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Old 12-31-2010, 11:14 AM   #1
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Everything You Know Is Wrong - Chapter 8

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Everything You Know Is Wrong - Prologue

Title: Everything You Know Is Wrong
Rating: PG-13 verging into R territory for recounting of Chapter 6-ness...
Disclaimer: None of these fine Irishmen are mine, and this is complete and utter fiction.


I nearly reached over to pick up the ringing telephone until I realized where I was.

I could only imagine what Bono would say to my sleepy voice greeting him from his hotel room. I let the phone ring; she wasn’t next to me in my arms like I’d hoped she would be when I woke up.

What had I done? She regrets this. I should have stopped; I could see it in her eyes.

It’s not that I needed someone – just anyone – last night; I needed her. I wasn’t fibbing when I told her I’d loved her for as long as I could remember, even just after we’d finished school when she used to tag along with Bono to watch our fledgling band. If only I’d had the guts to say something to her back then, things may have been different. But Bono scooped her up before I could muster up the courage – and then there was Aislinn – and here I was now, alone, 15 years on. I wish I’d had the guts to keep my feelings to myself last night.

I loved her. How could I do this to her?

I looked around the room; our clothes still lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed but she was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t surprised she had left me, I should be used to that.

I reached up to scratch my head and realized I had left my hat on. What the hell was wrong with me? Who leaves their hat on? I’m clearly head over heels, aren’t I?

I didn’t deserve her – how dare I decide I did last night?

* * *

Edge had made love to me last night. Love. No matter how many times I said those words in my head, it still wasn’t true. This wasn’t happening to me. I stood in the bathroom and stared at the reflection of the dark mark on my shoulder, the lasting reality that did happen, it was happening. It had now gone much further than I wanted to admit.

Bono had his indiscretions, this I knew. Over the years I had grown to accept it, rightly or wrongly. I, on the other hand, had never strayed… well, just the once, but that was in 1981 so it didn’t count. I was young and Bono and I had been dating nary a year at that point.

But now, this was with Edge. Not some fleeting moment with someone I’d never see again.

Bono’s band mate, best mate, soul mate. He was going to lose his girlfriend, best friend, and very likely his band… all because of this – one night of imprudence.

I had to go back out there. I hugged myself into Bono’s terry robe I had pulled from the back of the bathroom door and stared at myself in the mirror. My tear-stained cheeks were obvious but I had a glow about me that I hadn’t seen on my face for a long time.

I splashed my face with water and ran a comb through my hair, which was wild from the night before. I took one long last look in the mirror at my foolish, cheating face, and took a deep breath as I opened the bathroom door.

I tiptoed into the bedroom to find him still under the covers, the quilt pulled tightly under his chin, eyes closed and breath shallow against the pillow, fast asleep.

I sat delicately on the bed, careful not to wake him.

Beautiful Edge. I wanted to crawl into bed next to him and hold him tightly and tell him everything was ok, tell him I loved him, tell him I was his. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

He opened his eyes slowly as I watched him. He wasn’t sleeping at all.

He sat up on the bed and moved toward me, hugging me tightly to him from behind. I began to cry as he held me, his chin on my shoulder and his breath on my neck.

“Edge ... what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, Ciara ... I don’t know,” he repeated, and just held me for a long while, saying nothing and stroking my cheek as my tears subsided.

He rubbed my shoulders gently and shifted away from me.

I heard him putting on his trousers behind me. I thought of him having to put on his stage clothes from the night before; I hoped like hell he wouldn’t run into Paul or Adam on the way back to his room, and most definitely not coming out of mine.

“Ciara, come with me,” he pleaded, standing before me and taking my hand, pulling me up from the bed and leading me into the bathroom.

* * *

“You still don’t believe it, do you?” I whispered in her ear as I moved behind her.

I brought my hand to her chin and lifted her head, coaxing her to look up at our reflection in the mirror. Her eyes met mine and I saw her swallow hard. She couldn’t take her eyes away from mine now, nor mine from hers.

“I’m not him. It’s me – you and me ... and ... I know I shouldn’t say it, Ciara. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

She nodded her head slowly as I brought my lips to her ear. “I love you,” I choked out quietly.

There. I had said it, after all these years. I knew I should have felt liberated, but strangely I didn’t. Was it really necessary to say what I had shown her last night?

She needed to hear it from me. She suddenly turned herself in my arms, bringing her hands to my face and pulling me into a kiss.

It was a proper, tender kiss; there was no question in my heart how she felt about me now.

Yet, I needed to hear it from her.

“Ciara ... where do I stand with you? Am I still just your friend?”

“No, Edge. That’s the problem.”

I took her for lunch and then I showed her the sights of Madrid from my bed.
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