The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(28)
“How open-minded are you, Georgia? I mean, I’m assuming being married to a rock star, you’ve seen and done more than your average person? I know you drink. I know you smoke weed, but how much further have you ever gone? Have you ever completely lost control?” I don’t really know what he means, so I stay quiet as he continues. “These friends of mine we’re going to see tonight, they live a bit of an alternative lifestyle. There’s about twenty of them. They all live together, and when I say together, I do mean together. They all live and sleep with each other.” He looks over my face for a reaction, but I don’t think I give anything away. “They’re mainly artists, musicians—you know, hippy types—but they are all good people.”
“How’d you know them?” is all I can think of saying. This sounds more like Jackson and Emily’s thing, but hey, if it’s Roman’s as well, then who am I to judge?
“I met a girl at a bar I was playing at when I first came back from England, and she was living with them; I went and stayed for a few weeks.” My belly grumbles loudly and he smiles his crinkly-eyed smile. “Let’s go and eat. We’ll talk over dinner.”
*
By the time we pull up at the beach house a couple of hours later, I’m nervous and excited. We park at the front of the large home and then walk down through a side access. There’s no fence along the back of the property; it opens straight out onto the beach and the ocean. Roman has brought a six-pack of beers and a bottle of wine with him, and he carries them inside a cool bag in one hand and holds onto one of mine with the other. There’s a large bonfire burning, and someone is playing a guitar and singing. There are people sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets or just standing in groups talking. I stumble a little on the sand, too busy people watching and not looking where I’m going; Roman slows and looks at me.
“You all right there, George? Not drunk already, are ya? The night’s just started.” I roll my eyes at him.
“Fuck off. I’m not drunk; I’m f*cking shitting myself. You’re taking me to a party on a beach, full of people who like nothing better than to take hallucinogenic drugs and have orgies. I wish I was f*cking drunk.” He stops in his tracks, turns and looks me square in the eye.
“I haven’t brought you here to do anything you don’t want to do; I told you this at dinner.” I’d drunk wine with my dinner and was feeling brave, but now the wine’s worn off and my bravery seems to have deserted me. I chew on the inside of my lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. From somewhere, I find her: G, George, the fifteen-year-old version who wasn’t scared of anyone. The bright, brand new, untainted version of me. I needed to be her tonight, not the thirty-two-year-old version who had been shit on from a great height by life. I understood Roman’s thinking behind bringing me here. He knew it would make me uncomfortable, but he wanted me to face it; he wants to make me brave and fearless again. I don’t know that I ever can be, but I can put on a f*cking good front. The only problem with digging deep and finding fifteen-year-old George is that I’ve also found her jealousies and temper.
“Don’t worry, babe; you couldn’t get me to do something I didn’t want to, no matter how many drugs you feed me. And just to be clear, you’re here with me; if you touch another bird, I will knock you the f*ck out.” He laughs quietly as he wraps his arms around me.
“Ahh, Georgia, you’ve just made my balls go tight, talking like that.” He bends his knees so we’re at eye level. “I’m here with you and for you, and I won’t leave your side. I will have a few beers and that’s it, but I don’t want you to hold back. If you wanna give something a go, then try it. I’ll make sure you’re safe, not that there’s anything or anyone here to be afraid of.” He kisses my forehead and lets out a long sigh. “Just let go tonight, Georgia; just let go of everything. You carry too much on those beautiful young shoulders. Just for one night, let go and forget the f*cked-up hand you were dealt by life.”
I nod at him, shrug and say, “Move then; what are we waiting for? But I warn you now, keep your hands on me or to yourself, else there will be consequences.”
Chapter Nine
After two glasses of wine from a plastic cup and being introduced to about fifteen people, I relax a little. A couple of the women I meet, Erica and Lexi, I think two of them are called, are a little full-on and keep touching me and telling me I’m beautiful. I think my ever-tightening grip on Roman’s hand makes him realise I’m uncomfortable, so we move away and find a spot in the sand by ourselves next to the fire. Roman pulls out a joint, already rolled from his cigarette box, so we sit and smoke it and I feel instantly calmer. The weed in Australia is much stronger than anything I’ve ever tried before, and I can only manage two or three puffs before my limbs and my thoughts relax.
Rightly or wrongly, this is exactly what I need right now. I am relaxed enough that I am actually enjoying myself; people are dancing and talking, no one knows who I am. Roman is by my side and I feel safe.
We sit and just people watch for a while, while Roman points out different people, telling me their names and professions; dancers, painters, poets. After about half an hour, a girl comes and sits down with us.
“Hey, Rome, good to see ya.” She looks him over like she wants to eat him. I turn my head to see if I can gauge his reaction to her, but he is looking at me with a smirk on his face. I raise my eyebrows, daring him to say something.