Edging Obsession

22

O nce Miles leaves, I try explaining to my parents about my choices, but they’re too upset and decide to head back to the guesthouse. Without Miles, the place is quiet, which has me feeling empty inside. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned our relationship, except I thought it best to have everything in the open. They’re tired of Miles’ secrets, so I figured bringing everything to light would be best. Unfortunately, it’s a bit of an overload for them. All I can do is hope they’ll come around and accept what we have without disparaging remarks.

Even though we’re in Europe, Miles paid my therapist to fly out here. She’s staying in a hotel room because he knew I didn’t want her so close. We setup appointments around his schedule. He has my best interests at heart. For someone who didn’t have parents to guide him, it amazes me how he comes up with these wonderful things. But, because of the lack of parental control, Miles tends to lose his temper toward my parents and lash out at them. His respect wanes a bit when it comes to authority. Obviously, his lack of manners does show, which I hope will change over the course of our relationship.

Miles took me shopping before we came to Europe, and I’m loving my clothes. I’ve also been waxed from top to bottom, which should last a while. I soak in the whirlpool, immersed in lavender, and close my eyes. It isn’t until I hear my phone pinging that I realize I fell asleep. Miles has been texting me, wondering where I’m at.

Me: I’m sorry. I fell asleep in the whirlpool.

Miles: Okay. I just didn’t hear from you. Did your parent’s leave pissed?

Me: Yes. I’m sure they’ll get over it.

Miles: You shouldn’t have told them.

Me: I don’t want any more secrets.

Miles: It’s not a secret. It’s personal.

Me: I’m sorry.

Miles: The car will be there to pick you up at five. Let your parents know, if they’re still interested.

We say our goodbyes, and I call my mom. She’s upset, but they haven’t backed out of going to the concert, which is a good sign. My cluttered mind doesn’t always make the right decisions. I thought putting everything out there in the open would be the best for all of us. Unfortunately, I’m regretting it. If only I weighed the pros and cons, instead of regurgitating our personal relationship to them, my parents wouldn’t be extra wary and angrier at Miles than they already are.

The car will be here in an hour, so I apply a shimmery lotion and sit at the large mirror to do my makeup and hair. I feel beautiful. In the drawer, there’s a jeweled clip for my hair, so I pull up the sides, allowing the lower back portion and strands of curls to hang loose. Then comes the outfit. I slip on my strapless mid-thigh silver sequin dress, and strappy silver heels. I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down my dress, turning in different directions. I hope Miles falls off his stool when he sees me.

My parents arrive at the same time as the car. The drive is uncomfortable, with a couple of complements tossed at each other. Their reaction is to be expected. I’ve had months to adapt to some of Miles’ secrets and our life. They’ve been handed it all on one platter. Another thing I didn’t take into account.

We arrive at the venue, and I text Miles, who meets us in a holding area where the stage and sound crew are prepping for the night. There’s a German group opening for them. The place is swarming with people. Miles takes my hand and gestures to my parents to follow. Through a maze of people and hallways, he opens a door to a beautiful room, decked out with couches, chairs, mini-bar, and every table topped with a flower bouquet. I lean in to read the small card on one of them from a fan of Miles’, offering herself to him.

Miles notices me blowing out a frustrated breath, and takes my chin, kissing my lips, and says, “It’s part of the persona. They don’t matter. You do.” This has me smiling. “And you look absolutely gorgeous.”

I wrap my arms around him, my head tilted back, and respond, “Thank you. You bought it.”

My dad clears his throat, and I release Miles. Miles asks if they’d like something to drink, and they choose hard liquor to settle their nerves.

Miles asks both my parents, “What kind of music do you two like?”

My mom says, “Folk. I’m more of a fan of acoustic instruments than electric.”

His eyebrow rises. “Elise. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She lets out an edgy laugh. “I agree. Acoustic is much better. The rhythm is felt at a higher level.”

My dad chimes in, “No way. I like the hard guitar vibrations. Classic rock is my favorite.”

“Then you might like our band. Elise, not so much.”

We all seem to unwind, and my father continues the conversation. “I bought one of your records when you started dating Jules.”

“Daddy! I didn’t know that.”

“Curiosity got the best of me.”

Miles asks, “What did you think?”

“Good. Some of the songs are a little too romantic for me, but Elise might enjoy those. It’s the drummer who sucks.”

Miles chokes on his drink, looks at my dad, who’s wearing a shit-eating grin, and says, “I guess I’ll have to tell the drummer to step up his game.”

