Page 2 of Goodbye Note

Ser shook his head, laughing. “Every time you say that, I want to ask you what, even after five years of friendship.”

I pulled my notebook out of my front pocket, flipping open the worn cover to jot down the line.

“You got all that out of—” Ser looked over my shoulder. “I’m not falling for your trap. I’m on to you. You’ll have me in this goddamn bathroom all night talking about our next album when we should be enjoying this one.”

“Always gotta be writing,” I repeated our familiar phrase at him. More like drowning my sorrows in ink. Fuck, that was another good line. I scribbled it without hesitation.

“No, I’ll accept that as an excuse for ignoring everything else. Not tonight.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the sink. “And you promised to be the extrovert tonight, so I don’t have to. I can’t do this singer shit without you.”

“I don’t remember promising.” I groaned, vaguely remembering agreeing.

“Don’t you dare! When I agreed to try singing, you promised because I told you I cannot under any circumstances become the face of this band like all lead singers are, and you said, and I quote, ‘We have two singers. You won’t have to be. I’ll be the face. You just sing.’ I told you that can’t be done, but you promised me you would make it happen, and now you’re hiding in the fucking bathroom!” Introvert panic shone in his eyes.

“Ugh.”

“See, you remember!”

“Maybe a little.”

“Come on, they are going to think you’re doing a mountain of cocaine in here.” He pulled me again.

“Who’s got money for cocaine?” I laughed, letting him drag me out of the bathroom.

“Hopefully us soon!” he yelled over the music.“But not if you don’t become captain of this fucking ship. I’m going to run us aground.”

“Kiernan told us you can’t make your entire personality pirates.” I reminded him of our manager’s words.

“Kiernan can’t control me.” Ser looked around like he expected our manager to be standing over our shoulders, listening like a parent.

I tried to get my bearings while shifting into public persona mode.

Our record blared over the club speakers, and a thick haze obscured my view. Movements flashed, highlighted by strobe lights like when I used to pretend to rave in my parent’s basement with my brother by flicking the light on and off. What a surreal feeling.

“Where are the guys hanging out?”I yelled, not sure what a frontman even did at a release party.

“No. We aren’t going to hang out. You have to turn on your life-of-the-party persona and go network.”

I cringed, remembering something Kiernan said about making good impressions on the execs. “I don’t know what they want from me.”

Ser lifted his hands, palms up. “Everyone likes you. Just be you.”

I’m sure it looked like I could turn it off and on, but my mental health had always been a delicate balance of highs and lows, and it wasn’t a switch. I didn’t have any control of the flip. I’d give anything to be on top of the world right now and be the Arik everyone wanted. But Nicole’s damn blood-red nails digging into skin overlaid my vision.

I shoved my hands into my hair, scrounging for any trace of that person I needed to be, buried under the avalanche of hurt and anger. But I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be that version of me, even when it had only been twelve hours since I was him.

Life doesn’t slow down for my highs or lows.

Life goes on even when we don’t want it to.

I found Kiernan. He’d done his best to prepare us for what to expect tonight, but my brain had put his words through the blender, so I just put a smile on my face and tried to channel Arik Vesper, the rock star.

Music execs decided how they felt about a musician in less than thirty seconds, so I couldn’t fuck this up. He’d introduced me to a group of people. Their names were gone as fast as they said them, but I acted like I knew them all. We shook hands, and once we were past pleasantries, they asked me about my music, which was a much easier topic. I could talk about music all day. Kiernan gave me a small nod when we moved to another group of people. I’d passed the initial test.

It was exhilarating but draining to be on. The interactions were enthusiastic but shallow. Quick decisions.

“Why are you the coolest person in the room?” a gravelly voice caught my attention in a lull between conversations, coming from a dark corner.

“I play the part well. Fake it until you make it,” I replied, trying to focus on the guy through the low light. He had his hood up, leaving his face in shadows.

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