Riana's Cavatina (Sonata of Love Book 2) Read online

  “Ugh, shut up Bryce.” Sam groaned. “She’s not a stray. This is—“

  “Riana.” He cut Sam off without a moment’s hesitation as he stepped further into the house. He gave me a side glance as he opened the fridge. I felt my cheeks warm as I bit my lip and watched him. His gym shorts and tank top left very little to the imagination but my imagination took off anyway.

  The backside of Sam’s hand met my thigh as she hissed at me, “Stop it.” She had an amused grin on her face once I tore my gaze from Bryce. Of course, Sam was no stranger to the fact that her brother effortlessly appealed to young women. Almost all of Sam’s school friends had crushes on Bryce, formed either through time spent at Sam’s house or through working with him in the Drama Club.

  Phil and Courtney often set up “family outings” to entertain me while I stayed with them—we frequently went to local beaches, hiked through forests, caught shows at theaters, and spent full days at local fairs. Outside of the activities though, Sam and I found that we had an uncanny ability to be perfectly content just hanging out in the backyard. My time settled after the first few weeks and we fell into a routine of staying up too late watching movies, making breakfasts that would have better qualified as brunches, doing laundry, and then hanging out with friends usually downtown with what seemed to be an endless supply of Tim Horton’s coffee. It was absolute heaven for me.

  My return home after two months in Nova Scotia felt like it would be damn near impossible. I had felt reborn there. It had been a large scale reimagining of who I was. I didn’t want to leave it. I didn’t want to leave Sam and our endless joy and laughter together. I especially didn’t want to leave Bryce, though I could never tell Sam that. I was sure that we had been able to keep our few rendezvous secret, but he had sparked a new awakening that I was desperate to continue exploring.

  It all started late one afternoon about two weeks into my stay. We were having a BBQ with some of Sam and Bryce’s friends before the Canada Day fireworks. I was sent down to the basement to grab another five pound bag of ice from the chest freezer, and as I turned back around with it Bryce was at the door. He said very little as he approached, took the bag from my arms, placed it on top of the freezer, and then tunneled his hands through my hair. As we hastily explored each other, I was stuck by how willing I was to participate. While part of me still panicked as his hands caressed my body, he effortlessly eased my mind with soft murmurs and gentle kisses. That one split decision led to frequent and frantic make out sessions throughout my stay.

  Each time we found a moment together things progressed. I bit my lip and blushed as I turned to the airplane window and remembered the first time I completely submitted to Bryce. It was the middle of the night, Sam’s dad and stepmom had gone to Moncton, New Brunswick for a concert and left Bryce, Sam, and I to our own devices for the weekend. We had debated having a party, but because Sam knew how scarred I still was from the last party I attended, she convinced Bryce that a quieter night would be ideal. We had a few friends over, drank a few beers—well, they drank a few beers I remained painfully sober, and watched cult classic movies.

  Everyone bailed by about 1am, and around 3:30am I heard him call quietly at the door to my bedroom. “Ri?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stepped into my room and closed the door. I was vividly aware as I heard the door also lock. He gave me no reason to actually panic though as he came to my bed and simply laid down next to me, on top of the covers. “What are you doing Bryce?”

  “I just wanted to be near you.”

  My apprehension and heart melted in that moment.

  Brandon had never been one for romance, and I soon discovered that the fastest way to turn my body on was to touch my heart first—to create a sense of patience and comfort. Damn he was good.

  It did not take long for Bryce to go from near me to in me—an experience completely initiated by me. Yeah, I was surprised too. It seemed that I needed a more positive experience to wash away the betrayal I had felt by Brandon. To have given myself to Brandon and to have him so callously move on and sleep with someone else came close to ruining any “progress” I had made in the way of my sexuality. I had no delusions of any kind of relationship for me and Bryce, I couldn’t imagine doing that to Sam. But I needed him to give me something good. And he did.

