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My chest tightens. The notes get faster and louder as she slams her fingers on the keys, blinking hard as her blues never leave mine. My gut slowly flips, and the hairs on my neck rise.
She continues,"I'm in front of you, loving you, but you can't see me..."A tear slips down her cheek.
I clench my fists at my sides, feeling exposed, the words sinking in so deep within me they slice through my heart.
She roars,"'Cause you make me invisible. So invisible..."
The notes vibrate in the air, matching the quivering in my belly.
Another tear falls, and her gaze never falters. She sings louder,"You're broken in pieces and push me aside... The darkness of you always breaks through... You think no one sees, but I see the true you..."
My mouth turns dry. I swallow hard, trying to calm the chaos inside me.
The notes turn slower. She softens her tone, and a full river of tears rolls over her cheekbones."And you make me invisible."Another set of only notes passes. She adds,"Invisibly broken."She continues playing, lowers her voice, and sings,"Yet I still love you."
The music stops, her glistening eyes stay pinned on me, and deafening silence ensues.
Ears claps loudly, pulling me out of my trance. He turns to the sound tech, "Tell me you got it recorded."
"All of it," he replies.
"Fuck me," one of the agents mutters.
"She's the next Nora Jones," another one declares.
"Told you I wouldn't waste your time," Ears states, then flips on the microphone. He gushes, "That's a hit, superstar."
Blakley wipes her face, lifts her chin, and squares her shoulders. She redirects her focus on Ears. "Thank you."
"Are your other songs all on the piano?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Let's do a round with only the piano, then. Take a break, guys," he orders the musicians.
They leave the room and disappear.
For six hours, Blakely sings, stating she doesn't need a break. Food arrives, but she doesn't eat, nor do I. She drinks water between songs, insisting she doesn't need to rest.
She hurls everything she thinks about me, along with how much I've hurt her, never singing without her sad, sometimes angry, blues pinned on mine and voice to match.
Nothing's ever felt so painful. It's like taking a hammer and hitting me over the head without any mercy. As the day goes on, they bring the musicians in, attempting the songs with different instruments.
It doesn't matter how many times I hear the lyrics. The words always feel like the first time I'm hearing them, as if they're a scab and Blakely's ripping it off me.
"You got any other material?" Ears asks.
She states, "I'm in the process of writing something, but it's not done."
"You mind singing what you've got so far?" he questions.
"If you want."
"I do," he proclaims, then once again clears the recording box. "Take another break, boys."
"Three, two, one," the sound tech directs.
"This one's called 'The End,'" Blakely announces, then moves her fingers over the keys. She belts out more revelations.
