I look over at my best friend, Sean Lundie. He can be an absolute eyeful to behold. He's like a walking carnival, almost too bright and outrageous to comprehend. His head is shaved smooth but you know he's a ginger because he has a bright red goatee hugging his mouth. His face is covered in metal. Both eyebrows sport multiple rings and he has a barbell through the bridge of his nose. Each cheek is pierced with another barbell and he has labrets through his upper and lower lips. Huge, black ear gages frame his face.
Sean is also a fan of the ink and he has almost his entire body covered in a multitude of colors. He sports everything from Grim Reapers to f**king Tinker Bell and Snoopy on his body. Probably the most striking tat he has is a red dragon that covers his head. The head and snout of the dragon come down over his forehead, with the forked tongue coming down the center of his nose. The dragon's front claws come down over each temple, and they look like they are digging into his skin. The dragon's body runs down the back of his head, with the tail curling around the left side of his neck and coming to rest lovingly on his collarbone.
Yes, he is a sight to behold.
"How is my head up my ass?" My voice comes out edgy and defensive.
Sean pulls a No. 2 pencil out from behind his ear and starts twirling it in his fingers. It's a drummer thing, apparently. I suppose it's not practical for him to carry around his drumsticks, so he always has a pencil handy that he practices twirling. It's amazing to see him handle his sticks when we perform, but how he gets that little, tiny piece of wood to flip and roll so effortlessly among his fingers is beyond me.
"Seriously, Cillian... what's up? You drag me out here to the forsaken ends of the earth, telling me you want to write some music together, and all you've done since we got here is brood and pick at your guitar in anger."
Here would be my house in Oughterard. I bought it over a year ago, and haven't even stayed a night in it until this week. It's the first real thing I've bought with the money I've made but I've never had time to enjoy it. I didn't want to buy something in Dublin, because I was not there often enough and a small flat did me just fine. But I thought it would be nice to have a place to relax and unwind if I ever actually took a break from my work.
And I didn't really come here to enjoy it now. I really just wanted to get away from Dublin—and Renner—so I could get my head back on straight. I talked Sean into coming with me, because yeah, I thought we could use the time the flesh out some of the songs I had been writing. But he's right... I haven't done anything but scowl and mope for the past two days since we've been here.
"Hello... earth to Cillian... come in Cillian," Sean says as he waves his hand in front of my face.
Blinking away my thoughts, I give a sigh. "First, we are not at the forsaken ends of the earth. We're f**king two hours from Dublin. And second, if you don't like it here, leave."
"Man, you are all kinds of piss and vinegar. You need to get laid or something."
I just want to ignore him, but the minute he says the words "get laid", my thoughts immediately pull toward Renner. Which irritates the f**k out of me, because that's all I've been doing since we got here...thinking about her. I could be looking out over the lake, and I think about Renner. I could be popping open a beer, and I think of Renner. Fuck...I could probably see a stray dog gnawing on a bone and I'd think of Renner.
For f**k's sake, she does nothing but dominate my thoughts.
I thought leaving her apartment the other day and putting some distance between us would cool my desire for her. But if anything... it's heated to nuclear proportions. And not only am I apparently thinking with my dick all the time, but I have a small niggling of guilt burrowed into my chest. When I think back to that day... about the look of hurt that crossed her face over my words, my lungs seem to sink inward upon themselves and breathing doesn't seem to be an option.
I have no idea why I'm feeling this way. I've never catered to a woman's feelings before, not even when Maeve and I were together, and that was the longest relationship I've ever had. I speak my feelings true, and what I told her was with complete honesty.
I don't take orders, because I need control. It is imperative that I be in control, because I spent so much of my life spinning out of it. I can't give it up to anyone.
And not only did I tell her that, but I apparently had to show her as well. No... correction. I had to shove it down her throat. When she gave me an ultimatum... to talk or leave, every fiber of my being rebelled. I had grown up with ultimatums, had choices unfairly laid before me, knowing that neither option was fair or kind. Knowing that choosing one would hurt just as much as the other.
So when she gave me two choices, I had no other option but to create a third. And that was to kiss her senseless and show her that she's playing by my rules.
I know I'm trying to justify my actions to myself, but it does nothing to ease the guilt that's starting to fester.
Sean and I are sitting on my front porch, enjoying the warm afternoon breeze. I reach over to my left and grab my guitar. I only brought my Gibson acoustical, because it's more soothing to me when I try to start matching up the music with my lyrics and it’s obviously more portable than my piano.
Plucking a few strands, I glance at Sean. "How come you don't have a girlfriend?"
His red eyebrows rise up at my question, and the pencil in his hand twirls faster. He shrugs his shoulders. "I guess they're too much trouble to maintain when you're on the road all the time."