Lost In Your Presence (Evermore #4)

Prologue

“LET GO OF ANYTHING THAT NO LONGER SERVES YOU.”

O rielle swayed to the smooth beat flowing from the speakers, allowing her body to catch every beat with ease, as if it were a nuanced muscle memory.

She had a knack for picking up on every instrument used during the production of a song.

Most of the time, it was a good thing. Other times, it was annoying because she became fixated on one particular sound.

There was something so spirit-freeing about hearing her voice and lyrics float over a masterful tune.

A reminder that she really had it. A gift that kept on giving.

Head bobbing, with her eyes shut, she silently praised the track she and her producer friend, Cash, just laid down.

It was one of those ones, and she knew the second she stepped into the booth.

The studio’s air, usually thick with weed smoke, was filled with the calming scent of lavender and lemons floating from the diffuser in the corner. It was her signature touch and a necessity when she had a session and needed to lock in. That, and a mug of peppermint tea, was usually all she needed.

“I can’t wait until y’all release this,” Krystal, Cash’s cousin, said.

Peeling her eyes open, Orielle smiled. “Me either.”

There were certain songs that she knew she couldn’t hold onto, and this was one of them. It was sensual but soft and guaranteed to be on repeat. Orielle listened until the song finished with plans to go over a few notes next week. She gathered her belongings while Cash busied himself in the booth.

She never stuck around too long once a session was done, and if she did, it was because she was enjoying the vibe.

Today would be no different. Her day was booked, and she needed to stay on schedule.

Grabbing her water bottle, she stuffed it inside her tote, slid her notebook inside, and disconnected her phone from the charger.

“You don’t want to stay for the next one?” Krystal asked.

Orielle shook her head. The longer she lingered, the more questions came.

Between Krystal, Cash, and anyone else who stopped by, there were always questions.

She didn’t consider herself the most secretive person in the world, but she also didn’t like everyone in her business. Especially if personal.

“No. I have yoga sessions this evening.”

Krystal nodded, as if remembering. “That is right. You’re a yoga instructor.”

“Mhm.” Orielle nodded.

Just as she slipped her phone into her pocket, Cash popped his head out of the booth.

“Yo, Ori. You out?”

She bobbed her head, tossing the straps of her tote on her shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Hold up.”

Cash paused the music and exited the booth.

His tall, tatted frame, long black locs, and one-of-a-kind voice almost had Orielle crushing on him when they first met some years back.

His medium brown complexion and charming smile didn’t help either.

Cash kept it strictly professional with Orielle, and they’d been good friends ever since.

He had a handful of hit records under his belt and way too much curiosity when it came to her. Orielle found it amusing.

“Why you always disappear like you a secret agent or something?” he asked, standing beside her at the couch.

Orielle smirked, tugging at the sleeve of her thin, cropped hoodie. “Why do you think singing is all I do?”

“I know it’s not, but it could be. You don’t want to just sing for a living?” He asked, confused and intrigued to know her answer.

She snorted and shook her head. “No. I do have a life outside of the studio.”

“So, you’re other job is better than this?”

“I wouldn’t say better, but I need it just like I need to sing.”

Cash tilted his head. “A’ight, Ori. I’ma let you slide, but you can’t keep coming in here blessing the mic and then vanish like Cinderella at midnight. Real talk, you should be doing this full-time. That hook and verse you laid today are about to go crazy.”

Orielle looked down, toying with her bracelet.

Like Cash, so many other people who loved her voice had the same question.

In her mind, turning singing into a full-time job would dilute its value and prevent her from enjoying it as much.

In her heart, it’d always been her dream to focus solely on her singing career.

The battle between the two was never-ending.

.. a game of tug-of-war where Orielle always ended up in the middle.

“It’s just a hobby,” she finally said.

Cash frowned and waved her off. “A hobby? Yeah, a’ight. Tell somebody else that who hasn’t been working with you for the last few years. You sound better than half the chicks out here callin’ themselves singers.”

Orielle knew that to be true, but she didn’t knock anyone else’s talent or lack thereof.

With an album, a few EPs, features, and a few singles under her belt, it wasn’t about sounding better.

