AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
Another one where PG13's by email or PM.
Paul Hewson is not mine, nor is Edgy, and none of this is true. (it's very very unlikely) The songs within do exist, though.
(And Ali was listening to the Ramones, by the way!)
***
The late afternoon filtered in with impatient fingers of sunlight that tricked across half of Cath’s face. On the other half, very close, Paul slept: he lay atop her in sleep, one arm loosely draped over Cath’s shoulder while his face pressed against hers, his lips very soft. He looked for all the world very young all of the sudden in Cath’s eyes, his face untroubled. She lay where she was a moment, smiling faintly, not feeling like moving. His breath tickled her ear: she made a face, moved his arm gently as she rose, and kissed him awake.
“I should clean up,” she whispered. He nodded. She bent to pick up her dress, finding the rest flung into different corners of the room, and when she rose, felt his hands at her back, massaging her shoulders. She shivered as he kissed the back of her neck, pressing against her, and stepped quickly out of the room, he following, clothing bundled in both their hands. The bathroom door shut behind them.
*
Edge was restless, awake long into the night, drawing the worst possible of conclusions from Cath and Bono leaving together. He had heard nothing from Ali, and Cath was still gone, as was the singer, and so Edge’s mind was filled with feverish images of the two kissing, locked fiercely in each others’ embrace.
He turned over, despite himself imagining what it would feel like to have Cath’s lips on his. He had wanted to kiss her, so many times in the past few days, lock his hands in her saltwater-wet hair and let all his concern and teenaged emotion express itself through their bodies. It had been difficult not to, but Edge had been so afraid that Cath would be hurt again.
Inwardly, he cursed at himself. Why had he been so blind? How had he missed the way she looked not at him, but at Paul Hewson—still completely enamored with the man?
He tried with difficulty to drift back to sleep, the sheets around him obstacles, the darkness riddled with unseen fears of the two’s actions. Edge finally rose, flung off his shirt, and settled hard down by the window, at last dropping into a deep sleep, a single tear pricking warmly at his cheek.
*
Ali looked up from where she sat by the record player on the floor of Cath’s room: Cath had borrowed it and Ali didn’t feel like removing it just yet. The door opened. Whatever Ali had expected to see was not what she saw. She had assumed Cath had perhaps talked with Bono, perhaps gone off by herself alone to think it through. This was likely not the case: Cath’s face was flushed, her clothes askew on her body, one strap of her dress slipping a little. She looked utterly alive and ecstatic.
“What happened?” Ali asked unnecessarily, out of curiosity.
“My god,” Cath began slowly. “I went with Paul to his place, to tell him I was pregnant, though he was thinking something entirely different. He knows…he doesn’t hate me…was rather amazed, really, and somehow we spent the past few hours…” She trailed off, sliding down the wall to sit with her arms wrapped around her legs, her eyelids shut halfway in contentment.
Ali laughed in incredulous shock. “Well…that was fast.”
Cath lay down with her arms crossed behind her head, straightening her dress absently, the record that played drifting somewhere beyond her attention. Eventually Ali left the room, her motion causing Cath to unconsciously look near the windowsill, where a small sea-smooth stone rested. She had forgotten entirely about it falling from where it had lodged between her shoulder blades when she had the wetsuit on: Cath crossed over, rubbed her thumb over the cool surface absently, the shock of it feeling a little like reflective sadness. Cath frowned in thought, remembering…
The swiftly hidden thoughts shone in Edge’s eyes as quickly he caught the stone that was freed with Cath’s change of clothing, his shadow stretching over the sand, his head tilting slightly in that way it did as he stretched out a hand to offer it back to her, her fingers brushing briefly against his callused fingertips as she examined it, turning it over and over again, the weight of the stone and the repetition as it flipped over and over numbing her like hypnosis, her thoughts falling into some dark, scared place. And when she looked up again, and those vulnerable sparks in her eyes echoed briefly across his before abruptly, he rose.
Through the euphoria, it came to her that she still needed someone to talk to; Paul was fast asleep after their lovemaking, he and Cath for now too caught up in desire for words. She pulled on jeans and the shirt she found she clutched with her other hand, one of Paul’s, that fit her loosely, and went to splash water on her face. Edge would probably be at her house, and again, she could run, the running passing like a sunrise.
