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“If you’re not a singer, then I’ll fly to the moon right this moment.”
“I’m not. I don’t sing for an audience. I never have.” She tilts her head to the side. “Well, except for my sister, but she doesn’t really count.”
“Don’t you have karaoke on your bucket list?” I point out. “How did you plan to do it if you’re not singing in front of an audience?”
“That’s the thing. The bucket list should help me get out of my comfort zone. I love singing, but it’s always been something that was just mine.”
I could understand that. I remember those first years when singing was just something that I did for myself, when it was all about the joy of creating and playing instead of satisfying the people around me.
“You’re talented, Penelope.” I reach forward, tucking that wild strand behind her ear. “You shouldn’t hide it from the world.”
Surprise flashes on her face, and it takes me a moment to realize that I used her name.
Those sightless eyes turn to me, piercing me with their intensity. “Then why are you here, Bash? Why are you hiding?”
Blinding lights flash before my eyes. The muffled roar of the crowd as they’re waiting for the show to begin. The world spinning under my feet. The smoke of the joint hitting me in the face as that sweet, sweet smell surrounds me, making my whole body relax.
And then…
It’s all your fault.
I close my eyes, pushing the memories away.
“Because standing under the lights isn’t nearly as fun as people think,” I whisper, the truth slipping easily off my tongue.
My hand falls down, my fingers clenching into a fist as I push to my feet. That vice grip is back, squeezing my throat tighter than ever, making it impossible to breathe.
Out.
I have to get out of here.
“Sebastian, I…”
She gets up, but I’m already walking across the room. Placing the guitar back in place, I grab my things.
“I have to go.”
Not giving her a chance to say anything, I rush out of the room, the door banging behind me with a loudthud.
I rush down the stairs, taking them two at a time. My feet pound against the floor, matching the heavy beat of my heart drumming in my ears.
Then why are you here, Bash? Why are you hiding?
Penelope’s accusation keeps echoing in my head, mixing with another accusation thrown at me at a different time.
The memories of that night push to the surface, my palms turning sweaty and my mouth dry.
God, I need a drink.
Or even better, a hit.
Something that’ll help me take the edge off.
Something that’ll help me forget what happened.
What I’ve done.
Pushing the front door open, my mind is already trying to figure out the best way to do exactly that—the easiest way to get lost in the oblivion.