  I sighed heavily as my body remembered how he felt. I needed to calm down before I ended up doing a solo initiation into the mile-high club. I thought Bryce was an example of the sexual “healing” I was going through, but he would end up being only the first of many attempts to prove to myself and anyone else paying attention that I hadn’t been ruined by Dylan. It would become the double edge sword that would nearly end me.

  More than anything, I was going to miss Sam. My time with her introduced me to the idea that home wasn’t a place, it was a feeling. I felt at home with Sam, just as I felt at home with Lexi. With my two best friends was exactly where I was meant to be, no matter where it was. My heart crumbled as I was torn away from that feeling of safety, acceptance, and love. My only comfort was knowing that my other “home” would be awaiting my return.

  Lexi was empathetic to the pain I felt in leaving Sam, and took time just being with me until I gained my bearings again. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, I bounced back fairly quickly when it was brought to my attention that it was only two weeks until D.M.A.’s fall tour started, and Minneapolis was their second stop.

  True to my word, Lexi and I camped out the night before the D.M.A. concert. It was likely the most fun I’d ever had in my life. Between having Lexi there, and meeting other die-hard fans who also camped out; it was another overwhelming feeling of home, though that also created an ache for Sam to share the experience with us. We would take turns holding spots while we ran for food, drinks, and bathroom breaks. We were loud, obnoxious, and on a natural high that I imagine could have rivaled any man-made drug. I’m not sure that I slept more than a couple hours that night.

  Morning came, and we again looked out for each other as we took turns freshening up and getting breakfast. As the day got later, the line got longer. Lexi and I successfully secured the fourth and fifth spots in line. First row would definitely be ours.

  No amount of watching concerts on TV, disc, or online could have ever prepared me for the experience of being at a live D.M.A. concert. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those “crazy fans” that cried at a concert and screamed endlessly. Truthfully, keeping the promise was harder than I expected. I felt close to throwing up as D.M.A. took the stage and the only release was to scream at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t contain the frantic beating of my heart or the trembling in my hands as I realized I was literally only ten feet from the man who, for all intents and purposes, saved my life. The man who sparked fantasies that would make even the most experienced of women blush. The man who was the shoulder I cried on, without even knowing it.

  But the music!

  The music left me speechless. To sing along with them, to hear a thousand or more other people sing along with them, to dance and clap and feel alive. That was the best part. After being there with them, I was absolutely positive there was nothing else in the world that would ever make me feel so alive.

  Movement Four

  I needlessly worried all senior year that after graduation Lexi and I would lose touch and inevitably drift apart. I should have realized that Lexi would never allow that to happen. We applied to all the same colleges and universities and once we got our acceptance letters chose St. Kate’s; far enough away from home to be independent and close enough to home to do laundry for free. It was a win-win.

  I always thought that I’d go into the field of psychology, but after my first semester at St. Kate’s and experiencing both the intro the psych and the intro to sociology courses it was clear that my calling was in sociology and humanities. My mother made it clear that it was a field that would “lead me nowhere.”

  “Is she right, Lex?” I
asked as we found our usual booth in the basement of the student union after grabbing a typical lunch of less than authentic Mexican food.

  “She’s dramatic.” Lexi said.

  I snorted as I unwrapped my burrito—she wasn’t wrong.

  “I mean, I know she only wants the best for you, and that logically means probably wanting to see you in a program that is essentially guaranteed—like accounting or computer science.”

  I made a dramatic show of myself gagging at the thought of going into such fields and Lexi giggled.

  “You’re going to be just fine, honey.” She took a small sip of her tea before she smiled. “You could be me, undecided major with an unhealthy love for literature and rhetoric.”

  “You should just major in English.”

  “I’ll probably minor in it. You’re not the only ones with parents that want to see their kid in a guaranteed field…I’ve got what, at least three more years to be undecided?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You have a year, maybe. That is, if you’d like to graduate in a timely fashion.” I took a bite then added on, “How would your parents not see an English degree as a guaranteed field?”

