Free Wasted Heart by Nicole Reed

touch of his fingers first touching my hand. His grip overwhelming mine. Tiny zaps of electrical current crawling up my arm. A pounding needs starts in my abdomen. I search his eyes, needing to know if he is, in anyway, connected to what is going on. Instead, I find those dead eyes resting on me. Nothing. I look down, realizing I’m the only one holding on, and I let go.
    “Anyway,” I say, swallowing back this crazy, desperate emotion.
    I turn away, reaching for my notebook and pen and praying that the liquid gathering in my eyes doesn’t fall. I don’t know why I feel this way. It’s so confusing, and I feel like absolute horse manure knowing that it’s only me. How could I expect someone like him to take notice of someone like myself? He dates movie stars for crying out loud. Experienced women. Probably whores. Dear Lord, I apologize for that thought. It was ugly…but true.
    When the door opens and Ryan and his crew enter, I dare to take one more peek at Rhye. His eyes are still focused on me; however, I can now plainly see that I’m not the only one confused. For some reason, my stupid heart leaps at the realization.

I count the endless minutes until I’m released from this prison. We’ve been supposedly “writing” all afternoon. Yet, I still have zero on my page, well, other than the oriental dragon I drew for the hell of it. Between Ryan giving me slack all afternoon for taking smoke breaks and having to deal with whatever that shit was that happened with Smiley, I need a drink. Fuck that, I need a bottle.
    Not that I want to admit it, even to myself, but damn if I didn’t feel something when our hands shook this afternoon. At first, I was numb to everything as normal, but when she pulled back, I felt…something. It sounds dumb, but it’s the first time in a while that I’ve felt anything remotely deep inside for anyone else. I stare at her, wondering what makes her different.
    Around five o’clock, Mel goes out for pizza and beer, returning with enough for everyone. I try to force one slice down and guzzle several beers. For some reason, I keep having to stop myself from looking over at Smiley. She hasn’t said anything else directly to me this afternoon. I notice her take a slice of pie and opt for a coke instead of beer. The room seems to get smaller and smaller, closing in on me, and the day can’t end fast enough.
    Several hours later, after more pretending to write and listening to Ryan and Mel’s ideas, we finally call it a day. I quickly stand and rush out, not looking to see what she is doing. The idea of returning to the apartment is about as appealing as staying one more minute in that studio. Exiting the building, I light one up and hold the smoke in before blowing it out. My unsteady hands worsened as the day progressed, now making it difficult to even hold my cigarette. Thankfully, this should be the hardest day on my body.
    Darkness has fallen, and already, the night life is awakening the streets. The neon lights glow from the signs, announcing the clubs and bars that line either side. The ones that obviously have a country theme I stay the hell out of. I see one at the corner that reads “Mike’s Bar”. Taking a chance, I put my second cigarette out, and place my hands in my pockets before entering.
    Walking in, I immediately notice the rock band setting up on the small stage that faces the bar. Just what I was looking for. I move directly to the far end and sit down on a stool, noting that there isn’t a lot of people in the place. Back in L.A., you can’t walk into a bar without at least one paparazzi bastard taking your picture and hounding you for the night. Most nights you party in V.I.P., not to be cool but to be left the fuck alone.
    I drum my fingertips on the smooth wooden bar, enjoying the anonymity that the low light affords me.
    “What can I get you to drink?” the bartender asks, looking uninterested in who I am or maybe he doesn’t know.
    “Let me get a bottle