Chapter Thirty-Three
janae
June 14
I shouldn’t have been there. This space wasn’t mine. It belonged to them. At least while we were in L.A. Still, I told myself I’d come to grab a jacket I left in Del’s studio, but that excuse fell apart the moment I stepped inside. The jacket could wait. What I wanted, what I needed, was to feel something, to let the energy of this room reach me in a way nothing else had lately. Anything would do. As the days drew nearer to the biggest performance of my life and the reunion of me and my mother, my moods shifted rapidly. I was easily rattled, and sleep became a distant memory. I had to release. I needed a reprieve from the constant ball of emotion that threatened to consume me.
The room was unnervingly quiet. I’d expected to find the guys here, rehearsing or cracking up over one of their never-ending inside jokes, their noise filling every corner of the room.
I started messing with the equipment nearby, a simple setup hooked to a laptop. The guys had been working on something, and as I tapped a few buttons, the sounds filled the space. I isolated Landon’s electric guitar riff first, steady and haunting. It sounded reflective and deliberate, full of unspoken depth, just like him. Then came Santiago’s acoustic guitar. Its warmth and carefree rhythm usually grounded the band, but tonight it felt fleeting as I silenced it. Charles’s saxophone followed. Its smooth elegance cut through the track like a voice trying to be heard above the clamor. Finally, I pulled Brian’s drums. The layered percussion unraveled as I muted the kick, then the snare, and finally the high hat, leaving the rhythm bare. With everything else stripped away, Cedrick’s piano was last. His chords vibrated with a quiet intensity, almost defiant, as though they didn’t want to fade. But I needed silence. It was time for my voice to carry the weight alone.
With each layer peeled away, I hit a few buttons to bring in synthetized strings, curious to hear how they might blend with a hint of percussion. Then I brought the beat back, tapping the pad to create a rhythm with presence. I looped the track, letting the sound build in intensity, though it still needed something more to ground it. Returning to the track the guys had laid down, I added back Brian’s drums, adjusting their pace and rebuilding the beat piece by piece. The steady thrum of the kick drum laid the foundation, the snare crackled with tension ready to snap, and the high hat added a sharp, driving edge. The pulse came alive, demanding more, propelling me forward.
The mic stood idle, its sleek silhouette outlined against the amber glow of the sunset filtering through the drapes. I stepped closer through the dimness, fingers brushing the cool metal, a steadying contrast to the turmoil bubbling within. My breath hitched. It had been ages since I allowed myself to let go. Not for applause. Not for Landon. Not for anyone. It was for me, free from the crushing weight of expectation.
The weight in my chest pressed harder. The arguments, the silence from Landon, the sideways glances from Cedrick, the burden of trying to prove I wasn’t the mess everyone thought I was. My past. My present. It all swirled together until I felt like I was choking on it. My fingers adjusted the mic stand instinctively.
I grabbed a pair of headphones hanging from a hook and slid them on, closing my eyes as I stepped to the mic. I didn’t turn it on. This wasn’t about hearing myself or being heard. The headphones isolated me, wrapping me in the sound of the music I was building, amplifying each layer while shutting out the rest of the world. This moment was for me, unguarded and unfiltered, free from the heaviness of an audience. Words began to tumble out, my truths flowing in a way that felt unrestrained and unrelenting. The mic was purely there to comfort me, like an old friend catching every note and pause. With the loop building, I added a deeper layer. A drumbeat here and a hint of strings there, letting the music carry me to places I hadn’t dared explore in years.
I started with a soft, rising melody, my voice carrying a haunting hook that hovered in the stillness of the room. It wasn’t loud or bold. It was just a gentle plea, each note trembling as it found its place. Then the words began to form, laced with the kind of pain that only grows with time.
“Don’t be afraid, little girl, stand tall. They tried to clip your wings, make you feel small. Age ain’t nothing but a number, they said. But who saw the cracks where innocence bled?”
My voice cracked. A tear slid down my cheek, but I didn’t stop.
“Mama had dreams, but the rent came first. Left me searching for love in a world that’s cursed. They called me a name, put shame on my skin. But I’m breaking the chains, let the healing begin.”
A quiet presence in the room startled me, and I opened my eyes. Cedrick stood near the edge of the space before moving toward the piano, his gaze unreadable. My first instinct was to stop, to shut down, but he didn’t say a word while settling on the bench.
His first notes were quiet, hesitant, as if he were seeking my permission. When I didn’t stop, he leaned into the keys, playing with a rhythm that danced between smooth and jagged. His chords wove into my delivery, lifting the words as though pulling something visceral and aching from both of us.
“I fought in the dark, made a home in the fight. Built my own fire, now I carry the light. They laugh at the scars, they don’t see the war. But I’ m standing here, I’m worth fighting for. Took all the pain, wrote it into my veins. Turned the hurt into notes, now I’m changing the game.
“They tried to break my soul. But I’m still standing here. They tried to take my name. But my voice is clear. They tried to break my soul. But I’m stronger than fear. They tried to take my name. But I’m still standing here.”
Cedrick’s fingers flowed over the keys with an urgency I’d never heard from him before. Each note bled like a confession, raw and unfiltered, as if he were wrestling with something unspoken, emptying his own battles into the music. This wasn’t the polished precision he usually brought to The Hollow Bones. It was something deeper, more untamed. Every chord trembled with vulnerability, like my release had unlocked something in him.
Together, we weren’t just making music. We were unraveling, shedding the weight we carried in silence.
The lyrics spilled out in a cadence that felt somewhere between singing and speaking, like truth wrapped in poetry. Some lines hit like a whispered prayer; others cut like declarations, raw and unrelenting. The tears came, but I didn’t stop. This wasn’t for anyone else. This was for the girl buried beneath the wreckage of her past, the dreams she once abandoned, the voice she’d been forced to silence.
As I allowed it to flow, Cedrick’s playing pulled me forward, bridging the space between pain and healing, daring me to confront truths I’d never had the courage to face.
“Fame ’s a mirror, it shows all your flaws. But I built my own crown from the things I lost. They wrote me off, but I wrote my song. And this is for the girl who’s been strong all along . Don’t let the world tell you what you can ’t do. Even roses find roots in the hardest of truths.”
The last note hung in the air, trembling. My chest heaved as I pulled the headphones off and let them dangle around my neck. Cedrick’s piano carried a final, lingering note before the silence returned. He looked up at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. He didn’t say a word, just stood and walked over, squeezing my shoulder lightly. His nod said everything. Respect. Understanding.
As he walked out, my gaze followed him until something caught my attention. Landon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression stern before it softened into something warm and loving.
He remained in the doorway, giving me the space to process this fragile moment, his presence both grounding and freeing. My fingers tightened around the mic stand as I turned back to the quiet room. My heart felt lighter, the weight less suffocating. I adjusted the mic again. There was more I needed to let out.
And this time, I wasn’t afraid to.