  “Well, it is, it’s just, I’d likely have to go into teaching…”

  “And that’s….bad?” Sometimes Lexi’s thought process could be a little difficult to follow.

  “Not necessarily.” She stopped and thoughtfully nibbled on a nacho. “I’m just not sure that I want to invest all my time chasing the higher degrees needed to teach at a level that I’d be happy at. I wouldn’t want to teach K-12. So I’d need at minimum a Master’s.” I nodded. “Which is a lot of time—and money.”

  “True.”

  “Not to mention, I just feel really drawn to look more into the degrees that could lead to a career with special needs kids.”

  I smiled at her. There it was, the true source of her conflict.

  “Oh Lex. It’s clear that’s where your heart is. Do that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “For sure. Add that minor on in order to satisfy that need for literature, but absolutely do the special needs thing. There needs to be more people like you in that field.”

  Lexi’s grin grew as she nodded. “Thanks Ri.”

  Our first year at St. Kate’s Lexi and I lived in different dorms, with roommates we had never met before. As an only child, the whole notion of shared spaces was absolutely foreign to me. It was miserable. Her name was Dawn, she had horrible taste in music—as in, she was not a D.M.A. fan—and was wretchedly obsessive about how organized and clean our room was. I vowed to always get a dorm room, or an apartment, with Lexi.

  Sophomore year brought exactly that—a change in living arrangements that was as close to perfect as I could imagine. We ended up in a large suite in the newest dorm at St. Kate’s, and while it was clear we did have slightly differing opinions as to what constituted “clean” and how often one should partake in “cleaning”, we couldn’t have been happier. When Lexi would finally convince me to do more than get rid of pizza boxes and dirty clothes we’d pull up our D.M.A. playlist, open the window, and dance and sing to our heart’s content. It was really the only way I found our chores bearable.

  I dabbled in the realm of writing for most of my adolescence, but would never have considered myself to be necessarily talented in it. The call to write intensified to the point of annoyance about two years into my undergrad. I caved to the call, though reluctantly at first.

  It started with poetry, words spilt onto pages in waves without much conscious thought on my part. The imagery was often dark and haunting, desperate for reconciliation and healing. As the pain came to the surface I realized that I needed to go back to work with Mel, or someone like her. Wounds lingered under the surface. The realization angered me; I was frustrated that so many years later I still remained impacted and scarred by what Dylan did. As I tiptoed the edge of depression I started to believe that perhaps he had truly broken me, that I was damaged beyond repair. Mel was able to put me into contact with a local advocate that worked on campus, but also assured me that I could call or email anytime if I rather talk to her about something.

  At that point, it was essentially the peak of the online blogging movement. It seemed that everyone had an online journal of some sort; some with followers all over the world, some sharing their deepest thoughts, memories, and feelings essentially only with themselves. I was somewhere in the middle, and those earliest followers would be my first fans when I took my writing to professional levels years later. These worldly friends, often fellow survivors, encouraged me to dig deeper and push further in my explorations of the pain. The most beautiful moments were when entries would seem to echo their pain and struggles, and the connection in our experiences inspired me further. My online blog was instrumental in my healing, and a rough outline of the book yet to come.

  The painful poetry gave way to short stories, surprisingly filled with humor and hope. I often found myself outside of Coeur de Catherine, the main student building, absorbed in people watching; I gave them backstories, family dynamics, love interests and plotlines. Lexi found me there more times than I could count. She laughed and shook her head as she tried to convince me to come have dinner with her. She was the biggest fan of my writing, and the only one I shared unfinished pieces with.

  “I think you should write a memoir.” She said one October evening of our junior year.

  I coughed around the bite of pasta I just put in my mouth and then swallowed thickly. “You think I should what?”

  Lexi’s lips barely tugged and resisted a smile. “Write a memoir. The story of your life.”

