Page 55 of Fall From Grace
Logan and Wren look as though they have a good time, mostly. Sometimes Logan acts miffed, while other times Wren blushes like she said or heard something she shouldn’t have. As the night wears on, it becomes increasingly difficult for me to remain still; I want nothing more than to grab her and leave this place, to take her someplace private and…
And tell her to run. Tell her I’ll give her a five-minute head start.
And then I’d chase her like I’ve never chased anyone before.
Normally I don’t partake until the very end, until they’ve made their decision. My mazes always end in a choice, and no one ever makes the correct one. Maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through their system at the time, or maybe everyone I choose is just shitty. Regardless, they choose poorly, and they pay the price. Though I am Professor Reese during the day, these hands of mine aren’t clean.
It pains me to stand there, to blend in for so long when all I want to do is go to her and take what’s mine. Prove to Logan that she cannot and will not ever belong to him because I laid claim to her the very first moment I saw her in class. This thing between them is simply because she’s hurting.
People come and go on stage, like a revolving door. Eighties and nineties are the jams of the night apparently; nobody can sing anything else it seems. Everyone hates on the eighties and nineties, but when it’s time to do karaoke, apparently it’s all they can do.
Then again, how are you going to get up there and sing some of the newer songs on the radio? Many of them don’t lend well to karaoke.
And then, thankfully, enough time has passed that it’s their turn, and I have to find another area to skulk in. Don’t want to stand directly facing the stage, but I don’t want to slip outside and not hear them, either. So I go to the bar and sit on a stool. I’ll only see them if I turn my head, but at least I’ll hear their voices, and they won’t know it’s me.
Frankly, I don’t know what I expect, at least not out of Logan. The first verse is sung by Wren, and she nails it—though I don’t recognize the song. Her voice is beautiful, sultry, smooth like velvet. A siren’s voice, luring sailors to their doom, and in thiscase, I am the sailor. It’s an odd thing, for the tides to have switched just like that.
Her voice… I could listen to it all night and never tire of it. Wren is full of surprises, and I can’t wait to discover what other secrets she keeps close. I’ll unravel those layers one by one even if it’s the last thing I do, and when she’s bare, when every ounce of her is exposed to me, I will make every part of her mine.
My drifting thoughts are interrupted by a switchover, when Logan begins to sing. To my surprise, he’s not bad. Not bad at all. In fact, he’s quite good—too good for this to be his first time singing. A low voice, rough and scratchy but well-controlled; he has experience on a stage, I know it. A simple glance over my shoulder at the two on stage proves as much.
The entire karaoke bar is caught, rapt. Everyone’s eyes are on the duo on the stage—and on that stage, while Logan loses himself to the song, Wren loses herself in him. The way she looks at him, how I wish I could peer inside her head and read her thoughts. There’s more to this, I can feel it.
And then… well, then shit hits the fan, as I suspect things often do when Logan is involved.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Wren
When we’re called up to the stage, I’m the first to get to my feet. Logan is much slower, and he lets me take the lead. We make it to the side of the stage, where the few stairs are to get up there, and he says, “You never told me what song we’re singing.”
“It’s a surprise,” I say, and one look at him tells me he’s not happy about that. “You’ll know it. I promise.” At least, I think he’ll know it. If he is who I think he is, he should definitely know it. Besides, even if he’s not a disgraced former rockstar, I know he knows who Black Sacrament is, because he was singing one of their songs in the cemetery. If he’s just some random guy and he knows that song, he should know this song, too.
He frowns at me. “Whatever.” We head up the stairs and center ourselves onstage. I move aside the extra microphones we won’t need, and then I grab one and hand it to Logan since he doesn’t seem to be moving a muscle.
Apparently I’m doing all the work. It’s fine. At least the guy is here, doing this. He could’ve said no. There’s no way I could have forced him to come. The moment of truth is about to happen—I just wish I could be in the audience, watching. Being onstage with him would mean seeing him from a different angle.
I watched so many videos of Black Sacrament this afternoon, countless videos of the band performing the exact song we’re about to sing. I paid special attention to Pope and how he sang it, how he crooned into the microphone and lost himself to the lyrics.
And as for me…
Singing in front of a bunch of strangers to break the ice? Not my idea of fun, but I couldn’t think of any other way. It’s kismet that we both are connected to music, and if I’m making him face the music, so to speak, it’s only right that I do my part, too. Ihaven’t sung a single word since the breakup, haven’t wanted to. Tonight would be the first time since—and it’ll also be the first time I sing with another guy.
I don’t know how it’s going to go, but I hope Logan doesn’t get too upset.
The screens before us flare to life as my choice of song starts to play on the speakers. There’s a short guitar rift before the first verse, and the very second it begins to play, Logan already recognizes the song. His brows furrow, and he whips his head in my direction, his scowl deepening the longer he stares at me.
I can’t let him run, so I give him a gentle smile that I hope tells him it’s going to be okay. His mouth thins and he looks away right when it’s time to jump in the first verse. I decide to take that one, hoping he’ll get the hint and sing the second verse.
“My world was black. I thought I knew,” I sing, “pain everlasting, sorrow and madness… until you.”
The song, Godsent, is about a man who lived his life in complete misery, a man who thought he knew the horrors of the world. But then the man falls in love with a girl, and all that pain, all that agony, is made ten thousand times more real. She is godsent, and all he can do is fall to his knees and let her do whatever she wants to him.
“I was on a ledge, unsuspecting until the end,” I sing, my voice growing stronger, more confident. I’m hitting the notes even though the song was written for a man’s voice. I’m no soprano; I’m a pretty low alto, so a song like this is actually perfect for me. “And then you came and made me bend. Everything I was, everything I am—”
One glance at Logan tells me he’s watching me, but I don’t know if he’s mentally here, or if he’s somewhere else.
I get to the bridge and the chorus, “I never wanted to be found, never wanted this, but you crashed me into the ground like you fell from heaven. True destruction and beauty, myabsolution. Will you save me or destroy me? Godsent, give me your answer. Godsent, I need your answer. Godsent, my godsent.”
I stop singing and look at Logan, giving him a nod to tell him to sing. The second verse begins, but he doesn’t sing right away. I give him a pleading look, and thankfully that look breaks him.