Edge shot bolt upright when he heard a knock on the door, swinging it open with perhaps too much energy. His fingers tightened against the doorframe as he leaned out and saw Cath: I recognize that shirt. Bono had worn it once to band practice a couple years ago.
Fuck.
“Did you sleep?” Cath asked, concerned. Edge had thrown on a shirt, still barefoot and in pajama bottoms. His hair stuck up at interesting angles—she noted it would probably be almost as amusing to mess up as Paul’s was—and his eyes burned.
“A couple hours,” he said, quiet voice slightly hoarse.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned still, moving forward. His eyes were still overbright and he looked exhausted. “Yeah, fine,” he lied when he could speak again, Cath’s proximity and the fact that everything about her screamed taken doing wonders for his already great mood. She was almost even more attractive after what she’d probably been doing with Bono—Edge thought his name darkly—her hair laying over loose shoulders, her eyes relaxed and happy.
They sat in his backyard, the grass cool around Cath’s feet. She slipped her shoes off and leaned back, the happiness overtaken by other faint concern.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I managed to tell him.”
“He didn’t kick you out or anything, refuse to see you?”
“No,” she laughed. Edge’s heart sank a little. While he didn’t want Cath to get hurt, especially by Bono, at the same time he thought selfishly that that would also be better for Cath. And better for himself. He dismissed the thought with a kind of horror, but jealousy had burned in him the entire time Cath and Bono had been gone.
“I take that it went over well, then,” Edge said, trying to be happy. He felt reassured, at least. There were worse things Bono could have done.
Cath nodded, grinning. “Yes. You should have seen the look on his face! He clearly hadn’t expected he was capable of that.”
“And?” Edge asked. There was clearly something she had on her mind.
Her fingers twisted in the grass. “It feels a little sudden…and…and…” Her voice had grown softer. Edge stared. Was Cath crying? She hid her face abruptly and when it resurfaced, her eyes were wet. He didn’t dare put his arms around her, though the tension of his longing made his fingers clench. But to Cath, his presence, his side pressed against hers, was reassurance enough for her to continue. She wiped the tears away, leaning her head against his shoulder despite herself. If she hadn’t been so close, Edge wouldn’t have been able to hear.
“I don’t know if I deserve this.” He tried not to react to the way her breath felt so close to the skin of his neck, instead felt part of him receding, as it had, into compassion, floating farther from the shore.
His hands caught her shoulders. He breathed in sharply, and she missed it. “Cath,” he said intently, she looking up, “don’t do that.”
“What?” It was even quieter than before, if possible.
“Don’t doubt yourself. What happened in the past wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that, but you lived through it. You can’t let it shape your future. More than anyone, it’s you who deserves happiness.”
And not me.
He had noticed that, though it showed only briefly, she couldn’t be completely confident in her value as a person. He wanted to be the one to show it to her, but instead he was the one who listened, dying inside.
*
A few weeks later, Ali invited over Edge, and obviously Bono and Cath. She had heard some faint noise in the morning that wouldn’t let her sleep and came downstairs. The darkness eased somewhat in the kitchen, reflecting in Cath’s eyes as she grinned at Bono. They had come in late, closing the door as quietly as possible—Ali had definitely heard something.
“Want some ice cream?” Cath managed to say before she giggled again, smacking Paul on the arm. He looked up apologetically from the empty carton, some ice cream smudged across his face. She frowned at him and smudged some across his other cheek. Ali shook her head, groaning. She wanted to sleep!
It gave her an idea, though.
“Want to come over and have sundaes?” Ali asked Edge over the phone, rolling her eyes at the commotion behind her. Cath was busy squirting chocolate sauce into her mouth, swallowing and exclaiming “too late!” to Ali. Paul looked at her and the curve of her belly above her crossed legs and decided Cath might want the ice cream more. Five months, he realized with a slight shock.
Edge replied he was busy, then looked down at the mail, frowning slightly, contemplating. His thoughts raced across the roof of his mind: guitar? No. Somehow, this seemed more important.
Edge signed a small serious strip of paper that had come in from the hospital, reflecting as he sat back on the porch on what he was doing. The ice-clear sky held a few wisps of cloud, racing away with the wind, compounding the emptiness and the sudden feeling of right that came to Edge: he looked finally again to the paper, bent his head over it, read it again, and drove to the hospital in the rain. The same kid who had been there before was there again, asked Edge where his girlfriend was. The lights of the other cars in front of him had made Edge’s eyes hollow after lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the emptiness that engulfed him but for the spark of purpose he had been granted. He responded quite seriously that she was fine, and not coming to the hospital today. The nurse told Edge he was a fine young man and hoped there would be no reason for him to worry.