From there, we all settle into a forgetful period where the secrets and lies lay dormant while we enjoy the concert. My parents haven’t been to a show since I was born, which was Bon Jovi. Miles introduces my parents to Lee and the rest of the band, and we tour the backstage area. He tells us where we’ll be standing for the concert. It’s separate from the crew, so we don’t get in their way but can see the entire stage.

The opening act is ready to go on. Miles leaves us there so he can change into his black ensemble and combat boots. He’s delicious with or without clothes, yet my preference is without. He’s a woman magnet. Women want to be the next one in his bed. But I smile at the thought because he’s mine. My doubts of him wanting a relationship, of being faithful, have fallen to the wayside. Miles has proven over and over what I mean to him. This is why I’ve accepted his secrets, and why it’s important my parents do the same.

My parents are in awe. Big lights. A stadium filled to its limits while some people lingered outside the gates in hopes to hear them and possibly come across one of the members.

Mom is bobbing to the beat of the opening act. Their tempos are milder than The Coven and they sing a mixture of German and English songs. It’s wild to hear another language sung to a crowd who knows every word. Dad’s head swivels in all directions, watching the band, crowd, and crew work together.

After their set, they exit in our direction, fist-bumping people on their way out.

The lead singer veers over, offers his hand to us and says, “Guten Abend! Hat Euch unser Auftritt gefallen?” (Good evening! Did you enjoy our set?)

We shake our heads in confusion.

The singer is still holding my hand, eyes roaming up and down my body. “Sorry. I thought you spoke German.”

The foreboding energy associated with Miles sizzles behind me when he says, “Anton! H?r’ auf, meine Frau so anzusehen!” (Anton. Stop looking at my woman that way. )

Anton steps back, hands raised in surrender. “Entschuldigung, war mir nicht klar.” (I apologize. It wasn’t clear. )

He bows to us, thanks Miles for allowing them to open for The Coven, and leaves.

Miles pulls me into his arms, kisses the top of my head, and whispers, “Show time, Schatzi.” He holds his drumsticks up to my mouth and says, “Kiss them for good luck!”

I kiss them and he releases me. The three of us watch the band take their places on stage. While Miles walks to the drums, his head turns back to me, and he winks. I’m about to burst from pride. My parents smile after seeing Miles wink at me. High heels or not, I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, taking one hand of theirs and kissing them. They huddle closer to me, listening to the roar of the crowd.

The set starts with Miles striking the Hi Hat in a continuous beat and the crowd chants, Smash it Nash . He adds in a Tom drum, there’s whooping, and the guitars join in, followed by Callan’s melodic voice to my favorite song, Butterfly Winds. I’m dancing and clapping to it and find my parents’ bodies moving to the music. Mom’s hips sway in her cute little jeans, and Dad’s foot taps to the beat. Watching their response brings tears to my eyes, and I wave my hand in front of my face to dry any that escaped.

Song after song, the energy builds in the stadium. By the fourth song, Callan has the crowd singing along with him. He’s sweaty, running around the stage, flipping his hair downward, hitting some of his loyal fans. The women scream his name, and their hands reach out to him. Callan grabs one of the women’s arms and hauls her onto the stage. At first, she’s covering her face, screaming, and then she starts dancing with him. Her hands snake over Callan’s body, kissing his face, and grabbing his cock. Callan loves it. She dances up to Ace and Thomas, wiggling her hips, and runs behind the drum set. My heartbeat pauses because I can’t see what’s happening from this vantage point, so I move several feet to the left. Security and Miles’ bodyguards enter the stage to remove her, but not before she kisses him on the cheek. She shouts out, I love you Nash , as they take her off stage. He isn’t even fazed by her actions, just continues the song. When it ends, his eyes lock on mine and he brings the drumsticks to his lips for a kiss.

That woman means nothing to him.

He loves you.

Because of his popularity and looks, I often remind myself Miles is mine. My insecurities get the best of me, but it’s to be expected dating someone like him, as women throw themselves at the band members any chance they get.

It’s the last song and they wind into Miles’ favorite Wicked Joys . In a way, it fits my man. For the amount of joy he brings to me, he also brings a wickedness I love. My energy is waning after this eventful day. By the end, mine and my parents’ shoulders touch, swaying from side to side. My voice is hoarse from singing, and they’re exhausted just from the experience.

