my thumb and first finger, letting out a hearty moan. He wants this. Of course, he does. He's never had a woman like me. Not even close. I'm beautiful. I'm talented. I'm more than he can handle.
"You can't handle me." I tease.
"Open up and let me try."
My legs butterfly open at his request. I see his green eyes as they do. There is lust in those deep irises. My feminine musk coats the air around us turning those emerald eyes dark.
"That's a good girl, Texas."
I dive my left hand beneath the covers to meet between my thighs with my right. My brain works magic. Replacing my slick fingers with his larger ones. Thrusting in knuckle deep. I can even feel the weight of him over me. His eyes staring into me as his thumb draws a slow, patient circle over my clit.
My eyes roll back. I let out a sultry moan.
"Well now...look at that," he breathes over my nub, before dragging his tongue over it again. "You like when I play that note?"
"Yesss."
"Yes? Say my name."
I hesitate.
"Come on, Texas. I'm already here now. Say my name."
My clit throbs with another stroke. "Eric!"
"Good girl. Sing it for me." He demands.
An intense charge electrifies my body stemming from my clit. At the same time, I feel him at my entrance. He's thick but lacks the warmth of the real thing. Because my toy isn't the real thing. I'm too close to care. My pussy opens up and welcomes the separation of my folds.
"Fuck me, Eric." I sing.
A charge of heat pulses through me. My body winds up. He sinks further into me. Further than I ever thought possible. I spank my clit as he dives deeper. Feeling his body press into it with each thrust.
"Say my name." He breathes over me, tugging at my nipples. "Say it."
At his command, my body arcs off the bed. My breathing is labored. I'm going to need a steady stream of oxygen after this. Somehow, my legs spread wider. My hand moves faster. I'm right there. I'm feeling the build up. And it feels so fucking good.
He feels it too and it makes his demand that more intense.
"Say it, Texas!" 
Dammmnnnn iitttt. My body opens up and I surrender. This is nothing. It's just a moment in time. It's. Just. A moment.
"This is us. It's what we want."
"Eric! Ohhh, Eric!" I shout, as my completion rips through my body, curling my toes. "I want it!! I want it!!!"
The flood gushes out immediately dampening my sheets.
"Good girl, dripping all over my cock. I told you, you wanted to drown me."
I chuckle to myself as the rest of my orgasm ricochets through me. I'm so much more relaxed now. I barely manage to turn my vibrator off before my eyelids droop low. The blankets seem to reach out and hug me. And there is a smile on my face, that carries me to Mr. Sandman.

Eric

It happens abruptly. So quick that when it strikes, the pen in my hand can't even finish the loop of the letter in my name. Instead it skids across the paper before leaving my palm altogether. I grip my chest instinctually because that's where the pain seems to be stemming from. My brain signals the alarm of impeding suffocation. No this is not a heart attack. It's a panic attack. My body's coping mechanism and a symptom of my PTSD.
Outside my office I can hear people scramble around trying to clean up the broken dish--the catalyst to my current downward spiral. But it's too late. The sound echoes that of shattering glass too much. I've been thrown right back to a point in time that I can't seem to escape. With trembling fingers, I reach for my forehead and feel the ridged line that's been there for ten years now. The mind can be the best magician. Instead of the jagged scar the glass left at my hairline, I find blood. It looks so real. Smells real too. But that's my mind, tossing me against the current of reality and drowning me in the tidal wave of my past.
In a frenzy, I search through my drawers. When I don't immediately find the prescription pill bottle fear clutches my heart. I try to remember the last place I had it, but in this state my memory is no good. Across the room is half a bottle of fine Kentucky Bourbon. The best medicine I've ever had. I stumble out of my chair, on the brink of insanity. My palms are sweaty. My knees feel like they'll give beneath my weight. But I don't care. If I have to, I'll crawl. I'll do whatever it takes to not feel like this. To not be consumed in the pain.
Right as I push myself forward, I hear a voice. No. Not just a voice. I hear a song. A woman singing outside my office door. She's humming mostly a soft tune beneath her breath. But every now and again she can't help herself and sets free a small string of words. I fall against the door gently, not realizing that I have even abandoned my quest for a drink and a sense of peace. And yet, somehow finding it anyway. Right here. In her voice.
The song lasts only a minute more. Surprisingly, it's all I need. My heart has resumed a normal rhythm. My breathing is relaxed. That was all I needed to weather the chaotic storm, but it's not all that I want. On the other side of the door, her feet make soft scuffles along the floor and I quickly realize that she's leaving. Without another thought, I tear the door open like I want the hinges to come off with it.
And there she is. Slightly rounded brown eyes, with beautiful wild black curls pinned to the side of her head in a messy bun. Naturally full lips set in an o-shape that come second in the things that take my breath away about her. It's her skin first. It's not unblemished or flawless and yet it's perfect. It glows. Like beneath the mahogany colored surface, she's somehow managed to capture the sun.
"I-I'm sorry," her plump pouty lips stutter. "I wasn't paying attention and dropped the dish. It won't happen again."
From my trance, I only hear half of what she says. But it's enough to remind me of who I am and more importantly, who she is. She's a young small-town girl. At least half my age, maybe more. Two weeks ago, she came here to audition for the open lounge singer position. I heard her sing and felt the way I do now. Aspen Glover sings like a Goddess. Looks like one too. She's trouble. More trouble than she could be worth.
Like everyone else who passes through my bar, she has stars in her eyes and her name is written in them. She's here to make it big. The same old song that every fame seeker sings in New York. But she's trouble. I knew it the moment she walked into the bar. It's not because she can't carry a tray full of dinner plates. It's because when she is around I can't breath normally. Can"t think straight. My heart feels like it's on the outside of my chest. Beating for her. That thought alone is ridiculous.
I take one final glance at the way she oddly holds her hand to herself and forcibly roll my eyes.
"They don't teach you how to carry dishes where you come from, Texas?"
"They do. I lost my balance." She explains. "It was an accident."
"An accident," I hiss through a harsh growl that's nowhere near the feeling pulsing through me. "Break another one, and it'll come out of your paycheck. Understand?"

She nods, or so I think. I am already slamming the door shut in her pretty face. I let out a hard sigh and fall into my black swivel chair. I know that I'm an asshole to her. I have been since she showed up three weeks ago. Most days, I'm good at avoiding the reasons why I keep her at a distance. Today isn't one of them.
The moment I saw Aspen, I felt what I am feeling now. Like the world became a less scary place. She smiled and it shone brighter. Aspen made my heart change its rhythm. I had to remind myself then, that she and I would never work. It's not just the age difference. It's me. I'm the problem and I'm protecting her from the worst mistake she could ever make. I've got more baggage than those brown eyes could hold. More problems than they should see. I'm doing her favor. But my methods leave me with a heavy pang in my chest.
"Fuck," I swear to myself.
I shouldn't have yelled at her. And it wouldn't kill me to be nice With my tail tuck between my legs I pull the door back open. The apology that I'd gone over in my head falls flat. She's gone. There's still remnants of the broken dish scattered across the floor. With a deep sigh, I kneel and pick up a small piece. Along its jagged edge is a dark red sticky liquid that drips down the porcelain.

"Damn it, Texas."