He doesn’thaveto be like that.
He wasn’t the first week.
So protecting his feelings isn’t at the top of my list right now, especially when he clearly doesn’t care about mine.
“Seems like you can handle that yourself any other time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I don’t respond, turning toward my dresser, busying myself with looking for something to change into when he’s gone.
“Are you trying to imply that I’m a slut?”
I know it’s wrong. I can see the disappointment on Nate and Iris’s faces if they ever heard me say it. But right now, I’m tired, and Mike is sitting there asking me to hang out with girls with him, and something in me snaps.
“I didn’t say it, you did.”
“Wow. Okay.”
I don’t get the chance to say anything to that, not that I would. But it still doesn’t feel good when I’m sitting alone in my room, the sound of my bedroom door slamming shut still rattling my ears.
I don’t know why I let Ryan drag me out. I hate going to bars. I hate drunk people. And dancing. And beer.
Noise, in general, really.
But what I don’t hate is live music.
This bar has live music every Saturday, and admittedly, that sounds a lot better than whatever Mike has planned for the weekend.
We’ve got a table in front of the stage, and the lights are dimmed, everyone around us lost in conversation. Even Ryan, chatting up a girl at the table beside us.
I keep my eyes on the stage.
That was mydream.
I didn’t talk about it much. Maybe Nate knew. But every time I picked up my guitar, I would imagine being on a stage. Something like this, nothing crazy. I didn’t want to be famous. No way. I’m not even much of a singer.
It wasn’t about that.
I wanted a group of people I loved, standing on stage with me, performing for fifty people, loving every second of it.
I always thought maybe once I got to college, I would find those people, but Jason took away any chance of that.
The lights over the stage come on, and the chatter starts to die out, and it all happens in a blur after that.
First, I realize that I recognize the drummer. The big guy who was sitting in my living room the other week. The lead guitarist, a man I don’t know, but the bassist, I recognize, too. The girl with the pink hair, who sang karaoke in my living room shirtless.
And then Mike.
He comes out last, guitar hanging from his neck, to the sound of applause. He approaches the microphone and introduces the band with the biggest smile, the one from before, when I arrived that first day, when I made him laugh.
“Hey, guys! Thanks for coming out tonight! We’re Chaos Riot!”
Then they’re off, playing a song I recognize in the back of my mind, but I’m unable to place it. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Because Mike is on stage, strumming his guitar, and he’s singing, and he’s good and he’s so beautiful.
And he’s looking right at me.
Those icy blue eyes, looking down at me from the stage.
