Page 36 of Thorns That Bloom
God knows I can act stupid when I drink.
One of the women that Madison was on the podium with looks around the room, still leaning onto the machine, maybefor balance. “Who’s next?!” she shouts into the crowd, dramatically raising her glass.
“He is!”
I blink, realizing it’s Ben yelling next to me, his arm promptly slamming over my shoulder.
“Wh— What? No,” I mutter, but everyone’s eyes already fixate on me. “Oh, no no no.” Shaking my head, I let out an awkward chuckle. Singing my silly little romantic songs for a small audience at some alternative cafe is different from showing off in front of half the company. And, most importantly, Sam.
“Aren’t you a singer, Theo?” Madison says across the table, a crooked smile on her traitorous lips. Turns out she’s as wicked toward her own people as she is toward the engineers when she’s drunk.
“I’m not a singer, I just—” I try to get everyone’s excitement down, but it’s too damn late. Not just Ben’s hands pat me; people cheer me up, then they begin chanting for me to get on the stage. ‘Theo, Theo, Theo!’—the voices all merge, and my cheeks burn almost as badly as the first time I performed.
Well, I definitely should’ve drunk something.
“Go on, boy! Don’t be shy,” Mickey shouts at me, his booming, raspy voice cutting through the rest. “Do it for me! I insist!”
No matter how much I want the ground to swallow me with each passing second, Mickey knows as well as everybody else that I’m not someone who can refuse something like that. I might be nervous, but I’m no killjoy.
Letting out a deep sigh and rubbing my nape, I finallyforce myself to stand, even as my stomach twists on itself. “Alright, alright,” I say with an uneasy grin. The room erupts in a victorious cheer, so loud that even the bar staff from across the restaurant starts looking at us like they might throw us out.
I guess it’s my obligation to give people what they want.
Raising my arms with an expression that must be somewhere between a pained frown and a flattered smile, I slowly make my way onto the small stage while Ben and the others whistle and yip like a pack of rabid dogs. He’s going to have the worst hangover tomorrow, and I’ll never hear the end of it.
I walk up to the machine and study the selection of songs. I already know most of them, but none seems to be the kind of music I would usually perform. At least until I seeMidnight SignbyThe Petals. Slow, a little melancholic, romantic song from my parents’ time that I quite like. It could work.
Choosing it on the machine, I hesitantly hold the microphone.
Damn, I’m not used to being on the stage without a guitar. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I clear my throat before glancing up and scanning the room.
I try my best not to look at Sam, but I can’t help myself. And of course, he was bound to catch my eye at some point, which is exactly what he does. He doesn’t show much of a reaction. It’s probably only me who gets all hot and whose heart pounds like crazy. He has no reason to be anxious, after all.
Lowering my gaze again, I swallow hard and prepare myself as the intro music starts playing out of the crackling speakers.
Midnight Sign tells a story about two lovers, torn apart in the past, who meet one fateful night many years later, and choose each other again. They choose their love and everything that comes with it, no matter the chaos and hardships it creates in their lives.
I begin, unsteady and a little off-key at first. With every word, I realize that I’ve never properly understood those lyrics till now. Even as I continue feeling like a kid at a talent show in front of all my coworkers, I try to center myself like I usually would before a performance to become one with the music, the tones, the words. Themagicof it.
I glance toward Sam again. I don’t want to, not really. Not when I’m singing about everlasting love, but it’s almost like Ihaveto.
Isensehim. That sweet pheromone scent is seeping into my mind again, and my guard is instantly slipping. The feeling I've had ever since I first bumped into him spreads through me like a drug. He’s looking at me again. Glass held in his hands in front of him, his expression is different than earlier. Now, his eyes are more alert, present.
He’s looking at me, and I never want him to look away.
The thought of Sam listening to me sing makes me feel naked. I shift my gaze to my feet and focus on the song instead of him. Getting my feelings out through music has always been easier than with words. I don’t know why, or when it started. Pop said he listened to music a lot when he was pregnant with us. When Gail and I were little, we would only calm down and fall asleep with something playing in our room. Maybe that’s why.
‘Now you understand all that you mean to me. Me… me… me… We’re part of the same destiny… e… e…’
If only Sam could understand.
If only I could.
With the song coming to an end and the melody slowing, I get this heavy feeling inside my chest. A sudden tightness, accompanied by the sense of dread brewing somewhere at the bottom of my stomach.
Somehow, it’s over. The background music cuts out, the speakers crackle one last time, and I stand on the podium with the microphone pressed to my chest, taking deep breaths. When people start clapping and howling in excitement, I blink and put on a smile. For some reason, it feels nothing like the joy that fills me when I usually end a performance. I take a small bow and go sit down.
The sounds around me seem a little muffled. I think I need a drink.
