Chapter 31 Kaylee
THIRTY-ONE
KAYLEE
I’d never paid attention to the ceiling light in my bedroom before. It was a round, glass covered dome, slightly opaque. There were two bulbs glowing brightly in the dome. A third must have blown out at one point because one third of a section of the dome was dark. I’d never noticed.
I sighed and rolled over on my bed, turning my eyes away from the ceiling.
After-images burned into the back of my eyelids every time I blinked.
I curled into a ball, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
Limp red curls fell over my eyes as I shifted, but I didn’t move to brush them away.
If Micah’s mom were here she would say I was angsting, with that sympathetic little smile on her face I remembered from when I was younger.
Micah was lucky to have a mom like her. She’d always known how to handle moody adolescents.
She’d always known how to handle our rowdy group of misfits.
She’d been a mother figure to the whole band.
I suppose we’d all been lucky to have her.
Would I still have her, if Micah and I broke up? If the band decided to break up? If the label forced the band to break up?
I groaned and buried my face in my pillows as my mind circled back to all the troubles I’d been trying to avoid thinking about.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else to think about. As Chris had said, I’d made the band my whole life. I had nothing else to distract me.
I shifted on the bed to burrow down into the sheets, and jolted.
“Ow, fuck!” I cried out, my hand instinctively grabbing at the sharp sting on my hip.
I examined the skin and found a near microscopic red pinprick.
I scrunched up my face and ran my fingers lightly and carefully over the bedspread.
A thin metal rod brushed against my palm.
A stray needle must have fallen out of my sewing kit and taken up residence in my bed.
Who knew how long it had been there, lying in wait, eager to jab me at the most inopportune moment.
At least it had startled me out of my morose thoughts. Now I had something else to concentrate on, even if it was only examining my bedsheets and mattress inch by inch to find any more errant needles.
I didn’t find any, but I did find a stray button, bits of thread and a thimble, which was odd considering I’d never used one in my sewing. I didn’t even really know what a thimble was for, or how it was used. Would it stop me from pricking my fingers all the time?
I was about to raise my voice and call out to Anya across the hall to ask her. I stopped.
I still hadn’t run into her, not since the band’s fight. She had left her bedroom at some point or else she would have starved to death by now, but it must have been during the midnight hours she kept as an insomniac.
I’d stood outside her bedroom door about a dozen times, working up the courage to knock, but I’d chickened out every time.
I wanted to talk to Anya. I wanted to talk things out.
But I didn’t want to risk fighting again.
I hadn’t changed my mind, and I doubted she had, either.
If we broached the subject again, if we tried to figure out what to do about the second album, would we end up getting upset with each other again?
Would we sling horrible accusations at each other?
Would we end up saying something we could never take back, something that would ruin our friendship forever? If it hadn’t been already.
The sharp pang in my chest and the sting at the back of my eyes were a thousand times worse than the little pinprick in my skin.
Maybe Micah had told her about what I’d done. Maybe she knew that I’d put the band at risk all those years ago. Maybe she was even more angry with me than I imagined. Anya wasn’t the type to bang on my door and yell if she was angry. Quietly simmering by herself was more her style.
I collected the needle, threads, thimble and button and went to throw them into the trash bin next to my bed. I paused. I picked out the button and placed it on my dresser before tossing the rest. Even though I had finished my repurposed shirtdress, I figured I could always use a spare button.
Micah’s mom had told me to wear the dress the next time I saw her. What if I never got a chance to?
My heart ached again and my throat closed up, so painfully I thought I might choke on it.
I inhaled slowly, shakily. I went to my closet, plucked the dress off the hanger and stared at it. It was cute, something I might have found in any fashionable clothing store.
Without thinking, I pulled it off the hanger and shimmied into it. The dress fit perfectly, flattering to my shape and ending just above the knees. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt a sense of pride, a familiar emotion I recognized from those times I received cheers on stage.
I smoothed out the dress along my chest and thighs, trying to brush away wrinkles. I’d made this. I’d created something cute, something cool. Something beautiful, even. It wasn’t music, but it was all mine, not shared with a group.
I eyed myself in the mirror for several long minutes, taking in every angle. I was already getting ideas for other outfits I could make. I had an old band t-shirt I could turn into a mini skirt. I had a large scarf I could turn into a top.
An itchy sensation came over me, the same sensation I got whenever an idea for a song came floating through my head. An urge to create. It was familiar, but different. And I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Slowly, as if moving underwater, I reached for my phone and typed in a few words.
Online fashion course for beginners
A little thrill went through me as I hit the search button.
Chris said I couldn’t make the band my whole life. But what else did I have? I’d never known anything else.
But maybe… this could be the start of something. Something that was just mine. No record label to placate, no bandmates to argue with, no fans to please.
I could create for the pure joy of it.
I could create, just for me.
And maybe, maybe, it was the start of something that would be enough for me to survive the ending of Until We Break.