Callan sings the last chord in the encore then thanks the crowd, who chants more . The band leaves the stage, and my sweaty man comes over, embraces me, and twirls me in a circle. I run my fingers through his wet hair, whispering how awesome he played. How proud I am of him. He has the most exquisite smile. When he places me down, my parents congratulate him, letting him know they enjoyed the concert.

The band is going to a dance club, but Miles declines, wanting to treat us to dinner. We’re all hungry, although he’s famished from the performance. He escorts us to this adorable German restaurant. The building is one of the old types made of clay, wood, and timber beams. Inside, the beams run along the ceiling. Heavy wooden booths line the walls. The delicious smells have my mouth watering. A man comes over to Miles, calling him Matthias, and shakes his hand. His arm stretches over to the large booth as Miles requests English menus. Miles tells us most restaurant close early in Germany, except for this one which remains open into the early morning.

He tells my parents, “I thought I’d bring you to a true traditional German restaurant. I’ll suggest a couple of things. The Rouladen are pickles and bacon wrapped in beef or veal. It comes with dumplings. There is a variety of Wiener Schnitzels. The original type from Austria is made of veal. Sauerbraten is another typical German dish. It’s part of a beef roast in a sweet and sour gravy.”

My mom jumps on the Sauerbraten , my dad takes the pork knuckle, and after discussing some of the schnitzels with Miles, I choose the one with Hollandaise sauce. Miles orders for us, and he takes the Rouladen .

While we enjoy our drinks, some guy comes up to our table, looking down at Miles. He folds his arms over his skinny chest, and says in German, “Auf diesen Tag habe ich gewartet.” (I’ve been waiting for this day.)

Miles takes a gulp of beer, sits back, and says nothing.

He points at Miles rattling off more German.

Miles’ entire body stiffens, yet he remains quiet. We have no idea what he’s saying. I scoot closer to Miles.

The man pulls a thread from the bottom of his frayed shirt, glancing out the window as if daydreaming. “Karina, sie geh?rte mir.” ( Karina, she was mine.)

Whatever was said gets Miles’ attention, because he stands, causing the guy to take a step back.

The man’s eyes shift to Miles, shouting about a Karina.

Miles shoves the guy who is a lot shorter than he is.

Our waiter comes over, and from the look of the exchange, he asked Miles if the man was bothering him.

The man hits his own chest, tears running down his cheeks, screaming.

I jump out of the booth, grabbing Miles’ arm, who has latched his hand around the man’s neck. The server and I are asking Miles to let him go.

Miles’ bodyguard Hendrick arrives. “Miles, was geht hier ab?” ( Miles, what’s going on here?)

Through clenched teeth, Miles says, “Dieser Typ behauptet, er w?re Karinas Liebhaber gewesen. Das baby war nicht meins.” ( This guy claims he was Karina’s lover. The baby wasn’t mine .)

Hendrick steps in, grabs the guy by the shirt, throwing him to the side, which forces Miles to let him go.

The guy is on the ground, pointing his finger at Miles, spit flying out of his mouth as he continues to scream.

Miles begins punching him in the face, but Hendrick stops him by taking the guy out of the restaurant. Miles stands there, breathing heavy, staring out into the distance. I take his hand and kiss the top of it, except it doesn’t get his attention. He’s still lost in thought.

I whisper, “Mein Lieber.” His eyes flicker to mine. “Who was that man?”

Hendrick comes inside and says to Miles, “Wir bringen ihn zur Hütte.” (W e will bring him to the hut.)

Without a word, Miles walks out of the restaurant, and Hendrick gestures for us to follow. We pile into the limousine, still hungry, and shocked by what occurred, wondering what the man said for Miles to react the way he did. My parents hold hands, squishing close together. I remain on my side of the car, letting Miles find calmness by staring out the window.

From my window, I notice a couple of men shoving the guy into the car as he shouts, “Karina!”

His wild hair and obsessed eyes have me shrinking into my seat.

Hendrick drops my parents off at the guesthouse and makes his way back to Miles’ home. Inside, Miles heads straight to the liquor, downing a glass of whiskey before pouring another with a shaky hand. This is the first time I’ve seen Miles unhinged. Even when danger lurks, he’s calm, collected, and protective. I have no idea what the man said to throw him into this state. I press my hand to my chest, saddened this happened on the first European concert tour. Miles was on top of the world on stage and flying high when he got off. Whatever this man said, pelted him into a furious man.

Biting my lower lip, I say, “Talk to me, Miles. Who is Karina?”

He lifts his head, eyes on mine, and says, “My dead wife.”