The Sound of Us

Chapter Thirty-One. “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” by Moby

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” by Moby

SKYE

With Noah heavily sedated in the hospital, the station in chaos, and my heart in tatters, I fell back into the comfort of my old training pattern—spending at least an hour and a half every day in the gym working out, practicing on the court, and doing drills.

Pushing myself to train at the highest intensity possible meant I didn’t have to think about Noah’s brush with death, my fight with Dante, or even the scholarship that should have gone to someone else. I canceled the Musical Divide and spent only enough time at the station to meet the internship requirements. I hadn’t made any headway with any of my investigations, and I began to wonder if I should turn my focus back to basketball and try out again for the DII team.

Isla tried to cheer me up with romcom nights, pints of ice cream, crazy dances, and long discussions about why she and Nick would never work, even though he’d told her he was willing to take things as slow as she needed to be comfortable. I took an extra shift at the coffee shop and gossiped with Haley about our customers, but too often I found myself looking for a glimpse of a leather jacket, or the swing of a bass.

How could I miss Dante but hate him at the same time? Some days I felt angry at him and other days I was heartbroken and missed him so badly my chest ached. I’d never cared for any of my previous boyfriends the way I cared about Dante. I’d never experienced the depth of feeling that had inspired so many breakup songs.

“Not another heartbreak playlist,” Isla groaned two weeks after our on-air fight. Dante and I had never talked about a breakup, just as we’d never talked about being official, but I didn’t want to see him, and it was clear he didn’t want to see me.

I turned down the volume on my speaker. “This one is Heartbreak Jazz . It’s different.”

“It’s depressing.” She closed her textbook and tossed it to the far end of the couch. “I can’t take it anymore. Heartbreak Soul , Heartbreak Country , Heartbreak Rock , Heartbreak Beats , Heartbreak Metal . When I asked you to move in, I thought it would be cool to have someone who knew everything about music because you would be able to pull up playlists for any vibe—studying, cooking, parties. It didn’t occur to me that you would also know every breakup song ever written and play them twenty-four-seven while you pine for your lost love.”

“I am not pining,” I huffed. “I’m angry. I told Dante at the frat house that I didn’t like things I didn’t earn myself and then he went behind my back and set up the scholarship and then made sure I’d get it by showing up at the interview to help me and somehow roping in Noah. He didn’t have any faith in me, and worse, he kept the secret even after we caught feelings.”

“You told me you were getting good performance reviews at the radio station,” she countered. “Noah gave you not one, but two different radio shows. He loved your piece on the empty buildings so much he wanted you to put it on the air. That doesn’t sound like he made a mistake.”

“I already told Siobhan that I’m not doing the investigative journalism show,” I told her. “I don’t feel like I deserve to be there, and that slot should go to someone who does. I’ve run out of leads on all my stories, and I’m beginning to question whether journalism really is the right path for me.”

Isla let out an exasperated sigh. “What happened to the Skye who was finally embracing her passion? I think you’re just afraid to face the truth.”

“What truth?”

“The truth that it is easier to fall back on something that is comfortable and familiar than taking that leap into the unknown. Maybe Noah did choose you because of Dante, but it doesn’t mean you won’t be a good journalist. You’ve already proven yourself at the station with the story about the empty buildings. You’re on to something with the basketball team. Your professor was encouraging about your garbage story. I’ve never seen you more excited about anything than when you’re dragging me into back alleys to look into dumpsters or making me drink disgustingly healthy protein shakes so we can spy on hot basketball players. I don’t know why you stopped believing in yourself, but are you really going to throw away your dream because you may have gotten a helping hand? Or are you that afraid of failing? Because this time, the only person who you would disappoint is you.”

Isla had been harsh with me when I had sunk into a depression while healing from my injuries, but never as harsh as she was at that moment.

“You’re afraid, too,” I countered, bristling with indignation. “You’re afraid to be with Nick.”

“You’re afraid because of you,” she said. “I’m afraid because someone made me afraid.” Her voice wavered. “And it wasn’t even me he wanted. After it happened, he touched my hair and jerked back like he was in shock. He shone his phone light in my face and then he swore and said, ‘You’re not her.’ Then he apologized over and over and said he thought I was someone else and he wanted to show her what she was missing.”

My heart leaped into my throat. “Oh God, Iz. Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“I did, but it didn’t make a difference so I didn’t tell anyone else. I was so ashamed that I couldn’t fight him off, and even more ashamed I hadn’t locked the door. I know it sounds crazy…” Her voice caught, broke. I pushed away all her books and papers and reached over to give her a hug.

“I had blocked it out,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “But then I saw you being so brave after you lost your place on the team. You didn’t give up. You found a new dream and threw yourself into it with all your heart. It made me think maybe I could move forward, too, but this was in the way. Now, you’re afraid again and it makes me so angry because I need you to be strong. I need to see that you can come back from something bad so I know I can do it, too.”

Emotion welled up in my throat and it was a long moment before I could speak again. “You’re the strong one. You’re the one who shook some sense into me and pulled me out of the darkness. I’m here because of you, Iz. And if I could come back, you can, too.”

Later that night, I put on my headphones and tuned in to Dante’s show. I knew right away it was recorded, but I didn’t care. I needed to hear the strong, deep, resonant timbre of his voice like I needed to breathe. I needed his music like the blood in my veins. I needed to remember how it felt to hold him in my arms.

You are listening to DJ Dante on WJPK, the independent voice of Chicago radio. Next up is a song sure to make you forget all about winter for a while—“Born to be Wild.”

I snuggled up in bed remembering the last time we were together. I closed my eyes and felt the soft press of his lips, the slow sensual knowing of my body, and the feeling of his arms around me when I shared the soundtrack of my life. I sank into memories of our secret forays, Dante holding me against his hips as we had sex against walls and doors, on dusty tables and rusty chairs. My fingertips trailed over my belly until they brushed the waistband of my pants.

We’re going to spend the next hour diving deep into some metal rock mix that’s perfect for late nights and broken hearts , taped Dante crooned over the radio before the first notes of Danzig’s “She Rides” filled my headphones. Slow and sexy, it is a song about a dangerous, powerful woman who embraces her wild side and is ready to take on anything despite the burden she carries.

Perfect for a little self-love. Not so perfect when I needed to get Dante off my mind. I still couldn’t forgive him—not just for the betrayal or the secrets, but for not having faith in me, for making me feel that I wasn’t good enough all over again.

I closed my eyes and imagined he was with me.

“Touch yourself.”

My heart fluttered and I did as my imaginary Dante asked, brushing my finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Nice. But not as nice as his fingers, or even better, his tongue.

“Now your fingers.”

DJ Dante was tormenting me now with Nine Inch Nails’s “Closer,” telling me through the lyrics how he wanted to feel me and drink me down. I felt like I was inside his head. I was him and I was me and we were pain and anger and longing and love.

I pushed two fingers inside me and brushed my thumb over my clit.

“Fuck yourself,” imaginary Dante ordered me, his voice vibrating deep in my chest.

I teased myself the way he teased me through “I Hate Everything About You” and finally reached my peak when he played “Stairway to Heaven.” And he was there with me, whispering, “Good girl,” as I went over.