Misplaced Anger (1/1)

Derek cursed and slammed the back door shut behind him. He nearly tripped over something, and he realized it was a garbage bag full of beer bottles. Good. It was about time those lazy fucks picked up after themselves.

He'd tried to tell them not to leave their shit all over the place, but big surprise--they didn't listen. He'd also tried to tell them their visit was just that. A visit.

He didn't want it to turn into an ongoing drunken jam session, nor did he feel like working on any new songs. They didn't seem to give a damn what he wanted, considering Seth and Wolf at least had been drinking and jamming non-stop since they arrived.

Sometimes Derek wondered if anyone could even hear him when he talked.

Andy sure as hell didn't seem to hear him on the phone just now when Derek told him he didn't care about any of the gigs he was pushing on Morphium. Andy insisted he was mistaken about what he wanted, because the timing was perfect for them to deliver some new material.

No new material? That's why the guys were there...to speed things along.

Nope. Nobody fucking listened to him. According to Andy, Seth was going to try to convince Derek to do what was best for the band. The asshole had the nerve to act annoyed that Seth hadn't done it yet.

Derek flicked the light switch on and kicked the bag, the clink of the bottles lost in the heavy drum beat pounding through the walls. He strode down the hall to where Seth and Wolf were doing what the fuck they wanted to, as usual. Adam had even joined in, his intricate bass riff slinking around the chug of the guitar and drums.

If Derek wasn't so pissed, he might have admitted it sounded good.

Derek rounded the corner and crashed into Layla. She was leaning awkwardly against the wall, one hand toying with the ends of her hair and an uncomfortable look on her face right before he nearly knocked her off her feet. He steadied her by grabbing her forearm a little more tightly than necessary.

Immediately he eased his grip. She wasn't the one he was angry with.

He was angry with himself for somehow never being able to convince people that what he wanted mattered.

His heart leapt with hope right before he remembered that she was one of those people who told him exactly what they thought he wanted without bothering to listen to a word he said.

"What are you doing here?" He leaned down so she could hear him over the music.

She stared up at him with those liquid brown eyes, and he thought for a moment she wasn't going to answer him. Then she lifted her chin, defiant as always. "I came to apologize."

The rest of the room had noticed his presence, and they all stopped playing to listen in. Layla's back straightened. She didn't like having an audience. Well, too bad. She came into his house uninvited...she was getting an audience.

Deep down, he knew he was aiming his frustration at the absolute wrong person, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop himself.

"Yeah, right. Came to prove yourself right about me is more like it." Derek steeled himself against the promise she offered with those words.

It almost sounded like she wanted to start over. But he couldn't start over. According to his manager, all he had time for was to start a new album. It had all been decided without him.

Derek caught Rose's frown of disapproval from where she was curled up in a chair across the room. He bet her twin mind-link was on overload. So much for him keeping the identity of the woman who'd kicked his life into a tailspin a secret.

"I don't have time for this right now, Layla. Go home. I don't need your apology." His voice sounded cold to his own ears, but it was aimed at himself, not her.

That was the truth. He was the one who should apologize to her. Her presence here…the fact that she'd taken the first step…that was enough for him.

Of course he didn't say any of that. As always, his words froze in his throat. He'd learned over and over that it didn't matter if he said them out loud. He stared at Layla, wishing he was allowed to be someone different.

Guilt crashed into him when her face fell. He opened his mouth to tell her he didn't mean a word of what he just said, but he could tell by the look on Layla's face the damage was already done.

"Is she a problem?" Seth put his guitar down and stood. "She said you were friends, and Wolf wanted to believe her."

"Oh...I think they're way more than friends." Wolf tapped on the rim of a drum.

"What's wrong with you. Sit down." Rose hopped up and tried to push Seth back on the couch with a hand on his chest. He didn't budge. "Layla isn't the problem here."

"Rose." Adam's voice was quiet and deep. The slow voice of reason, as usual. "You don't know how it can get with fans. Seth's just looking out for him."

Derek laughed, an defeated sound that made Layla take a step back. She clearly thought he was laughing at her. He hated that she moved farther away from him almost as much as he hated her showing up at his house the way she did.

It wasn't because he didn't want to see her. It was because seeing here there, so sweet and beautiful and opposite of how he felt inside, then hearing her say she wanted to apologize, made him feel like an even bigger piece of shit than he already did for what he'd done to her the other day.

