Chase: A Devil & his Birdie: Havenwood University Book Two

Chapter 18

MY NERVES ARE HIGHER than the noon sun and I keep reminding myself of the lyrics to the songs I’m performing tonight. I love the stage and being up there. I love all types of music and gravitate toward female artists who sing with their soul. I’m hoping to do that tonight.

My feelings for Chase Wilton have been on a steady incline and don’t seem to be stopping their steep climb. And the mixed messages he’s given me since last semester have been confusing. Now I know his mama raised him, his brother and sister right so you can imagine my state over his wishy-washy behavior. The absolute nerve. Stringing a girl along, the audacity of it all.

I’m singing my heart out tonight. If he doesn’t get his bubble butt in gear after this then I’ll know it’s time to take my brother’s advice and put my unrequited feelings behind me.

The truth is… he’s never out right pursued me, he’s been attentive but never acted on our attraction. I on the other hand, have tried to spur him on, silently hoping he would take things where I desperately wanted them to go but to no avail, he just ends up doing what he always does. Nothing. My attraction towards him is too strong to settle for outward sighs and stolen glances. So I’m pushing fate tonight.

My anxiety over it all is getting the best of me and I close the door to the dressing room I’m sitting in to shut out the raw energy that is buzzing backstage. I try to take some deep breaths but it doesn’t settle my shaky hands and the tightness I feel in my chest.

I try warming up my voice, rolling back my shoulders, and working out the cracks in my neck. My throat feels dry from my now rapid breathing and I grip the vanity to ground myself.

I eye my makeup bag on the counter and know I have one in there. I stare at the pink bag that has my name stitched into the fabric in turquoise thread. I feel like that’s what I’m hanging on by and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You don’t need it, ya hear?” I whisper, trying to convince myself that I can get up on stage without it. I get close to believing it to be so, when one of the producers sticks her head in to remind me I have five minutes until curtains up. It’s now or never.

“I’ll be stronger tomorrow, one more time to settle myself won’t matter. It doesn’t count.” With trembling hands I reach for my bag and dig around until I feel the handle of my extra razor I keep in there. I pull it out and just looking at it calms my breathing. I run my finger along the two-inch long razor head and the sharp edges bite at the pads of my fingers. I unhinge the head from the handle and then make quick work to release a blade.

“Just a tiny slice, that’s all I need.” A little cut to put these nerves to bed and reign in my anxiety so I can feel back in control. Pressing the blade into my skin is always like pressing reset and that’s exactly what I need before I go out there.

The blood on my skin looks like a fresh start and I instantly feel more confident and square my shoulders. I press a tissue to my pinky to blot the blood bead and then wrap a bandaid around my cut.

I take one last deep breath and breathe out the rest of my nerves. It’s time to sing.

I did exactly what I set out to do and sang my heart out tonight and took part of mine back. I express myself through singing and have always felt that singing someone else”s words to get my point across is easier than trying to find my own. Every lyric was sung with purpose.

If he’s willing to keep an eye on me from afar and struggling to close the gap, maybe the lyrics of my next song will fill the space between us. I plan on sending him a message and being loud and clear about it.

When I stepped out on stage as Eliza Schuyler, I rubbed my finger over that bandaid and felt anything but helpless. He looked as handsome as ever sitting there and there was no mistaking that the warmth I felt tingling over my skin was from him and not the stage lights beaming down on me.

I felt brave when I spotted him in the audience. There’s been a couple of other times I’ve felt bold like that in front of him; once when I slept in his room the night Evie, Lexi, and I got into it and had on scandalous silk pajamas, and the other time was when I reached out to hold his hand when we drove over to the hospital. They say the third times the charm and I can’t help but hope the odds are in my favor tonight.

He’s dead center in the row of seats I reserved for our friends and he’s sitting between Evie and Monroe. It’s easy to get lost staring at him. His brown hair is curling around his hat, and his muscled body is molded to the auditorium chair as he sits low with his legs spread wide. His knee is bouncing up and down a mile a minute.

I loudly and proudly sing my set and we finish up the skit. I give him one last lingering look before running off stage. I’m smiling like a loon and wishing that the next time I’m out there, he’s running toward me.