It was about believing she had what it took to truly succeed.

Cash’s support and faith in her had never wavered; it only grew stronger over the years.

Still, Orielle wasn’t in a state of acceptance.

She looked up at him. “Some of us can’t afford to chase dreams with both hands.”

“You could if you let go of whatever it is you’re holding onto,” Cash suggested, shrugging.

He threw his thoughts out there, and they almost knocked Orielle off her square.

She was holding onto a lot; much more than her five-foot-nine frame could handle.

She was used to carrying it all, letting the weight of her circumstances lie dormant until she could shake them off.

This particular situation was hard to shake, no matter how many months passed.

“You always give great advice, Cash,” she said, patting his arm. “Thank you.”

“I’ma start charging. I be spitting that real shit to you.”

Orielle smirked. “Mmhmm. I hear you. I’ll see you next week.”

“Nah. I’ma be out of town, but I’ll hit your line when I touch back down.”

“Sure thing. Be safe.”

Cash chucked his head upwards. “You too.”

Orielle waved bye to Krystal and pushed the door open to leave.

The elevator ride down to the main floor was quiet, with her lost in her thoughts.

As soon as she left the studio or any place of solitude, reality wasn’t too far behind.

The August heat greeted her without a breeze in sight once she made it outside.

The beads around her waist, which had tightened over the weeks, clung to her clammy skin as she cranked up her car.

SZA hummed lowly through the speakers as she made her way across town. Orielle rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest, trying to work out a knot that had nothing to do with tension and everything to do with the truth.

Cash was right.

She needed to let go of everything holding her back.

But letting go felt more dangerous than holding on.

Singing full-time meant exposing the most vulnerable parts of her as if she weren’t already spilling them in her lyrics.

Orielle had learned a long time ago that being vulnerable cost you.

She’d paid enough already. The tightening in her chest lessened once she pulled into the parking lot of Relax and Relief Yoga Studio. She already felt a shift in the energy.

From the outside, the studio didn’t look like much.

It was discreet, mimicking Orielle’s personality if you didn’t know her.

The brick building, with its white lettering and large windows for natural lighting, was perfect.

Grabbing her change of clothes from the trunk, Orielle entered the building.

Soft music, low lighting, and the scent of eucalyptus greeted her before Maya, the front desk receptionist, did.

“Hey, Ori!” She beamed from her usual spot behind the counter.

Her curly fro was piled high with her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. Orielle smiled.

“Hey, Maya. How are you?”

“I’m good, girl. Where are you coming from?”

This was the part where Orielle struggled.

To most, she had two separate lives, and she preferred it that way.

Her love for music paid most of the bills and gave her a sense of comfort like no other.

Being a yoga instructor was a means of survival for her, a path she had been on since she was a teenager.

Growing up in a chaotic, toxic home, Orielle had to find refuge in centering herself.

Blocking out the shouts, belligerent words, her growling stomach, and words of discouragement was no easy feat.

Maya was cool, though. Not everyone was privy to Orielle, the laid-back, passionate woman with a heart of gold and a daunting past. Most knew her as Rielle Summers, the talented R&B singer who let her voice flow like honey over a track, giving women hope and making them feel good.

She was an artist. Neither was a facade, and both had helped her make it this far.

“From the studio,” Orielle answered.

Maya tilted her head. “With that one fine rapper from last week?”

Orielle laughed under her breath, pulling her water bottle from her tote. “You stay in my business.”

“Only because I care and that rapper was fine,” Maya said and smirked. “Plus, your life is more interesting than mine. Of course, I’ma stay in your business.”

Orielle shook her head. Her life had been an entire season on Netflix plus bonus content, at this point.

From dealing with a breakup she never saw coming, to falling into a depressive state, and then resurfacing to record some of her best work to date, Maya was getting prime subscription treatment.

Their banter did exactly what it always did: center her, loosening whatever lingering tension that hadn’t been left outside.

“Well, I don’t have much to tell today.”

Maya fake-pouted. “Fine. I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Full class today?” Orielle asked.

“Not too packed. A couple of regulars called out. Oh! And one walk-in. Some guy and his girl. She’s pregnant and super sweet. Everyone is already in the main room.”