Chapter 9 #2
She lets go and jogs to catch up with them, leaving me to stand alone in this unfamiliar lobby, my feet filled with lead.
Ten, fifteen minutes must go by with me standing there in distress, but then all the smells from my friends dissipate, and I snap out of the stupor.
With a heavy sigh, I turn to the elevators, hoping I can just go to sleep and forget this ever happened.
The trudge back to my room is difficult. Every step away from the situation with Cleo is excruciating. Knowing she is with Raven and that there is nothing I can do is extremely frustrating.
Still, I can’t change my mind. All I would do is make things weird because of the animosity between the singer of Scarlet Decay and me. The only thing I can do is go back to my room, put on a relaxing movie, and hope everything is going to be okay.
Lark is with them, I remind myself. If Raven steps out of line, Lark will push her right back into it. She won’t let her hurt Cleo anymore than she already has.
It’s eerily quiet as I enter the hotel room, the lock clicking into place behind me. The gorgeous view of the night sky from the floor-to-ceiling windows only helps a little bit, because as soon as I look down to the nightlife below, my worries come tumbling back.
I find my bag that the roadies have transferred, as well as my acoustic guitar, and sit down on the uncomfortable sofa.
The only thing that really helps when I get this locked on something is writing, and I have a lot that I can spill onto the pages right now.
Despite what our production team thinks, I still think our more vulnerable tracks are our best. The ones that can pull a listener in, make them relate to us.
That’s why I do this, not for any unrealistic notion of fame, but for other girls out there to know that they are not alone in their feelings, that instead, they can get through the worst of them and potentially see the brighter picture on the other side.
The lyrics flow naturally as I get started, holding nothing back since no one is around to criticize me. It helps instantly, like the more I physically write down my anguish, the less it is present in my body.
It’s always been this way for me, ever since we started this little venture in high school and had to do all of the nitty-gritty stuff ourselves.
Nicola and Lark were better at creating melodies, but Cleo and I loved to put together word sequences.
Creating poetry to our friends’ music was our favorite pastime.
We spent more time in my room doing that than any kind of extracurricular or partying our senior year, and it’s worked out for us in the long run.
My stomach rumbles after I finish drafting the second verse. It was such a long, stressful day, and performing takes a lot of energy out of me. I go to the counter and look around for the room service menu, preparing to get something quick, when there’s a knock on the door.
I freeze as confusion takes over. The girls all have keys, and the staff wouldn’t bother us this late unless it was an emergency.
My heart pumps, anxiety flooding back into my body at the idea that something might have happened.
My phone stays silent as I pull it out, no notifications to alert me to any danger, so I veer towards the door cautiously, trying to convince myself that nothing is wrong and it’s just Tom or someone checking in since it was the first night.
But when I open it, it’s not Tom.
It’s Jamie.
The beta stands there with two giant paper bags at his sides, his dual-toned hair halfway pulled up so the blond flashes underneath.
Jamie bites his bottom lip. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I arch a brow at him, confused but intrigued. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I, um…” He trails off, looking nervous. His orchid scent is calming as it pokes through the doorway. “As you can see, I ordered too much food.”
My eyes flash toward the bags again, finally processing just how large they are. I mean, they are comically big.
“You don’t say,” I deadpan. “I’m not sure how you did that.”
Jamie’s lips twitch. “Being irresponsible, I guess. But I thought, maybe… we could eat together.”
“What kind of food is it?” I ask.
“Japanese.”
My stomach rumbles again. “Come on in.”
He makes his way inside, bashful and happy all at once.
The more his scent spreads, the more grateful I am that he is a beta.
If the girls were to come back to smell him, I don’t know how I would explain that.
I give a silent thanks to the universe for its weird rules and turn to him.
“You can put them on the counter. Your arms must hurt.”
“My arms are used to it,” he comments, pulling them up to place the bags on the granite. His muscles bulge slightly, and I find myself staring, completely entranced by them. “There is a place the guys and I always go to when we’re here, so I thought maybe you’d like to try it.”
I pull my gaze from his biceps to see he’s already looking at me, his cheeks flushed as his lip quirks. “If you don’t like it, I’m sure there are better places. Better things. What’s your poison? Sushi, ramen. There are a few bento boxes.”
