“You can probably use your performance last night as evidence that you’re healed enough to return when you talk to the doctors today,” I tease.
“Yeah? You want to come as my Exhibit A?”
“I would if you thought it would help.”
I’m practically grinding against him now, loving the feel of his lips on my neck as I tug his hair in tandem with my hips. Flashbacks from last night come screaming into the present. His devastating body displayed on my sheets. Sculpted and hard, mine to play with for hours of uninterrupted fantasy. The perfect finale to our night of pretend.
“This is definitely helping,” he murmurs against my skin. “We should add this to my rehab protocol.” His mouth moves to my ear, just as his phone erupts in a shrill alarm. He stills with a groan and rests his forehead on my shoulder. Just like that, the fantasy is over.
“I guess your meetings aren’t optional, huh,” I say, also disappointed.
“Are yours?” he asks with dry humor.
I pull in a breath, trying not to think about mine. I got the notice at his apartment the other night. It’s official: tour rehearsals begin today. Typically, that news is met with excitement, not dread. “Can you at least do a shower and breakfast? I could use some Oliver therapy to get through my day.”
I hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Absolutely.”
I lock myself in the studio and open the message from Joel as soon as Oliver leaves, ignoring the others for now. I’ll deal with those later. First, I need more good news to bolster my strength for the coming storm. I pull up the link on my laptop so I can listen on the studio monitors, my heart pounding with excitement. This rush is so different than the tedious chore the recording process usually feels to me. Joel sensed it too that night in the studio, and I can’t wait to see what he’s done with my vision.
Got Xander Silva to track the drums for us. Let me know what you think, reads the corresponding message from Joel. Xander Silva? The Falling Back North drummer? I love their sound. Now I’m really excited. I click the link and settle into my chair for a listen.
The kick drum comes in with heartbeat-sounding double hits on beat one.
Boom-boom.
“Unremarkable,” my haunting voice breathes out in the silent break.
Boom-boom.
“Unsustainable.”
Boom-boom.
“Unreliable, deniable, holy hell, I’m shakable, replaceable, untamable. I’ve heard it all.
Heard heard heard it all.”
A sick bass line counters my complex vocal cadence on the last line of the opening verse in a spine-tingling mesh of rhythms. At the pre-chorus, a heavy electric guitar chugs over the bass while the drums shift into a more steady beat with an added snare and hi-hat.
“
Such a shame your endgames
Don’t concern me anymore
Yeah, see, I’ve heard heard heard it all before
”
A small drum fill breaks up the driving undercurrent and adds just the right amount of intensity to build into the next verse.
“
Oh, she’s a one-trick pony
Though no one knows she
Rides beyond the phony
Tracks they only see
”
A lead guitar joins with a riff just as my voice shifts from sultry to angry. I don’t remember the rasp in my tone from that night, but now that I hear it, I don’t want to sing another song without it.
“
Cuz I’m no princess
And if you think I’ll miss this
Better get the message
I won’t
You can keep me on the guestlist
Cuz I’m about to mess with
The secrets you’ve been left with
Just broke
”
With a dramatic drop, the music strips back to the understated drive of the opening verses, leaving my toes curled and my back strained forward with anticipation.
“
Such a shame your endgames
Don’t concern me anymore
Yeah, see, I’ve heard heard heard it all before
”
Break.
And then…
Manic.
“
No, this damsel doesn’t need your confession
These cries aren’t desperate
Just more leverage
Against the broken ties
Of sheltered minds
Hypnotized eyes
Bleeding lies
That no longer shake me”
I’m practically screaming now. Xander must be getting the workout of his life with the violence he’s inflicting on his kit. Joel’s bassline continues to run rampant, the guitars wailing in protest at my deep-seated anger bursting into the light.
“Make me sing while
This castle wall is coming down
Around old fears
These tears are just the fucking years spent getting here
.
Yeah, I’ll sing through the sting
Because nothing’s worth the time I’ve lost
In the thought
I can’t live without a throne.”
When the song ends, silence echoes through my studio. Only my labored breaths give any hint of the magic that just occurred. I did that? My words? My voice? My vision? The bridge, the chorus, the breakdowns and builds, all of it works together to tell my story in music. My evolution. My metamorphosis into something else. Well, not me—the new artist no one knows.
The girl in the mirror.
Stunned, I pick up my phone and snap a picture of my face. Pulling up the chat with Joel, I send the photo.
This is what I think, I type back, dragging a sleeve across my tear-soaked cheeks.
I listen to the song several more times and work out a schedule with Joel to finish it before finally braving the journey back to reality. Maybe I feel stronger than usual, bolstered by my morning with Oliver and artistic self-discovery. I probably should have read the slew of other messages I’d been ignoring, but couldn’t bring myself to ruin the bliss one second earlier than necessary.
Hadley hovers at the top of the stairs as if she’s been waiting for me, her expression severe and focused.
“It’s bad, huh,” I mutter, brushing past her toward the kitchen. She follows behind me, her laptop tucked under her arm.
When she doesn’t respond, I glance back and see her staring at her phone.
“Crap, your parents are on their way,” she says.
I groan and reach for a glass. “Tell them no.”
Her gaze shoots to mine. “Okay, but have you seen any of it?”
I try to swallow the chill that rushes through me at her grave question. “You mean, the internet gossip
