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“I’m glad you do, sweetie.”
We wrapped up our grocery shopping and went home, eating a delicious dinner of cereal. After Luna was tucked into bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to pick out cereal with Damian and him talking to Luna. There was a tightness in my chest and anxiety in my veins as I pictured the scene again and again before drifting off into a fitful sleep haunted by ocean-blue eyes.
Chapter 11
Damian
Itwastimetobe completely honest with myself: I had absolutely no vision for this next album. This was a rare place for me to be. Usually, I would have formedsomethingby now; a sound, style, or genre that I was excited to work on. But this time, I was desperate to come up with an idea. Any idea at all.
But I had…nothing. Everything I tried just didn’t work or feel right and it was frustrating to say the least.
I could still remember the confidence, determination, and drive I had in making my first two albums. My debut work was driven by my hunger to be successful. I wanted to create songs that would be on the radio and would get stuck in everyone’s heads, so much so they were bound to remember me, and thankfully, that worked. I still heard some of my first few songs on the radio every now and then, or coming from someone’s speakers as they streamed my music.
Some kids called it “old but good music,” even though it was released just five years ago. Time moved fast, and I still valued their appreciation.
A lot rode on my second album. I wanted nothing more than to prove to my peers and to the critics that I was more than just a one-hit wonder. I studied different styles of music and added things to the production and lyrics that were sure to create hits. The singles, and album overall, were hits. They became earworms, but they were alsogood music. It was quality work that I could be proud to produce. Sure, it was a pop album. But it was a fucking good pop album.
And it was a success, earning me the top awards the industry granted. And it was just my second album. I was riding high after that, full of success and a renewed determination to make sure Istayeda success. I didn’t want to just fade like the sunset. I wanted to take on the whole world.
Thalia walked in and the pen I was flipping around in my right hand faltered and slipped from my grip. The whole energy of the studio changed when she appeared and I wasn’t sure when I started looking at her like this, but I had the feeling that she meant more to me than just being an employee. I wasn’t sure when I started to hang on to her words or crave her praise, or even her criticism. I just wanted her attention more than anything else. And it was goddamn irritating.
I wanted to just be able to walk away, and I certainly didn’t want to notice how her skin glowed under the dim studio lights. I didn’t want to be surrounded by the smell of her, a light citrus scent that followed everywhere she went.
“Where’s Jackson?” she asked as she dumped her bag on the side table.
“Something came up, and he had somewhere else to be.” I heard the hard edge of my voice and internally praised myself for not giving in to the urge to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. “I mean, you’d know that if you checked your email once in a while.”
A soft scoff escaped Thalia’s lips. It was barely audible. I never really minded most of the sounds that came out of her mouth. I really tried to ignore the curiosity I had about what other noises I could get her to make if she would just come sit next to me on the couch and…
No.
I glanced up at her and her eyes were dark and narrowed, clearly irritated by my attitude. I honestly thought she’d grown some form of resistance to my asshole tendencies since that first day, but maybe that was a wrong assumption.
“So, you’re not planning on working today?”
Her voice held a semblance of teasing, much like the last time when I said I didn’t need any instruments. Her full, pink lips were twisted in a smirk and one dark eyebrow was cocked. Thalia confused me. Sometimes she seemed so hesitant and anxious to even speak up or be seen, but then moments like this she wasn’t afraid to call me out on my shit.
“I think I’m more than capable of writing a couple of songs by myself. Don’t you think?”
And there was the shift: Thalia just stood there, looking dumbfounded.
“I…” Her mouth immediately snapped shut before opening again. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were doing nothing today.”
Thalia’s voice was so soft it almost sounded like it came from a place of hurt. Strange.
There was just something about Thalia that was piquing my curiosity. I had been drained of inspiration for the past few months, but now I was watching her and her many sides.
But how was I going to make something out of this curiosity?
I watched every facet of Thalia's face. Her smooth skin, brown eyes, her expression that looked both troubled and uncertain. It was almost…vulnerability. Something inside me stirred with the need to protect her. Or want to bring back the fiery side of Thalia that I caught glimpse of every now and then. I was surprised to realize I preferred her criticism to her downcast eyes.
“You know,” I started, clearing my throat. “You’re not the first person to doubt my talent and ability to do all this.” I vaguely gestured to the room. I was surprised by my admission, but it was completely true. I wasn’t saying it just to make Thalia feel better, I realized.
“This industry is very cruel. Most new talent doesn’t even make it past a first album. I’ve made it past that, but the pressure never really lets up.”
Thalia’s eyes shone bright with emotion, but it was hard to tell exactly what that emotion was.
“I’m sure there's a lot of pressure.” She shifted on her feet, barely looking at me.
