Page 115 of Big Bad Bully
I order another drink and try not to check my phone. I still have Billy’s picture as my lock screen’s wallpaper. When I first snapped the picture, I saved it there to annoy him. Look at us, co-parenting a puppy. It’s the sort of picture a girlfriend or partner would take and save. Now, there’s no hope of us becoming a couple, but I can’t bear to change it.
Madi got back from her honeymoon in Greece yesterday. I wanted to give her time to settle and get over the jetlag before I called her, but I ended up leaving a message an hour ago telling her I needed a shoulder to cry on.
I need someone else’s perspective.
And music. Music helps.
“Aubrey Cook is up next,” the emcee announces.
I’d signed up when I got here in case I felt like singing. I sigh. Do I?
Fuck it, why not? I stand, find my way up to the stage.
“Which eighties song tonight?” the emcee asks.
Yeah, they know me here.
“‘Pictures of You,’ by the Cure.”
The emcee nods, and I take the mic and close my eyes, swaying to the melancholy intro. It’s a seven minute ballad, and I intend to indulge in the entire thing. And yeah, I know I’m bringing the mood in the place down.
Too bad.
I let the music wrap around me. Swallow me up. I’m the kind of person who feels emotion as music–the two are inextricably intertwined for me.
I pace around the small stage with my eyes mostly closed singing–not for the audience, but to get this sense of gloom out of my chest. For catharsis.
They’re patient with me for about half the song, and then the crowd gets annoyed.
“Too sad!” someone yells.
“Why you gotta bring us down?” someone else heckles.
“Shut up and let her sing.”
My eyes fly open. I recognize that voice.
Madi’s sitting at the table right in front of the stage. She must’ve come in while I was indulging. She’s rocking with the sad music, showing her New Wave appreciation like a good emo girlie with melancholy glee.
I jump off the stage and lean into her, sharing the mic, so she can sing the last lines with me.
The crowd boos, and I laugh into the mic before handing it back to the emcee.
He puts on the original Eric Carmen version of the song “All by Myself” to mock me. “Come back up, Aubrey. We know you’re sad. Get him out of your system.”
I flip him off.
Madi chuckles and hugs me. “Ugh. I got your message. What happened? Is it Billy?”
I try to swallow the walnut-sized lump in my throat as I nod and sit down across from her. I spill the thing about overhearing Brick ask him his intentions and saying my memories might have to be wiped by a vampire.
Madi winces.
“Is that a real thing?”
She nods. “It’s how they protect their secret.”
“Nobody’s touching my memories,” I snarl.
