Page 4 of Hey Girl

I may well be an idiot, then, because I’m genuinely considering canceling.

“A-E-I-O-U,” I say slowly and clearly as I wash up my breakfast crockery. I could barely choke down my cereal and ended up dumping most of it. Wasteful. Not like me. “Mmmmmmmmmmm… Go. Outside. Where. It’s. Loud.” I’mglad I live alone. Means I can do my speech therapy exercises without feeling self-conscious.

The asshole that is social anxiety roots from a childhood stutter. I’ll spare you the details of the vicious cycle of stammering my words, getting anxiety over it, and then stuttering because of it. I’m sure you can guess what fun it was growing up with those two hindrances playing leapfrog and just how hard I’ve worked to get past it. But today, it’s sure as hell to rear its ugly head. It’s Turn It Up, for crying out loud.

Even I’m a fan. I love their feelgood, romantic rock and fierce guitar licks. I’ve been listening to their music nonstop since Ron called me. They’re all insanely hot, like book boyfriends made flesh, and I’ve tried to tap into that with my designs. I thought to myself, who wouldn’t want a romantic night in with any of these guys, and so I’ve used images of candlelight and fairy lights, roses, silk, and rain. I’ve mocked up an album cover where they all look like the bad boys our parents don’t want us to bring home...but with a special, soft smile in their eyes, just for us. Like the viewer is the woman that turned the bad boy into a devoted lover, brought them to heel, and they’ve been waiting for us to come home so they can make fierce love to us...

I dry my hands and check my laptop’s images for the millionth time. Yes, all saved. Yes, all present and correct. I’m not letting myself make any more amendments, seductive though the idea may be.

Their drummer might be my favorite, I think as I look. at one of the concert photos I used for my mood board. He looks like he emerged from the womb holding a pair of drumsticks, and in the YouTube clips I saw, it was clear that he throws himself body and soul into every track, thrashing around while still keeping a perfectly timed beat.

And I like his messy hair.

Speaking of messy hair…

I head to look in the bathroom mirror and sigh. I got maybe an hour or two of sleep, all broken up into ten- and fifteen-minute chunks, here and there. I have shadows under my eyes, and my light brown hair looks like a bird’s nest exploded because I spent most of the night tossing and turning. I grab my hairbrush and rake it through until it’s tidy.I never tie my hair back because it’s too good for hiding behind.Hashtag, anxiety life hacks.

Next, I open the brand-new mascara I picked up yesterday.I’ve never worn makeup before - I was never shown how - but I thought I probably should for this meeting.I put it on carefully, the way I’ve watched people do on TV and YouTube makeup videos.

Why is my mouth wide open?What’s that about?

Is it meant to stick your lashes together like this?

Huh.Well, it’s the best this rookie can do. And at least I don’t look like Alice Cooper.

I also bought a safe pale pink lip gloss, nothing fancy, just a hint of realistic looking color.My hands have started shaking as the meeting gets ever closer, so I get a little too much of it around my mouth rather than on my lips, but fortunately a wet wipe seems to clear that up.

I walk back into the hall and check the large clock on my wall. I have five minutes until I have to leave.Ohgodohgodohgod…My stomach churns, and I take a few shaky breaths, trying to get my racing pulse under control.

“Up. And. Down. Up. And. D-d-d…” I huff to myself in irritation. “Up. And. Down,” I manage carefully. Better.

I look in on my rescue hedgehog, Howie, who I’m fostering for a friend who works at the local animal shelter.He’s fast asleep in his cage, and still has plenty of food and water.He’s all set.I wonder what he’s dreaming about?

Comforted by Howie’s baseline adorableness, I look in my tiny back garden for my sphinx cat, Iggy. Sure enough, he’s dozing in the sun like a boss.It’s a bright day, but still cool, so I don’t think I need to reapply his sunscreen. Fun fact about sphinx cats: you need to rub sun cream into their naked little bodies when the weather turns hot.

OK, I really do have to go now.

I place my laptop in its bag and grab my wallet.Ugh, I feel horribly sick.Anxiety really can make you feel queasy.One more steadying breath, and I check my appearance in the hallway mirror.

My blue skinny jeans are brand new, and my white shirt with broderie anglaise edging and tie-up short sleeves is crisply ironed with every button done up.I fiddle with the ties on the sleeves to make sure they’re even, and then give up.I slip my ballet flats on.I look professional enough for a business meeting, but not too stuffy to meet a world-famous...oh god...world famous rock band.It’ll do.

Pushing down my mounting terror, I leave, locking up behind me.I just have to get through this meeting, and then it’s back home, on with the slippers and the weighted blanket, plenty of Iggy and Howie cuddles, and some true crime on Netflix.Self-care bliss.

2

CHRIS

I’m so fucking bored…

I wonder if athletes feel the same way during their off season as I feel when the band isn’t touring. Sure, I still have my drums in my soundproof recording studio down in my finished basement, but I do that all the time. I’ve recorded so many hooks, the guys and I are set for the next three albums.

Jack and Matt use our time off to spend time with their wives. Psssh!

Maybe I’ll go out and buy a lake house next to Matt and Melanie’s so we can be neighbors, and while I’m at it, get a boat and jet-skis to go along with it. Or I could go adopt a pet. Maybe one that’s fun to play with and will keep me company. A pet monkey would be cool, hanging around my neck all day, or, hey, a talking bird! That’d be bitchin’. I could train it to call Josh a dick.

These are the thoughts floating through my head like the clouds I’m gazing up at in the sky as I lie here on my outdoor trampoline, all bounced out. My body is relaxing, but my brain can’t stand that shit. The little alien that lives at the controlsis frantically pushing buttons, trying to find some kind of malfunction so he can get me moving again or he’s going to have a nervous breakdown and go on strike.

In the interest of keeping that from happening, I haul myself up and walk across my backyard and into my house, just for the sake of moving. As I waltz into my kitchen, my cell phone is buzzing on the counter like it’s threatening to explode.

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