Page 141 of Only With You

I know I play for the people on YouTube, but they never see my face and it’s never my own music. Playing in front of her, something that I composed, that’s different.

She smiles, staring at me like I’ve said something absurd. “Yes, I bet it’s going to sound beautiful. You honestly keep amazing me.”

My cheeks grow warm at the fervent look in her gaze. “Uh, yeah, when I’m done with it, I’ll play it for you. But if you could just keep this between us. No one knows that I’m working on this and Jagger will lose his shit if he’s not one of the first to know.”

She smothers a smile.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s cute,” she coos. “I love how you always think about him. The bromance is unmatched. I’m here for it.”

I roll my eyes, and shift the conversation and my eyes to the TV where I’m singing “Yellow” by Coldplay. “Speaking of shit.”

She gasps loudly and when I slide my gaze to hers, she looks at me like I’ve slapped her across the face. “Absolutely not. You will not shit talk Haptic. I will leave, and don’t play with me because I’ll get an Uber.”

I raise one hand in surrender and pad over to my bed. When she stays standing, I pat her side of the bed. She stares at me for a beat before joining me.

“Don’t be an ass. He’s a really good singer,” she says before she shoves a spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and vanilla ice cream into her mouth.

“Why defend a person you don’t know? A person whose face you’ve never seen?”

I don’t ask because I need a boost to my ego, but I’m genuinely curious. I’ve never heard anyone speak this passionately about me even though she doesn’t know it’s me.

I’m not famous by any means, and I have my haters, but it doesn’t deter me from posting. The more views I get, the more money I make.

“I don’t need to know a person or see what they look like to defend them. I know the songs aren’t his, but the way he sings them speaks to me.” She crosses her leg over the other, getting my jumper to hike up. “I can’t explain it, but he sings with purpose, and he doesn’t imitate the artists whose songs he’s singing. He adds his own twist to it and I love that. I love that he’s able to vulnerably express himself without being seen. Because sometimes, we don’t need to see something to feel it. I’m pretty certain that’s why he picked the name Haptic. I know it means a sense of touch, but if you think about it, that’s whathis voice is doing to you, touching you. At least, that’s how I’ve interpreted it.”

Absentmindedly, I stir the spoon in the bowl, unsure how to respond because…well, she’s not wrong.

When the song changes to “Amen” by Amber Run, I almost tell her to shut it off, but I’d have to explain why and I can’t bring myself to be honest and tell her that this song was my goodbye letter to whoever cared.

It was my biggest moment of weakness.

I should have taken the song down when I had the chance, but I could never do it, because it’d only summon the memory of that night.

She must have taken my silence as an inclination to further prove her point by giving me a breakdown of the song and how I’m singing it.

“Before you continue to say it still sounds like shit, I just need you to understand why I’m so defensive. This song”—she inhales a laboured breath—“this song is deep and not just because of the lyrics, but because I think Haptic genuinely sounds like he’s in pain. His voice is so raw and poignant, and I think behind it all, he means what he’s singing…” She sighs, her voice melancholic. “Particularly this song and the lyrics. I think he meant it, him being dead. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but he didn’t post for a while after he uploaded that song.”

She pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t bring myself to utter a word. There’s a noose wrapped around my neck. I feel like I can’t breathe as those haunting memories I tried so hard to keep away come back so viciously, it makes me sick.

Late one night after I uploaded the video, I parked my car in the middle of the train tracks and waited for it to come and just end it all. I could have gone about attempting to commit suicide differently, but I didn’t want anyone to have my car afterI worked so hard to fix it. And I knew Ashton would have kept it, so I was going to end it all with the only thing I cared about.

It didn’t happen because by some divine intervention, Jagger showed up.

He didn’t know I was there. He had snuck out to meet someone and saw my car. He sat in the passenger seat and said he wasn’t getting out until I moved the car. No questions, no why am I doing this, nothing but silence, and when I finally drove off the tracks, he said, “You matter to me Landon. Your life has so much purpose, and I’m thankful your my best friend. I’m here for you.” Then he hugged me and I let him. And that was the last time I’d let someone hug me.

That happened a few months before Julianna hit my car.

“It’s just an observation and I’m probably wrong. He probably just took a break, because who doesn’t need a break from social media from time to time? But I say this because maybe he sings because he’s alone, and this is the only way he can express himself or maybe he just likes to be private. Who knows, but don’t be an ass. You never know what anyone is going through.”

“I won’t,” is all that I manage to say.

She eyes me suspiciously, but she must see something because her expression softens. “What’s wrong?”

I blink, swallowing past the emotions clogging my throat. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Scepticism washes over her face. “I thought you’d be honest with me.”

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