Page 11 of Deceit
WhenPaulgave me a nod, indicating it was my turn, I made my wayto the center of thestagewhere the microphone standwaited. I waved at thebandbefore turning to theaudience, the bright spotlights almost blinding me fromseeinghow many people were watching.
It was only a smallbarwhich held no more than fifty people, and normally thesame faces. It was why it made it the perfect place for an open-mic night. Therewasn’ta huge crowd to get nervous in front of, and the people who came to the evenings were there tosingor toavoidtheir own personal hell.
When the lights dimmed, I took in a breath andwaitedfor the first fewbars of my chosensongtostartplaying. Scanning the room, my eyes drifted over the silhouettes of theaudienceuntil they reached theboothin the far corner.
On the random nights I’d been here over the last three months, theboothhad beenfilledby a single occupant, andtonightwas no different.From the shape of the person, I knew it was a man, but it was always too dark to see what he looked like, and by the time mysongfinished, he’d always disappeared.
But I could feel him out there, watching me. It was weird, I had noidea who he was, yet since he’d been appearing, he hadbecomea kind of comfort blanket. I began to feel like I wassingingtohimrather than a room of people. It was as if I wanted to impress him so he’d keep coming back to see me, and only me.
I guess that was one of the reasons I enjoyed being on thestage.People looked atme.They saw the real me for however long asonglasted. Whenever I was on thestage, Iwasn’tinvisible.
I was someone.
Whoever the man was, he saw me.
Even if it was just for a few minutes.
As the haunting tones of,‘What Was I Made For’by Billie Eilish startedplaying, I focused on his silhouette in thebooth, letting myself feel all the pent-upemotionsI’d been trying to suppress over the last few days.
Iallowedmyself to connect to the notesplaying, and when thebandreachedthe point for me tostartsinging, I closed my eyes and permitted the feelings to bubble to the surface.
The first wordsfilledthe air, cutting through the silence like a knife.My voice wassoft, delicate, almost like a whisper, but with every word Isang, my voicebecamestronger, earning everyone’s full attention. But there was only one person’s attention I wanted, and I could feel him watching me from across theclub. I opened my eyes again, keeping them trained on him.
As thesongcontinued, I wrapped my hands around the microphone andbegan to pour my heart into the words, letting them express theemotionslockeddeepinside me. Each word was a reflection of the pain I carried, every chord a beat of my wounded heart.
As the crescendo grew, each note I sang was heavy with the weight of the unbearable hurt coursing through me.
HurtthatPapaonly saw me as a means to further his business.
Hurt that my mama wasn’t alive to see me grow up.
Hurt from Miles' hatred.
I let themusicconsume me, all my sorrow flooding out of me right untilthe finalnote, purging myself of every ounce of heartbreak I held within.
On the finalnote, and as themusicdied down, a roar of applauseerupted from the crowd. I couldn’t stop the rush of pride spreading through me like wildfire as I took in everyone clapping, staring at me in awe.
They saw me.
As I let mygazeroam around the people, some of whom were ontheir feet cheering, my eyes fell on theboothat the back. Disappointment threatened to douse the rush of giddiness atfindingit empty, as I knew it would be.
Thanking theaudience, I made my way off thestage. With how muchpassion I’d poured into a singlesong, I didn’t feel like Ineededtosinganother. Nottonight, at least. I was sure the second I was back in the grounds of my home, theemotionswouldstartto build again, but right then, I was riding the high.
Stepping off thestage, I headed to whereGusalwayswaitedfor me, onlythis time hewasn’tthere. Strange.Gusnever took his eyes off me, staying alert to anyone who may present a threat.
“Hey, do you know where Gus is?” I asked Paul as he passed me, ready to introduce the next singer.
He shrugged.“No, sorry, hun. I doubt he’s gone far, though. Why don’tyou grab yourself adrinkand wait at thebarfor him?”
I supposed I should havewaitedbackstage forGus, but we always went tothebarfor adrinkbefore we left, so I figured he wouldn’t be too pissed if I headed there to wait for him.
The regularbarman, whose name I didn’t know, was busy serving acustomer, so I pulled out the stool and took a seat as I looked around thebarto see if I couldspotGus.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you,”a voice said from next to me.
I swiveled on my seat, coming face to face with ahandsomeman who wasgawking at me with a coy smile pulled on his lips, and his cheeks flushed.
“Can I help you?”I asked hesitantly, knowingGusdidn’t like me talkingto strangers.
