Nash presses his leg against mine, comforting me as I take another breath. Seriously, why does this feel so big? So life changing?
We dive into the creation process, turning my lyrics from words on a piece of paper to a full-blown song. Keaton starts us off, tapping out a rhythm on the counter, soft and steady.
I love this part of composing songs, being able to witness it all coming together. It’s like a romantic slow burn, building each layer of the song until it’s something else entirely.
Blake picks up a tune working on harmonizing his rhythm with Keaton’s. They have to start and stop a few times, figuring out how the different parts will fit together cohesively. It’s a time-consuming process, but one that is so damn fulfilling at the end.
Nash joins them, adding a layer of depth and emotion that tugs at my heartstrings. The music slowly takes shape around the lyrics, wrapping them in an atmosphere that breathes life into them. I keep my eyes closed as the sound envelopes me, allowing the rhythm to seep into my core.
I hum along, working to figure out my own part. My heartbeat syncs with Keaton’s drum beats while my mind ebbs and flows with Nash’s guitar strums and Blake’s chords. And when Darius layers his electric guitar riffs over it all… it’s magic.
Before I know it, we’re working through each verse of my song, molding it and shaping it until it feels right.
The words float through my mind as we play, raw lyrics tinged with the sorrow and pain I’d always kept hidden beneath bubblypop tunes and catchy beats. Yet now they feel right out in the open air around us.
For the first time in a while, I realize I don’t want to hide my pain anymore. It’s not only about giving fans what they want, it’s about healing myself too. That sense of liberation almost chokes me, but instead I channel all the emotions into singing.
I lose myself to the song; the lyrics carved into my soul so deep that I don’t need the paper they’re written on. Standing from the couch, I close my eyes and surrender to the pull, giving in to the freedom of releasing my pain.
Nothing could be more healing than this. I realize now I’ve been holding myself back for so long. I caged myself behind a wall of fear, but now I’m flying free on the high of singing.
Each note feels like a release, a shackle broken, a step toward something greater than all of us. A unity that transcends from this life into the next.
Blackness surrounds me in the dead of night. I should be asleep, yet I’m not. Instead, I stare at the blank ceiling above me, trying to convince myself everything will be okay.
Darius worked through dinner, editing the videos we took, piecing together different angles and creating a story that was actually pretty impressive, in my opinion. I didn’t have any doubts when I gave him the go ahead to post them to his account. Of course the guys gave their input as well.
But now? Now I’m freaking the fuck out!
What will people think? Does posting an unreleased song go against my contract? What if they hate the song? Can they tell I’m dating my band? Not only one of them, but all of them?
Fuck. I guess that would include Darius too, since they think he’s my boyfriend. This isn’t good.
I should have him delete the video. It’s too risky. There’s too much to lose.
Why did I ever say yes?
Okay, that’s it, I can’t stay here any longer. I carefully scooch to the side of the bed, wiggling out from under Keaton’s arm. Glancing down at him, it’s weird seeing him without his drumsticks in his hands. I wonder if he only puts them down when sleeping with me because he has me to hold on to.
His fohawk flops onto his forehead, the icy gray tips stand out against his tan skin. I want to run my fingers through the silky strands, but I don’t want to risk waking him up.
It only takes me a few steps to get to the exit. A slight creak rings through the quiet when I close the bedroom door behind me, making me wince. I sure hope it doesn’t wake anyone.
I know this bus like the back of my hand, so I don’t need any light to make my way, but it’s also the size of a large closet, so it’s not that hard to find the bunks right by the bedroom door. At least there’s a tiny separation of space with the closet and bathroom on either side of the hall between the bunks and bedroom. But it doesn’t really offer much in sound dampening.
Nash and Blake took the top bunks, and Keaton uses one of the bottom bunks. The guys have stashed instruments on the middle bunks, which leaves Darius to the bottom on the other side.
Crouching to the floor, I move the curtain that gives an illusion of privacy with the back of my hand. “Darius,” I whisper, waiting for him to show any signs of hearing me. After a period that feels like ten minutes but is probably closer to two seconds, I reach out and poke him in the shoulder.
“Dare, pst. Wake up,” I hiss before grabbing his shoulder and giving him a soft shake.
He wakes with a start. His arms flail like he’s not sure where he is for a second, the bunk area too coffin-esque to wake up like that, making me grimace at what I put him through.
“Raina?” he asks once his gaze settles on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Shh,” I soothe. “Don’t wake anyone.”
“Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. I get the distinct feeling he’s trying to study me for any injuries, pointing to why I woke him up, but I’m sure he’s hindered by the darkness the same as me.