He fell asleep in the studio beside his guitar and crossed-out lyrics. Try as he might, very little came to him from his pain or happiness. It wasn’t translating into music.
So this is what Bono was going through, Edge thought. He could work on the old music, but nothing new came to him, only sleep beckoning him. He sang Cath’s song softly to the walls of the studio, cradling his guitar in his lap, the angry ordered discord of those first few notes ringing satisfyingly all around him. Perhaps it was even better than Bono’s version, Edge’s pain and passion carrying softly through the words, driving the song to a different meaning. It sounded different, with heartbreak.
He found there was a piano downstairs, and lightly touched the dusty keys, thinking. A hard, clear sound rang out. He sat before the piano and closed his eyes, the clear sky a memory in his mind. Outside, the rain pattered softly.
“October,” Edge said to himself, half in song. It had been two months since he met Cath; now December, it rained, the warmth of the season gone, to Edge. He willed his mind back to October. On the path of his thoughts, he walked, behind his closed eyes:
He walked alone, no-one beside him, the air clear, full of purpose. Everywhere he went, the dying leaves fell to soft embers, no longer crackling with promise, foretelling something.
“October…
and the trees are stripped bare
of all they wear…
what do I care?
“October…”
Aware of his empty hands in the chill air…
“and kingdoms rise…”
…and the turning of time…the leaves dropping from gold to black…
“and kingdoms fall…”
In his thoughts, someone stood in a doorway. In his mind, he turned, caught a flash of dark hair. For some reason, he looked past Cath, seeing a little dark-haired boy staring at him and smiling, gripping Cath’s hand with his…hers had a little hospital tag around her wrist. He looked into her eyes: she looked tired, but her eyes caught his.
“but you go on…and on…”
He tucked the song away into his thoughts, thinking he’d write down the notes at some later time. The same images in his mind, perhaps true, perhaps a fear or hope, echoed through his dreams.
Paul Hewson is not mine, nor is Edgy, and none of this is true. (it's very very unlikely) The songs within do exist, though.
(And Ali was listening to the Ramones, by the way!)
***
The late afternoon filtered in with impatient fingers of sunlight that tricked across half of Cath’s face. On the other half, very close, Paul slept: he lay atop her in sleep, one arm loosely draped over Cath’s shoulder while his face pressed against hers, his lips very soft. He looked for all the world very young all of the sudden in Cath’s eyes, his face untroubled. She lay where she was a moment, smiling faintly, not feeling like moving. His breath tickled her ear: she made a face, moved his arm gently as she rose, and kissed him awake.
“I should clean up,” she whispered. He nodded. She bent to pick up her dress, finding the rest flung into different corners of the room, and when she rose, felt his hands at her back, massaging her shoulders. She shivered as he kissed the back of her neck, pressing against her, and stepped quickly out of the room, he following, clothing bundled in both their hands. The bathroom door shut behind them.
*
Edge was restless, awake long into the night, drawing the worst possible of conclusions from Cath and Bono leaving together. He had heard nothing from Ali, and Cath was still gone, as was the singer, and so Edge’s mind was filled with feverish images of the two kissing, locked fiercely in each others’ embrace.
He turned over, despite himself imagining what it would feel like to have Cath’s lips on his. He had wanted to kiss her, so many times in the past few days, lock his hands in her saltwater-wet hair and let all his concern and teenaged emotion express itself through their bodies. It had been difficult not to, but Edge had been so afraid that Cath would be hurt again.
Inwardly, he cursed at himself. Why had he been so blind? How had he missed the way she looked not at him, but at Paul Hewson—still completely enamored with the man?
He tried with difficulty to drift back to sleep, the sheets around him obstacles, the darkness riddled with unseen fears of the two’s actions. Edge finally rose, flung off his shirt, and settled hard down by the window, at last dropping into a deep sleep, a single tear pricking warmly at his cheek.
