Chapter 11
Almost two weeks later, the two of them had settled into a routine.
They’d made a few adjustments to the music of her first song, refining it and making it better—and he’d helped coax her to continue writing more honestly.
Every evening after dinner, she’d retreat to her room and force herself to look deep inside.
She was thirteen days in when she realized something huge.
She hadn’t taken a single Xanax. Not one. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about them—even with feeling a little stress here and there.
Before going to breakfast that morning, she poured the pills into the toilet. The rules were there for a reason and, as her respect for Quentin Russo grew, so did her thoughts about his wishes.
If she needed Xanax when she was back in L.A., all she’d have to do would be to call her doctor.
It wasn’t long before they were back in the studio, ready to finish up work on the second song and begin tackling the third.
They’d both found that returning to yesterday’s work often got them in a good space to get started immediately instead of having to figure out where and how to begin that day’s work.
Unlike the first couple of days, though, they were taking more time as Raine worked through her creative process with the goal of putting it all out there.
That first song had flowed easily like a mountain stream. The other songs, not so much.
Before they began the morning session, Quentin said something that almost made her feel like he’d been spying on her. “I just wanted to mention…I appreciate that you’ve been following the rules.”
A chill made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up straight. But she knew he hadn’t actually seen that she’d flushed the pills. “Yeah. I agreed to follow them.”
“I know, but—I can see that you’re taking them seriously and I thought I should mention how much I appreciate it.”
Um… “You’re welcome.”
“I know you’re sober and you’re working through your feelings here,” he said, touching her notebook, “instead of here.” And, with that, he mimed tilting a bottle back into his mouth.
It was a decent thing for him to say—and so she thanked him. But Jesus…so uncanny.
And then they got to work. Around ten o’clock, when they decided they were happy with song number three, Quentin asked, “So what are we working on next?”
“This next song’s working title is ‘The Box’.”
“Okay. I’m intrigued. Hit me.”
Standing, she started singing the lyrics she’d written so far, a song that had come out of nowhere last night.
In fact, most of the words had hit her so quickly that she’d had to scribble fast for fear of losing them.
All she had left was to come up with a chorus, a bridge, and a third verse if they thought the song needed it.
She began singing the second verse:
The walls, the fences, they hold me in,
And I tear them down, exposing myself
To all the dangers of the world.
“Wait a sec,” Quentin said, interrupting her.
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I do. It’s good—but…hmm. I’m not sure how to say this. I…expect more from you.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“The past couple of weeks, I’ve watched your lyrics blossom. I’ve seen you digging deep and not holding back. You’ve gotten really good at expressing yourself, at being completely honest.”
“So what’s the problem?” she asked, trying not to get angry. She was being truthful here. And, although holding back the rage had become a little easier now than it had been when she’d first arrived, that monster was still lurking, ready to pounce.
“You need to be more specific. When you talk about ‘all the dangers of the world,’ that could be anything. It’s abstract, so it’s hard to see and feel or really understand—and you want your listeners right there with you.
Dangers could be hurricanes and earthquakes, or it could be war or famine—or it could be people stabbing you in the back, figuratively or literally.
You’re so close here, Raine, but don’t lose your audience to a generic line.
You’re better than that. Don’t be generic. ”
“Changing it will ruin the rhyme and the rhythm. And it’s not generic. It’s about feeling trapped in a box.” That and realizing that box was actually a safe place away from danger and judgment.
Quentin sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Okay, maybe I’m not making sense. You’re so close but not quite there.
” He let out a long breath. “You’re teetering on the edge…
avoiding what you really want to say. You’re…
writing around it instead of through it.
It’s still safe.” As Raine gritted her teeth, he said, “Tell me I’m wrong. ”
Oh, he was, and she was going to let him fucking have it. “I don’t know what the problem is. I poured my fucking heart out on the page and you’re nitpicking one little line that no one will even give a shit about.”
Quentin was still as calm as a warm breeze, continuing to sit in his chair, unwilling to provoke her with emotion.
“Is that what you really think?” All she could manage was to glare at him but she quickly felt the air leave her lungs—because, deep down, she knew he was right.
How the fuck could he always see right through her? “Is that how you really feel?”
That last question triggered something. Out of nowhere, the dam inside burst. It wasn’t just the monster.
It was everything.
Collapsing into the chair, Raine leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands. Where the fuck had that come from?
But she knew…because it was everything the song encompassed. And Quentin was absolutely, positively one-hundred percent right.
After she’d cried for a little bit with him bearing silent witness, he said, “Do you need some time? We can come back to this later this afternoon.”
“No. I just need a few minutes.” After she took another deep breath, she said, “You’re not wrong. I am avoiding getting too close to the truth. This song…it’s about my manager.”
“Malachi Storm?”
“Yeah.” Letting out a breath, Raine looked down at her hands, clasping them together on her legs, deciding maybe she could tell Quentin the truth—the entire truth. Whether it belonged in a song was another story, but she had to start somewhere.
Quentin’s eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t read them. He said, “If it’s part of your story and you need to tell it, then tell it as honestly as you can. Be as honest as you can in the song—it doesn’t mean we have to put it on your album.”
Raine clenched her fists in her lap. He was right that if she was going to tell it, she needed to lay it all bare.
But she also knew that, once she opened that door, there would be no closing it again.