[FEATURED ON WATTPAD; @StoriesUndiscovered]
CARTER YOUNG has spent the last few months hiding from the spotlight with the hope of avoiding another headline fuelled by rumours.
Betrayed and heartbroken, he is struggling to find his own sound.
When Ca...
"We can't sit around anymore, Carter. We need to act now," Jeff's voice said on the other end of the call, "Management is in the palm of our hands. They're shitting themselves thinking we'll leak the real reason you left and destroy this bullshit narrative they're spinning. Do you realize how much money we're getting for your solo debut just to keep quiet?"
I paced around the kitchen as I listened. Jeff Tanning was the type of person you wanted on your side. He was tough, cutthroat, and a genius in the music industry. And I definitely needed a manager like him in my corner.
"I will squeeze everything we need from them to promote your album," he continued with a holler of laughter, "Those shitheads won't know what hit them when I'm done."
I could tell from his voice he was taking an immense amount of pleasure from this all. Deep down I was too.
"How many songs do you have left to finish? One? Two?"
My feet suddenly became glued to the ground, hearing his question.
"Uh..." I cleared my throat, "I've got a couple left... yeah..."
I was lying. I didn't have it in me yet to admit that the album needed a complete rewrite. Thankfully Jeff seemed too consumed with his glee over our current funding situation to suspect anything.
"Alright, a couple left is fine. Don't forget we need everything done by the end of the month to stay on schedule. We want to get the ball rolling as fast as possible."
It became increasingly difficult to listen to Jeff as the panic began to set in. Everything I had so far, I hated. Nothing was me. The real me. Everything sounded like the sound I was forced under for the past few years. And that wasn't what getting free was all about.
Hanging up the phone, I felt an enormous sigh of frustration release from inside me, as I began to pace around the kitchen once again. I needed help. More specifically, I needed her help. And I knew I would do anything to get it.
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"We're closed." I heard her voice snap as I entered the bar.
There she was, pink hair and all, wiping down the countertop. I felt relieved her eyes were focused on the task at hand, unaware of who had walked in.
"I need a favour," I said as I walked over to where she stood.
TJ looked up from the sound of my voice, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest, "And what would that possibly be?"
I cleared my throat, my hands finding their way inside the pocket of my jeans, "I need your help with songwriting."
"I don't write songs for pre-teens." She snapped once again.
"So I guess you know who I am."
I was surprised by how disappointed my own voice sounded. It was foolish for me to assume that my identity could be a secret for long when my only disguise was a baseball hat. It was nice to be unknown, even if it was just for my first night back out in public.
