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“Ninety-five percent of the male brain is dedicated to planning for worst case scenarios, Sondra. You’ll thank us one day when we save your life,” Griff answers.
“Yeah, Sondra,” Malek adds with a dramatic eye roll, though his focus hasn’t left Griff. I wonder at the undercurrent of chemistry I detect there. Just a strong friendship or something more?
“Sondra, we love you.” Hail makes a heart with his hands in her direction and she flips everyone off.
“Z, what did you do to piss her off this morning?” Malek taunts, sucking down half a glass of orange juice.
I burn red hot with shame, wondering just how far word spread about me bailing on work. How quickly I’ll be out of a job. How will I get back to London? I doubt Sondra will book a flight for me this time.
Liam stands and walks behind me, his hand ruffling my hair. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
And that’s it. Everything I’ve been stressed about melts away. No scathing looks. No screaming. No threatening.
Feeling confused but also somewhat empty, I slip away from the breakfast madness to explore a nearby park, notepad and guitar in hand. It’s mostly barren, probably due to the heat advisory, but I don’t mind the delicious burn on my skin. It’s nice to experience weather that isn’t so miserable all the time, a staple in England.
Instead of being productive, I end up laid out in a grassy field watching masses of thick clouds drift overhead while music plays in my headphones.
I try to sort out how I feel about last night. Not only did I scare the shit out of Hail with all my baggage, but I took something I never should have taken from him. I allowed a connection to solidify between us when I knew this could never just be sex with him.
Nothing can ever be simple for my brain, but I need him to understand that this cannot be permanent.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting the song playing. I lift it to see another message from my mum pop up.
Why haven’t you sent money? J. Flowers keeps calling me about a past due balance.
There's missed calls from the artists I signed contracts with, too. Sighing, I slide my phone back into my pocket and squeeze my eyes closed.I haven’t sent you money because I have no more money to send. Not until I get another paycheck. I’m hanging on by a fucking thread and you keep tugging, and one day soon we’re both going to fucking unravel like we were always destined to do.
When my mum started me in music lessons, the agreement was I would pay her back. I know I’ve well exceeded that debt, but she keeps asking, and I keep giving. Guilt is a strong motivator.
The last time she actually had a long conversation with me was when Visage’s first song went big. She called me to remind me how costly it was to raise me and my brother, Lex. How she was barely surviving on a single income. How my father left us because of my selfish decisions.
Songwriting became more about survival than freedom and self-expression. The pressure led me to my first encounter with drugs. Just to take the edge off. Soon that edge turned into a cliff I needed to overcome just to function.
I’m all mum has now. I’m the reason she’s so unwell. And while she doesn’t care to ever see me again, she will at least accept my money. That has to be enough.
I switch to my classical playlist, the one that helps me navigate the mottled net of emotions in my chest. Lyrics begin to float through my mind, and I do my best to capture them in my notebook.
I am shattered cathedral glass
Do you remember how you used to worship?
Before your hands became so ruthless
Rearranging me into crystal pieces
You won’t stop until I turn to dust
My phone buzzes again, only this time it’s Hail.
Where you at?
I type a message and erase it a half dozen times. I shouldn’t allow the distraction. Shouldn’t give him any faith that we could ever have something more than a professional relationship.
Stupidly, I respond with my location. He’s probably just checking on me. Making sure I haven’t bailed again like I always do. No need to send him into a panic when we both need to maintain a level head.
Sometime into my playlist, a shadow darkens the red glow of sunlight behind my closed eyelids.
“You often fall asleep in parks?” Hail asks, and it takes me a few blinks up at him to realise he’s real. This is not a conjuring in my head. He really is my worst nightmare and my most delightful dream, all wrapped up in one handsome body. Everything he is, my internal animal agrees with.
