Page 25 of Where Happiness Begins
I take a long time to answer, mostly because I don’t even know where to start. Every time I open my mouth to say something, I stammer, confused between all the emotions I’m feeling. Shame. Anger. Hurt.
In the end, what I land on is, “I wasn’t trying to pretend anything, just wanted to be decent.” I can’t look him in the eye anymore, my heart thrumming in my chest. Nose prickling from my overflow of emotions, I say, “Don’t worry, though, your message has been heard, loud and clear.” Before I make an even bigger fool of myself, I turn around and go back upstairs.
The second I cross the threshold of the basement door, I force my mind to blank and forget about it all. I won’t allow myself any more time to be sad about this. Abouthim. That man doesn’t deserve another single second.
I arrive back in the kitchen just in time to pull the cookies out of the oven, looking perfectly golden and crisp. And when I bite into one and then another, I focus on only tasting the chocolate and not the bitterness still residing in my throat.
Chapter 10
The venue almost filled out for the first official show of the tour.
I wasn’t sure what to expect before coming tonight, but this wasn’t it. I’ve done my research on the band during the past few weeks, and while I’ve seen they have a decent amount of regular followers and listeners, I did not think it’d be enough to fill a concert venue, no matter how small. Shows how little I know about this industry.
I’m up to the challenge, though. I’ve looked up what other influencers have done to blow up smaller artists, which of my posts surrounding music lead to the highest engagement, what people like to know about musicians that will make them buy tickets for their shows. I’ll obviously let their music speak for itself, but I’ll also show everyone’s personality so that listeners feel close to them in a way. Tonight’s the first time I’ll share snippets of an official show, and I plan on giving enough to pique interest without showing too much. I want my followers to be curious, to want more.
I’m nursing a soda while standing at the back of the room. As much as I’d love to be in the front row, this will allow for the bestshots. The venue is one large room without assigned seats, which has already led to a bunch of people huddling in front of the stage.
Even if I’m not the one going on stage in a few minutes, adrenaline pumps in my veins, the way it does every time I attend a concert. There’s nothing like the feeling of a crowd singing along to a song everyone loves, a feeling of familiarity instantly being built between all these strangers for a few minutes. Everyone’s energy seems to be high, and when the background music cuts off and the room suddenly darkens, the tension in the room increases tenfold. I whistle with my fingers as Crash & Burn walk on stage, and even though I’ve now seen their set a few times, I still get chills at the first note of the guitar that announces their debut’s intro track.
I allow myself a full minute of enjoying the show before pulling my phone out and getting to work.
I find different view points across the room to record videos, then post a story and get some more footage for future posts. A few minutes into filming, when the band has played two songs and Ethan has paused to introduce the band and welcome the audience, a tingle builds at the base of my spine, tuning up my awareness. And of course, when I look to the left, I see the one person I’ve been trying to avoid all week.
Ever since Carter made it clear he wants absolutely nothing to do with me, I’ve listened to what I’d promised myself and steered clear. Most of the time, I made sure to be out of the common areas of the house at the time he came back from work and to be in my room when he left in the morning. Sure, it’s tiring to avoid him,but I think it’s necessary, at least for now. Our paths crossed once or twice, and I did exactly what he’d wished for: I acted as if he wasn’t there. No hellos or good nights, no invitations for shared dinners or even acknowledgments of his presence. He wanted nothing, and that’s what he got. At some point, I won’t have a choice but to talk to him in order to get pictures together, maybe a video or two, but that day is not today.
Even though he’s in my peripheral vision, I don’t do myself the disservice of looking his way. I’m sure he looks painfully handsome, probably wearing an all-black outfit and his usual scowl. Not when I’m having such a great time. I don’t even know why he came tonight—a producer doesn’t have to attend their artists’ shows—but I’m not about to ask.
When I force myself to forget about his presence enough to regain my focus, I resume filming, all the while moving my hips to Emmett’s bass. Their music is catchy yet unique, a blend of The Killers and Fall Out Boy, with something utterly theirs. Ethan has a perfect rasp that has us begging for more, and the rest of the band keeps up with him and brings even more energy to the scene. At The Sparrow, I’ve seen multiple bands that were looking to build rapport with the crowd but ended up stealing their energy, but here, it’s the opposite. Crash & Burn are powering them up. It doesn’t matter that the crowd doesn’t know the lyrics to the new songs the band is testing; they’re loving every second.
I am too. My hair is a tangled mess around my shoulders, sweat drips under my black corset-like tank top from all the body heataround me, and I realize I haven’t felt this alive in a long while. My smile is wide as I sing out to every song.
At some point, I realize I’m no longer filming straight, so I give up and discard my phone in my pocket, then squeeze myself through the crowd so I can get closer to the stage. The room is warm and smells of liquor and sweat, the floor is sticky under my block heels, and I couldn’t care one bit. I forget about every single worry I have as I dance, sometimes by myself and sometimes with strangers. I don’t have to keep up any pretenses here, where no one knows me, so when a guy comes close behind me, his hips brushing my back and his blue eyes twinkling with wicked delight, I don’t push him away and share the song with him.
As the band leaves the stage and quickly comes back for their first out of three encore songs, there’s another tingle at the base of my neck, and sure enough, when I glance behind me, I find Carter’s body in the crowd, his gaze on me. The eye contact only lasts a nanosecond, but it feels much longer and makes me feel out of sorts. When I return my attention to the stage, I’m out of breath.
I try to enjoy the song, but soon, I overheat, like a sudden wave of steam has been dumped on me. The room also begins to blur, a key sign that I’m about to pass out.
Not wasting a second, I start pushing my way out of the crowd. Faintly, I hear someone calling after me, but I can’t turn around to answer. I need air.
Sounds blast left and right as flashes of light slash through the room, dizzying me even more. I blink deeply, the stars in my vision blending with the strobes. Nausea rumbles in my stomach as Itry and try to catch my breath, to no avail. Voices shout and sing everywhere, sounding both close and far.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally cross the venue’s doors and walk into the May air, a warm breeze brushing my hair out of my face.
I only have time to sit on the sidewalk before everything goes dark.
“Fireball? Wake up. Come on, Lilianne, wake up.”
I weakly shake my head against the brushes of fingers against my damp forehead, the world still fuzzy.
The moment I open my eyes, though, everything comes back to me, clear as crystal water.
The pavement is cold against my back as I pull away from Carter’s touch. “What are you doing?”
“Jesus! What areyoudoing? You scared the fuck out of me,” he says, sounding breathless. For the first time since we met, I think I see something other than boredom, annoyance, or perfect neutrality in his gaze. “Did you take anything from one of those guys? Did someone slip you something?”
I frown. Since when does he care?
I try to sit up, but he quickly pushes me back down. “No, wait here. I’m calling an ambulance.”