*
Ali looked up from where she sat by the record player on the floor of Cath’s room: Cath had borrowed it and Ali didn’t feel like removing it just yet. The door opened. Whatever Ali had expected to see was not what she saw. She had assumed Cath had perhaps talked with Bono, perhaps gone off by herself alone to think it through. This was likely not the case: Cath’s face was flushed, her clothes askew on her body, one strap of her dress slipping a little. She looked utterly alive and ecstatic.
“What happened?” Ali asked unnecessarily, out of curiosity.
“My god,” Cath began slowly. “I went with Paul to his place, to tell him I was pregnant, though he was thinking something entirely different. He knows…he doesn’t hate me…was rather amazed, really, and somehow we spent the past few hours…” She trailed off, sliding down the wall to sit with her arms wrapped around her legs, her eyelids shut halfway in contentment.
Ali laughed in incredulous shock. “Well…that was fast.”
Cath lay down with her arms crossed behind her head, straightening her dress absently, the record that played drifting somewhere beyond her attention. Eventually Ali left the room, her motion causing Cath to unconsciously look near the windowsill, where a small sea-smooth stone rested. She had forgotten entirely about it falling from where it had lodged between her shoulder blades when she had the wetsuit on: Cath crossed over, rubbed her thumb over the cool surface absently, the shock of it feeling a little like reflective sadness. Cath frowned in thought, remembering…
The swiftly hidden thoughts shone in Edge’s eyes as quickly he caught the stone that was freed with Cath’s change of clothing, his shadow stretching over the sand, his head tilting slightly in that way it did as he stretched out a hand to offer it back to her, her fingers brushing briefly against his callused fingertips as she examined it, turning it over and over again, the weight of the stone and the repetition as it flipped over and over numbing her like hypnosis, her thoughts falling into some dark, scared place. And when she looked up again, and those vulnerable sparks in her eyes echoed briefly across his before abruptly, he rose.
Through the euphoria, it came to her that she still needed someone to talk to; Paul was fast asleep after their lovemaking, he and Cath for now too caught up in desire for words. She pulled on jeans and the shirt she found she clutched with her other hand, one of Paul’s, that fit her loosely, and went to splash water on her face. Edge would probably be at her house, and again, she could run, the running passing like a sunrise.
Edge shot bolt upright when he heard a knock on the door, swinging it open with perhaps too much energy. His fingers tightened against the doorframe as he leaned out and saw Cath: I recognize that shirt. Bono had worn it once to band practice a couple years ago.
Fuck.
“Did you sleep?” Cath asked, concerned. Edge had thrown on a shirt, still barefoot and in pajama bottoms. His hair stuck up at interesting angles—she noted it would probably be almost as amusing to mess up as Paul’s was—and his eyes burned.
“A couple hours,” he said, quiet voice slightly hoarse.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned still, moving forward. His eyes were still overbright and he looked exhausted. “Yeah, fine,” he lied when he could speak again, Cath’s proximity and the fact that everything about her screamed taken doing wonders for his already great mood. She was almost even more attractive after what she’d probably been doing with Bono—Edge thought his name darkly—her hair laying over loose shoulders, her eyes relaxed and happy.
They sat in his backyard, the grass cool around Cath’s feet. She slipped her shoes off and leaned back, the happiness overtaken by other faint concern.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I managed to tell him.”
“He didn’t kick you out or anything, refuse to see you?”
“No,” she laughed. Edge’s heart sank a little. While he didn’t want Cath to get hurt, especially by Bono, at the same time he thought selfishly that that would also be better for Cath. And better for himself. He dismissed the thought with a kind of horror, but jealousy had burned in him the entire time Cath and Bono had been gone.
“I take that it went over well, then,” Edge said, trying to be happy. He felt reassured, at least. There were worse things Bono could have done.
Cath nodded, grinning. “Yes. You should have seen the look on his face! He clearly hadn’t expected he was capable of that.”
“And?” Edge asked. There was clearly something she had on her mind.
Her fingers twisted in the grass. “It feels a little sudden…and…and…” Her voice had grown softer. Edge stared. Was Cath crying? She hid her face abruptly and when it resurfaced, her eyes were wet. He didn’t dare put his arms around her, though the tension of his longing made his fingers clench. But to Cath, his presence, his side pressed against hers, was reassurance enough for her to continue. She wiped the tears away, leaning her head against his shoulder despite herself. If she hadn’t been so close, Edge wouldn’t have been able to hear.
