Chapter Twenty-four – Alex
It’s so singular, my meetings when they’re with you,
my smile when you’re there to smile along,
and my stories when you’re there to listen…
Singular – Anavitória
“What’s it like being here with us, all groupie-like, instead of being on stage, the star?” Daniele asks excitedly. I turn to her and Beatriz, remembering the first time A.J. told me about this house.
Besides telling me about the warmth from Carlos, the meals around the table, the huge backyard, and the homey smell of the place, he smiled when he remembered how easy it was to get close to Daniele and her funny little ways.
However, what made A.J. look at me with a glowing expression was talking about the rehearsals in this basement — rehearsals that cemented Vicious Bonds not just as a band, but as something close to family.
The word slipped out of his lips with a sense of shyness, like admitting belonging was a betrayal to his parents.
I leaned in, brushed the hair off his face, and tied it up in a bun, before looking deep into his eyes and assuring him that I wanted to meet his second family — because I will be a part of it until February.
But being here is really special.
It’s been just me and Thalia for so long. Sitting with other girls to watch our boys — I mean, the boys — play? It’s such a nice change.
“I see them doing shows every weekend, Dani, nothing new,” I lie.
It’s nice to be here, feeling the band’s energy, the friendship between them — and not the audience’s. But, looking at the ripped jeans and the worn-out shirt that says “I’m with the band,” I still want her to remember:
I sing like them , I’m not living the life of a professional groupie.
“But today is different, come on,” Beatriz suggests, and I look at her with a furrowed brow. “Ah, you know…” she gestures to A.J. with her head, and I laugh because it’s impossible.
“You are clueless or just dumb?” Daniele looks at me with tired eyes. “Pay attention to the way A.J. looks at you, honey.”
“Stop it. We’re just friends,” I say it, but it comes out like a playful defense — and it makes both of them laugh., and I get up from between them.
The song People Like U.S. — a really good song, but nobody cares because it criticizes the “American way of life” — ends, and the guys ask us to pick the next one.
“Bia and Gui singing I Still Love You ,” I shout, and everyone gets excited, including that traitor, who runs into the arms of her lover.
“Be careful,” Daniele whispers in my ear, crossing her arms beside me while Richard plays the drums with his eyes on her the whole time.
“Did something happen?”
She rests her hand on my shoulder and looks at me like I’m a lost cause.
“No… I just think it’s bold of you to throw a stone when you live in a glass house.”
“Go to hell, Daniele.” I push her lightly, and we both start laughing...
When I compose myself and look back at the boys, however, A.J.’s eyes on me could burn every inch of my skin.
And deep in my mind, a voice whispers, “What if...?” while Bia and Guilherme sing, overflowing with love.
But unlike her and Dani, I’m not a muse — I’m not anyone’s inspiration.
For them, it’s wonderful. Bia and Guilherme are solid, unshakable. Not even the gossip bothers these two since they got back together. Daniele can hardly hide her excitement about the idea of hitting the road with Richard.
But me? I can’t see myself in that place. I grew up watching amazing women in my family drop everything for someone else. And even the ones who stayed were swallowed by their husbands’ successful careers. The last thing I want is to repeat that story.
Even though giving up my career for someone is out of the question, just being here—having put my own projects on hold to tour the world with Vicious and now serve as their backup singer—already puts me in a delicate position.
None of this came easy—it was all earned through hard work.
And I refuse to let anyone suggest I only got here because I slept with one of them.
So, when A.J. winks at me, biting his lower lip, and my heart skips a beat while my mind screams “ What if?” again, I stand up, saying I’m going to the bathroom.
But it’s a lie, I’m just going to find a way to silence that voice.
***
In the division of rooms, Richard and A.J. get the guest room; Thomas, who snores, is assigned to a single one, and I end up with Daniele.
We say goodbye under the watchful eyes of our friends’ parents, promising to wake up before ten and A.J. walks me to the door of the room, I kiss his cheek, he kisses my forehead, just like we do at home every day.
But there’s something strange between us. Or maybe it’s just my lust-clouded mind.
“How was your first day?” Dani asks when I close the door.
I find her on the left, looking for something in a dresser.
I almost answer “fine,” but it was more than that. I lean against the door and take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts while the groupie room, full of posters and photos of Vicious, mixes with a vinyl wall and two beds with musical-themed duvets.
“I thought it would be intense, I’d feel out of place and confused, but it was comfortable,” I confess, still looking around the room.
And I needed that, a comfortable moment, even though I didn’t know it.
“I’m glad. Tomorrow we’ll have more time to talk, hang out with the guys, my parents are going to free up the house, so it’ll just be us, the young lovers.
” She takes a pajama out of one of the drawers and stares at me.
“And Thomas, you and A.J., who aren’t in love, of course,” she ironizes, making me roll my eyes and change the subject.
“How was it for you, really, being away from the band you helped build?”
Since this crazy tour thing started working out, I’ve been away from Thalia.
Not just physically, but also because she works at an accounting office, and they’re always intense, plus the distance and all the missed connections, of course.
And I miss my friend and biggest fan touring the world with me.
“It’s my last year of college, Alex. I honestly had a lot on my mind,” Dani takes two steps to the vanity next to the dresser and sits, letting her curly hair down.
“I missed them. Not my brother or my boyfriend, but my guys. The guys I spent my teenage years watching sing in the reality recordings, playing in my basement, and became part of my everyday life. But... I get easily starstruck, my immaturity would’ve made me mess things up more than help on this first international tour. ”
“Who told you that?” I can’t contain the laugh because those words aren’t hers, they’re from a forty-year-old man.
I just don’t know if it was her dad or...
“Victor,” she verbalizes my thought, rubbing oil on the ends of her hair. “But he was right, Alex. I could never hide Rick from Guilherme, and that could’ve blown up the tour. I fought so hard for Vicious to be Vicious, I’d never forgive myself if it ended because of me.”
“Well, if you have all that awareness, you’re not so immature after all.”
“And that’s why from now on, they’re not crossing the street without me,” Dani assures me with fire in her eyes, walking to the door at the right corner of the room. “I’m going to take a shower, you can pick your bed, I’m not sleeping here tonight,” she warns with grin before leaving the room.
I open my suitcase to pick a pajama, and while Daniele hasn’t come back yet, I sit in her vanity chair and grab my phone, trying to speed up my wait.
The first thing I do is update Thalia on how things are going and my weekend back at the shows, but I don’t mention the incident with A.J.
on the day of my… pseudo-jealousy — no one needs to know about that.
Next, I open Instagram. The number of notifications and tags is so high I wait a bit so it won’t freeze, but then I rush to the inbox and snoop on other people’s profiles.
Beatriz’s only has cute photos of us, A.J.
posted part of the rehearsal with a “Back to our roots” caption, and Daniele did a photo shoot with Richard and posted a picture of us with “We’re with the band” as the caption.
It’s strange to notice that the same profile comments the same thing on all of our posts — a sun with sunglasses and a heart. That makes me smile. The little sun really represents A.J. And maybe obsessive fans are like that... they can see who we really are.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I go to the fan pages. At least they’re not gossip sites, I tell myself.