Page 103 of The Comedown

I can guess the rest. Brand-new artists don’t have a say starting out. Seasoned artists barely even get a say. They have to fight, scheme, trade. They have to prove themselves time and time again, then maybe—maybe—record labels will take their suggestions into consideration, but not all of them because even then compromise is expected. In some form or another, the label will ultimately get their way. It’s their money they’re putting up, betting on an individual—a brand, an image, but still very much an individual—and they want a return on that investment, plus a hefty profit.

That’s another gift Bodee gave me by taking away everything I’d worked for. With no labels willing to sign me, I became an independent musician. And as an indie artist, I do get a say in almost everything I do. I still have to mold myself for the public’s perception, but I don’t have a record label controlling my every move on top of it.

“They didn’t go for it?” I ask anyway, and Axel shakes his head.

“They basically laughed in his face before handing him his script. The one he’s expected to follow all day, every day.”

I stare at my feet, wiggling my toes, and say quietly, “He doesn’t do well with rules.”

“No. He doesn’t. He does a hell of a job with sabotage though.”

I return my gaze to Axel. “Sabotage?”

“After that, he went on what I thought would be a couple-day bender to lick his wounds, but ended up being…well, here we are two years later. He’s been hit with some shit during that time, don’t get me wrong, but this is intentional.” He shakes his head. “Or it started out as intentional before he lost control somewhere along the line. First, he lost control of his dream, then he lost control of his plan to get it back.”

“Making music wasn’t his dream?” It may not be the exact way he wants but he’s still doing what he loves.

“Making music his way was his dream. Rapping’s only a small part of what he’s capable of. His record label took one look at him and branded him for what they thought would sell. He wanted to do it all. Music, it’s not just a hobby for Julian. Or a job. Not even a choice really. It’s…him.”

The tattoo of the aux cord into Julian’s veins bears a whole new meaning now.

“So, he’s musically fluid?” I half-joke, and he laughs, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Is that like sexual fluid?”

“I think it’s called sexually fluid or sexual fluidity. Sexual fluid sounds—”

“Like it’s time for you to leave,” Julian cuts in, suddenly standing at the open sliding glass door. His tall, lean body appears to be twice its normal size as he fills up the entire threshold, staring Axel down.

Wasn’t he just playing? I hadn’t even noticed him stop.

Axel says, “I just thought—”

“You thought wrong. Get out.” Julian jerks his head to the side. He has yet to glance in my direction, and I consider sneaking back inside my own suite before he can. He knows I’m here though, so if I did, I’d look like a coward.

Axel and Julian stare at each other, neither man backing down at first, then Axel shoots me an apologetic look, saying, “Later, Collette,” and earning a scoff from Julian.

On his way in, Julian barely moves to let him by, then I hear him mutter, “What’d I tell you?”

Whatever Axel says in response is too quiet to make out.

Once he’s gone, Julian turns to me, his gaze falling to my bare feet and rising up to my face.

“He didn’t touch you, did he?” he deadpans, making me laugh.

I eye the space between the two balconies. “From this distance?”

“It wouldn’t stop me,” he says, and I barely get a full swallow down.

With a smirk as my only warning, Julian hefts himself up on the banister closest to my balcony, standing on the narrow handrail to hold out a hand. I eye it, then him.

“Come over.”

“I’m in my pajamas.”

“I want you exactly how you are.”

My eyes roll on their own accord.