“I don’t know if I deserve this.” He tried not to react to the way her breath felt so close to the skin of his neck, instead felt part of him receding, as it had, into compassion, floating farther from the shore.
His hands caught her shoulders. He breathed in sharply, and she missed it. “Cath,” he said intently, she looking up, “don’t do that.”
“What?” It was even quieter than before, if possible.
“Don’t doubt yourself. What happened in the past wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that, but you lived through it. You can’t let it shape your future. More than anyone, it’s you who deserves happiness.”
And not me.
He had noticed that, though it showed only briefly, she couldn’t be completely confident in her value as a person. He wanted to be the one to show it to her, but instead he was the one who listened, dying inside.
*
A few weeks later, Ali invited over Edge, and obviously Bono and Cath. She had heard some faint noise in the morning that wouldn’t let her sleep and came downstairs. The darkness eased somewhat in the kitchen, reflecting in Cath’s eyes as she grinned at Bono. They had come in late, closing the door as quietly as possible—Ali had definitely heard something.
“Want some ice cream?” Cath managed to say before she giggled again, smacking Paul on the arm. He looked up apologetically from the empty carton, some ice cream smudged across his face. She frowned at him and smudged some across his other cheek. Ali shook her head, groaning. She wanted to sleep!
It gave her an idea, though.
“Want to come over and have sundaes?” Ali asked Edge over the phone, rolling her eyes at the commotion behind her. Cath was busy squirting chocolate sauce into her mouth, swallowing and exclaiming “too late!” to Ali. Paul looked at her and the curve of her belly above her crossed legs and decided Cath might want the ice cream more. Five months, he realized with a slight shock.
Edge replied he was busy, then looked down at the mail, frowning slightly, contemplating. His thoughts raced across the roof of his mind: guitar? No. Somehow, this seemed more important.
Edge signed a small serious strip of paper that had come in from the hospital, reflecting as he sat back on the porch on what he was doing. The ice-clear sky held a few wisps of cloud, racing away with the wind, compounding the emptiness and the sudden feeling of right that came to Edge: he looked finally again to the paper, bent his head over it, read it again, and drove to the hospital in the rain. The same kid who had been there before was there again, asked Edge where his girlfriend was. The lights of the other cars in front of him had made Edge’s eyes hollow after lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the emptiness that engulfed him but for the spark of purpose he had been granted. He responded quite seriously that she was fine, and not coming to the hospital today. The nurse told Edge he was a fine young man and hoped there would be no reason for him to worry.
He fell asleep in the studio beside his guitar and crossed-out lyrics. Try as he might, very little came to him from his pain or happiness. It wasn’t translating into music.
So this is what Bono was going through, Edge thought. He could work on the old music, but nothing new came to him, only sleep beckoning him. He sang Cath’s song softly to the walls of the studio, cradling his guitar in his lap, the angry ordered discord of those first few notes ringing satisfyingly all around him. Perhaps it was even better than Bono’s version, Edge’s pain and passion carrying softly through the words, driving the song to a different meaning. It sounded different, with heartbreak.
He found there was a piano downstairs, and lightly touched the dusty keys, thinking. A hard, clear sound rang out. He sat before the piano and closed his eyes, the clear sky a memory in his mind. Outside, the rain pattered softly.
“October,” Edge said to himself, half in song. It had been two months since he met Cath; now December, it rained, the warmth of the season gone, to Edge. He willed his mind back to October. On the path of his thoughts, he walked, behind his closed eyes:
He walked alone, no-one beside him, the air clear, full of purpose. Everywhere he went, the dying leaves fell to soft embers, no longer crackling with promise, foretelling something.
“October…
and the trees are stripped bare
of all they wear…
what do I care?
“October…”
Aware of his empty hands in the chill air…
“and kingdoms rise…”
…and the turning of time…the leaves dropping from gold to black…
“and kingdoms fall…”
In his thoughts, someone stood in a doorway. In his mind, he turned, caught a flash of dark hair. For some reason, he looked past Cath, seeing a little dark-haired boy staring at him and smiling, gripping Cath’s hand with his…hers had a little hospital tag around her wrist. He looked into her eyes: she looked tired, but her eyes caught his.
“but you go on…and on…”
He tucked the song away into his thoughts, thinking he’d write down the notes at some later time. The same images in his mind, perhaps true, perhaps a fear or hope, echoed through his dreams.
i love it!