“You ordered a few bento boxes?” I ask as I sit on the stool. “How did you order too much food again? Did the guys not want their portions?”
Jamie looks at me, inquisition flashing in his eyes. “I thought you found me out, but maybe not. I ordered a little bit of everything, because I didn’t know what you would like.”
“What do you mean?”
He sits on the stool beside me and meets my gaze. “I wanted to see you.”
My stomach doesn’t just flip—it fucking tumbles. “Oh!” I look at the items again, seeing the gesture with new eyes. “Oh, so you didn’t order too much? You ordered this much…. on purpose?”
Jamie nods. “I wanted to eat with you. I figured that wouldn’t happen if I ordered something you didn’t like.”
Oh, fuck. I didn’t read between the lines at all. A hot, embarrassed feeling falls over me. “I must look really gullible.”
“No, not at all,” he reassures me, kindness flashing in his greenish-brown eyes. “I just felt silly, but I should have been straightforward with you.”
Maybe, but it still doesn’t take away from the gesture. I mean, the counter is full, and I realize he really did take figuring out my personal preference into account. The courtesy causes me to smile.
I grab the first container of sushi I can find. “I like everything you got. But sushi is my favorite. Sashimi and inari specifically, with lots of eel sauce.”
He smiles big. “Well, I got extra of all the sauces, too.” He pulls out the bag of sauces and I practically melt.
“My knight of shining sushi,” I mutter, taking the eel sauces from the bag. There’s like ten of them, but it’s perfect in so many ways.
A comfortable silence settles over us as we dig in. I practically engulf the first sushi roll; the tuna with the spicy mayo and eel sauce is actual heaven after all my hours of accidental fasting. Jamie’s ramen smells delicious and savory, the bowl full of soaked noodles and narutomaki.
When I eat my last roll—which is just as good as the first—I pat my stomach and sigh happily.
“Good?” Jamie asks as he places his chopsticks across the top of the bowl to rest.
“Fantastic,” I tell him, then grimace. “Sorry, I haven’t been very talkative. I ate an early lunch and then forgot to eat again because of the concert.”
“It’s okay.” He smiles earnestly. “How did that go? I wanted to stay and watch your set, but we still had a bunch of stuff to settle for the next few weeks.”
His statement causes my stomach to toss and turn as warmth blooms there. I bite my lip, nervousness taking over as he keeps his attention toward me, listening intently.
“It went good.” I nod, almost robotically. “Connecting on stage is so easy for us and tonight it really felt like we killed it.”
He arches a brow. “That sounds way better than good.”
The corner of my lip curves. “Okay, yeah. It was fucking awesome. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that electric on stage. We needed the break after our last tour, but… I feel at home when we’re performing.”
His eyes flash with recognition, his entire face lighting up with glee. “Same here. There’s no other feeling like it.”
The contact between us holds and it’s like he is seeing me in a completely different light. I suddenly feel vulnerable, visible. The way he is looking at me… I’ve never been looked at with such eager appreciation, have never felt so observed until this moment.
“So,” I cough, the word scratchy as it gets caught in my throat. “How did you guys get started? What was that like?”
He pushes his bowl forward and leans against the granite counter, his face morphing with memories.
“Well, I was an honorary member for a long time. I didn’t grow up in Bristol, as you can probably tell from my lack of accent.
I think the guys started it to piss off Cyrus’s dad, but then they found out they were really good.
Started getting gigs to play at parties and events.
I’d played keyboard my entire life, and would join them in the summertime—it felt natural.
Eventually, we all came to the conclusion that we would give it a serious go, no matter what the outcome was. ”
The way he recounts the transformation is so casual, so nonchalant, that I laugh.
“That’s it? No drama? No starving artist flashbacks? No inner group dissension or conflict?”
He chuckles, and the sound sends a surprised shiver down my spine.
“Nope.” He pops the “p” at the end. “We’ve always gelled well, ever since we were kids. I may have had a bit of FOMO until I was eighteen and could be in England longer than a few months, but that’s it. With the band, it was always easy.”
“Why were you only there for a few months at a time?”