  “I know what a memoir is, dear. As drama-filled as my life has been it is not a story anyone would want to read, Lex. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Right. Have you looked at the stats on your blog lately? Your story is clearly one that many people are interested in reading and following. You have a way with words, Ri. It’s practically magic.”

  I guess it would be fair to say that without Lexi, there’s a distinct possibility my life would have played out in a much different way. She planted a seed in that short exchange. A seed that fought to grow despite my continued lack of nourishment of it.

  I sat at the desk that was nestled under my loft bed in mine and Lexi’s dorm room, creating a playlist that I hoped would make my interpersonal communications paper easier to write.[A2] I reread the assignment and groaned. “Why do I procrastinate so much?”

  The sound of the dorm room door being thrust into the wall startled me and I clenched my fists as I fought to catch my breath. “Riana! You’re never going to believe this!” Lexi screamed.

  Thankful for another distraction I turned from my laptop and to her. She trembled with excitement. I trembled as I mentally tried to reassure my irrational mind that there was no imminent danger.

  “So, you know how D.M.A. is playing downtown next month?”

  “Yes?”

  She tried to delay her news by biting her thumb nail, but as her eyes danced I knew she wouldn’t last long. “I won a meet and greet!”

  “Shut up! Are you serious Lex! Oh my God!” I jumped up from my chair and clasped my hands together with hers as we bounced and spun around our room.

  “I emailed the staff right away and asked if I could transfer it to you.”

  I stopped and narrowed my eyes at her. “You did not.”

  “Of course I did.” I resisted any urge to get excited for myself. “But they told me that they couldn’t do that. I could relinquish my meet and greet, but they couldn’t promise that the next person they picked would be you. I’m sorry, Ri.”

  “You kept it, right? You didn’t give it up just because I couldn’t have it.”

  “It would mean so much more to you to meet them.”

  “Lex, no. You love them too. You have to go. You have to tell me what Alex smells like.” We both fought against the bellows of laughter that bubbled up at the image of Lexi taking a big whif
f of Alex for me.

  “Deal.” She agreed. “I’ll go, but only so I can relay what Alex smells like.”

  “And Matt.” I said quickly before I could stop myself. “I mean, I know he’s still with that Tabitha girl and all now, but it wouldn’t hurt to know what he smells like too. You can keep the Derek smell to yourself, I know you want to.”

  “Ha ha.” She said dryly, though I could tell by how her eyes danced that she knew I was right. She settled into her own desk under her loft. “Rumor has it that Alex has been seeing one of Tabitha’s friends.”

  “Really? Man, I tell ya Lex, living in Minnesota really screwed us. Had we lived somewhere like New York or LA or something, we’d be the friends dating them.” I scowled as I opened up my internet and did a search to confirm the rumor. “Damn, she’s cute too.” Lexi scooted her chair over next to me. We found a picture of Matthew, Tabitha, Alex, and this friend of Tabitha’s all leaving a hotel in London. Alex had a light hold of her hand as she trailed behind him, her burgundy hair tossed up in a bun. Matthew and Tabitha were cute as ever, both of them apparently laughing as Tabitha slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  “So, I shouldn’t smell him?”

  “Oh no, definitely still smell him.” I laughed.

  I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t slightly jealous of Lexi as she was pulled from the line by security to go partake in her meet and greet with the guys. I would never ask her to decline such a fantastic experience though. And I certainly couldn’t complain about going to another D.M.A. concert, and having front row—again. I didn’t particularly like crowds of people though, especially some of the more obnoxious fans. My anxiety only seemed to get worse as Lexi walked away.

  I checked the time and groaned when I realized I still had almost an hour before they would open the doors. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and mentally pulled away from the line. I was soon distracted by how my mind came up with endless, outrageous scenarios of what might transpire when Lexi met the guys. There was no way to know that in less than six years reality would end up more sensational than anything my imagination came up with that evening.