Sure, she'd hurt him, but then he'd gone and hurt her back ten times worse. All this time in Maybe he'd been fooling himself and trying to fool her at the same time. It was all pretend. All a game, just like she said it was.

He'd wanted so badly to be the kind of guy who could belong here with someone like her, but all he'd done was prove that underneath, he really was the man she told him he was all along.

Derek slid his gaze over to Seth. "Looking out for me. You're all so good at that. Promising to get me to tour, promising to get me to write some new songs...that's looking out for me isn't it?"

"I'm not doing this now." Seth's meaning was clear. He wasn't doing this in front of Layla. Seth had serious trust issues, and Layla was an outsider.

But if that were the case, why did Derek feel like the biggest outsider in the room.

"Wrong. *I'm* not doing this now." Derek stared at Seth.

Seth shrugged and sat back down.

Derek turned his glare to Wolf and then Adam. "That alright with you? Can I do what I want for once? How about you?" He looked back to Layla. There'd been hope in her eyes when she first saw him, but it was gone now, which was fine by him. Hope was better left to die. Anger on the other hand...he had plenty of experience keeping that alive. "Do I have your permission to have my own opinion about myself?"

He hated himself at that moment, but it was best if he made her leave. She deserved someone so much better than him.

Out of habit, Derek pulled his cigarettes out of his pants pocket and lit one. Layla's face went ashen. She tried to cover her reaction, but he could see her jaw clench and her nostrils flare. He felt guilty even though he had no idea why she reacted the way she did because she wouldn't tell him.

"Give me a reason, Ms. M. Simple as that. Tell me why I shouldn't smoke this whole fucking pack if I want to." God, he wanted her to tell him about whatever it was that made her so afraid of a goddamn cigarette. He wanted her to trust him.

But of course she wouldn't. Not with everyone staring at her. Not with the way he'd just made his desire for her trust sound like a threat.

"I…can't." Layla took another step back.

"Can't, or won't? Never mind. I don't deserve to know, I guess."

He'd thought when he'd followed the thumbtack here that what he needed was this house, the work and the peace it brought him. But he'd been wrong.

Derek had the feeling that what he really needed was standing right in front of him. The only problem was she didn't need him in return. She didn't trust him, and she never would. Everything he'd just said and done had made sure of that.

He laughed again at himself when he realized he might have done it on purpose because for all his talk about wanting things, he was too afraid to go after it. Oh well, too late to turn back now.

"Have it your way." Derek shrugged and took a drag.

"This was a mistake." Layla spun on her heel and bolted toward the door.

"Wait," he said before she could leave. His next words were fueled with disgust for himself, but he needed to make her see he wasn't worth fighting for.

Layla paused, and his heart stuttered.

He didn't have time to grovel for forgiveness even if that's what he really wanted to do. They had an album to start working on, after all. "You said you wanted to apologize. So apologize. I want to hear it, not that I'm allowed to let it make a difference. Make it quick, though, because I have things to do. Right, Seth?"

Rose put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Derek Christopher Taylor. Stop this right now. You are acting like an asshole. And put out that disgusting cigarette this instant."

She sounded exactly like his mother. The anger drained out of him, a slick of cold regret taking its place.

"My mistake. Looks like I wasn't wrong, after all. No apology necessary." Layla's fake smile cut him down where he stood.

It felt good because he deserved it.

He watched her leave...again...and this time he felt like a piece of him died because he'd made her go. The silence from the room behind him roared in his ears. He turned around, and caught a glimpse of colorful boxes stacked on the table in the parlor.

Board games. She'd brought board games for him, and he'd smoked in front of her even though it was clear she'd suffered something to make her terrified of cigarettes.

A single, red thumbtack stuck in an atlas had been the thing to lead him here. Wolf had hung it on the wall after he arrived. Derek ripped it down, and the red thumbtack pinged on the floor and disappeared from sight.

He thought his sister might have been crying, but shame kept him from looking at her. He made his way behind the piano and sat down.

His fingers rested on the keys where Layla's body had moved when he'd used her. If he pretended, he could almost convince himself that it would be nothing to erase the feel of her from his memory.

Derek played a series of broken chords that would compliment the melody Seth had been playing in one form or another for the last few days. "So, you're here to write some music, aren't you? Let's write some fucking music."