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My heart sinks into my stomach. Damn, it’s going to be so difficult to walk away from him after this. But I’m going to have to find a way. Even if it kills me. A flash of pain stabs at my left temple. I wince and rub at it. Then reach for the ibuprofen and swallow it down with a sip of water.
"You okay, Solene?" Penny asks again.
"A nasty headache, but it’ll fade soon enough, I’m sure."
"You need to rest up a little, you know? Take it easy. Enjoy the ride."
I laugh. "I love that you’re so chill."
"And I love that you’re so focused. If I could, I’d be more like that instead of running after every shiny new project I find exciting."
"But I love your zest for life, Penny. Oh, and the fact that you also dyed your hair."
"Yay!" She holds up a strand of her pink-tinted hair. "Twinsies."
I tug on a strand of my blue streaked one. "Not quite, but close enough. Twinsies."
She lets her hair slip through her fingers. "So, what are you going to do now?"
64
Three weeks later
Solene
I’m doing what I’m best at. Seated on a stage with the spotlight on me, in a room packed with people looking at me. The rest of my band is in shadows for this song. It’s one of my newer, unreleased compositions, and this is the first time I’m testing it out in front of an audience. To be honest, I like playing to these smaller groups of spectators better. I can sense their reactions more, understand what they’re responding to, or not. There’s more of a dialogue happening, and while I can’t see their faces due to the lights, I'm tuned into their feelings which, in turn, feeds my spirit.
This… this is what I wanted all those years ago when I jumped out of my bedroom window and wandered on the beach after midnight. When I raised my head into the breeze and began to sing. Pretending I was center stage with a throng of listeners holding onto my every word. When my voice rose and fell, and their response with it.
This is power. A hypnotic connection that links me to them, a silvery thread that I yank on, and they respond to, a channel of communication so public, and yet so private, between me and each one of them. I'm singing for myself, for them… For him. More than anything, for him. He's not here, but he remembered me. I know, because he’d sent me another charm.
This one is an Egyptian ankh.Is there a day he’ll run out of ideas for them?I need to ask him. The next time I see him, I won’t waste a moment. I’ll question him right away, before it gets too late. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and let the music pour through me. I'm but a channel for this gift that I download from the ether. An instrument for my muse to shine through.
Since I was five, I’ve known I was going to be a singer. For a while, I lost sight of my dream, thought it was unachievable—until he came along. He was the first to recognize my talent. I wrote during the years he was missing from my life, but those songs are nowhere as good as the ones I’m writing now. It wasn't enough just to be missing him. My muse thrives on the angst sparked by our interactions. Every time he's appeared in my life, it's resulted in pain, and a depth of feeling which leaves me breathless. He uncorks these living sentiments inside of me—so visceral, so real, so tangled, until he comes along, and each individual strand of emotion inside me separates so I can feel each distinct sensation. They swell my eyes and overflow as I let the notes spill out. And with it, that ever-present, scratchy, nagging ache in my throat, which has only gotten steadily worse.
I’ve nursed it with painkillers, doubling the amount as the tour continued. I have only three weeks during which I can tour. Three weeks in which to test out my new material with the audience. Three weeks, ten cities. Playing to audiences of not more than a thousand each. It's the perfect way to test and get feedback.
I push away the pain, ignore the sweat dripping down my temples and my back, and bat away the dull, recurring ache in my side. I can do this. I must do this. I will myself to flow with the music, to immerse myself in the words. The love I hope to have, the one that’s almost within grasp but which always eludes me.
Why is it always the wrong time for the two of us? Why can we never see eye to eye? Why is it that, while we’re on the same wavelength, we never manage to meet each other halfway?More sweat pools in my armpits and drips down my arms. My head spins, but I don’t stop singing.Why is it that he cannot see that the only thing that matters is us? Why have we hurt each other so much? Why? Why?
My fingers slip on the microphone. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. The pain behind my eyes, in my throat, and at my back come together in a perfect trifecta that takes my breath away. I gasp. I try to lift my eyelids, but they seem to be weighed down. The music rises to a crescendo, and I manage to croak out the last line. Then the instruments stop, just as I wrote it. At the peak. The climax. Unfinished. There’s no climb down for me. No redemption. Nothing except the darkness that rushes up to greet me. I lose my hold on the microphone, which hits the ground a second before I slump over.
65
Declan
"So, she’s on her tour?"
"Yep." Rick nods at me from the screen of my phone.
"And she got on the flight okay?"
"She didn’t want to use your private jet but, as per your instructions, I ensured there were no flight tickets available on any commercial airline."
"I knew I could count on you." I push up the barbell on the bench-press. I’m lifting double what I usually do, which is foolhardy, but fuck that. I need to find a way to reclaim my focus and stop my mind from wandering to her in the middle of tasks. And the only way to do that is to push myself. To challenge myself, until I have no choice but stay in the present and keep my attention razor sharp.
"How long you going to do this?"
