Page 449 of Not Over You

I fish out my phone, checking for a response from Brana, but the last message is still the picture from Charlie. I study it for a second, noticing the slight curve of her shadow at the bottom. It feels like high school all over again, me studying every pixel of the pictures she used to send me. All of it feels like it’s been done before.

My eyes shoot up, and I scan around until I see an acoustic, leaned against a speaker. I see the guitarist from the other band walking by, so I snag his shirt sleeve.

“This yours, man?” I ask, pointing at the guitar.

He nods.

“You mind?” I reach for the instrument, and the guy gives me a grin.

“Have at it, brother.”

I slap him on the shoulder, picking up the guitar on my way by it. I slip on the strap, and I’m adjusting it to fit better when Hector comes around the corner. His lips tip up when he sees me.

“Well that’s one way to solve the problem.”

I point at him as I take a few steps backward toward the stage. “We have a deal, remember? You get one song, I get to keep bringing artists here.”

He holds up his palms, a grin spreading.

I nod, more to reassure myself. Then I spin and march out onto the stage, dragging a single stool with me. Hector follows me out. He slides a mic in front of me and gives some sort of intro. Fuck if I’m listening. I have quite the catalog running through my brain, songs I’ve played dozens of times in front of a crowd with or without a band backing me. But only one melody keeps popping up, my fingers already moving to the positions I played last night.

The crowd whoops as Hector latches onto my shoulder. He gives it a shake before leaving me alone on the stage. Alone except for the incessant lyrics, practically crawling their way up my throat. With one last scan of the crowd, I drop my head to check my fret position, even though I know it’s right. I might have put it to music just last night, but I’ve been writing this song for the past five years.

The words tumble out of me like I’ve performed them all my life, my hands sure and steady. The high hits quickly, the feeling of commanding an audience. Of my voice being the sole focus of the people in the room, my words penetrating them deeper than they’ll ever know.

I tell them about a tragedy. About an almost love that’s hung on so long it’s come back around again. Stuck on repeat.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt like I’m bleeding on stage, but it’s the first time if feels like I’m bleeding out. I’m giving them everything inside, and fuck if it’s not the most incredible feeling.

The next time I look up, my eyes lock on the figure by the door. Her head’s down, her phone in her hand as she sends a text—which makes my pocket vibrate. But I can’t answer because I’m singing to her five years ago, now, every day after.

* * *

It’s deja vu,

Always been about you,

The smell of your hair,

The touch of your skin,

All you and it’s true, baby,

Everything is deja you.

* * *

Now deep amber eyes stare back at me. There’s a glisten to them beneath the shitty club lighting. Her lips are parted, tiny creases between her brow. All I need to know she’s heard enough to know. To know it’s all about her.

The last note hits, and I’m on my feet as the crowd starts in. But I’m already off the stage, shoving the guitar at the first person I see.

“Nice, dude,” the guitarist says.

I give him a nod, and then I’m shoving out the back door. I suck in a deep breath of cold air, trying to revel in the feeling of performing and not what it felt like with her eyes on me. Not how badly I want to rip her heart out for the way she’s making me feel.

It’s confusing as fuck, wanting her to hurt with me while wanting to destroy anyone who hurts her. It’s a spiral that’s just going and going until I hear the door slam behind me.

I close my eyes, knowing.

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