Who You Say I Am (A Jai Courtney Fanfic)

Chapter 11-Jai

Jai

I enter my room and I lean up against the door. I sigh in contentment. Today has been amazing. She's incredible—even better than I imagined. She's gorgeous, smart, funny, talented, friendly, a pleasure to be around... just everything I could've ever hoped for and more—that's her.
I seriously can't remember having more fun outside of work.  I love my job, it's why I do what I do.  But my personal time was never like this before.  It's such an unusual experience.  I'm in the smallest hotel room of my life—even before my fame—and I've never been happier.  I hear water running and... singing.  It's muffled, though.  I step into my bathroom and put my ear to the wall.  There's definitely music being played.  I wonder if it's her voice or a recording.  It's hard to make it out.  If I take my guitar over soon, though, maybe I can get a private viewing.  I grin at that and get ready for my shower, too.  I step in and realize how tiny this thing is.  I have to raise up the shower head and I still have to duck underneath it to wash my hair and face.  I take longer than usual in the awkward shower and step out.  I spend a little more time on my appearance since I know I'm going to see her in a minute. 
God, she's beautiful.  I don't know what fool hurt her but I'm glad I got here when I did.  Maybe I'll get a chance...
I hear a door close and I rush to my door afraid I missed her.  I see Pastor Ben's retreating form walking down the hall.  I grab my guitar case and head over to her door.  I don't want to miss her. 
I knock on the door.  She opens it a moment later.  She's braiding her hair.  She smiles at me and looks down at my guitar. 
"Thank you," she says.
I grin at her.  She opens the door wider for me to step in. I enter and close the door behind me. I walk into her small room—a mirror version of mine—and set the case on her bed.  I pick up the sheet music and look it over.  I don't recognize any of these songs. 
I look up and notice her braid as she turns her back to me.  "Hunger Games fan?" I question. 
She furrows her brows.  I motion to her hair. She touches it.
"Yeah," she giggles. "I didn't even realize I did that. Just a habit, I guess."
She must wear it like that often then. I would think she's a big fan of that series if she's copying the look.  Perhaps she's a big fan of mine...  and I wonder if she's fond of my films.  I shake the thought out of my head as I watch her open my case and pull out my guitar.  She's exceedingly careful like she's afraid she's going to break it.  I move the case out of the way and sit down on her chair—the only other place to sit in her room besides the bed or floor.  I lean back getting comfortable.  She sits down on her bed and I can't help but admire her.  I watch her tune my guitar.  She doesn't even need the electronic tuner I have in there—she does it by ear.  She starts to play and I can hear her mumble each section she's working on: the introduction, first verse, chorus, turnaround, instrumental, and bridge.
She stops and shuffles the papers around. 
"That's all?" I question laughing.
"What?" she smiles. "I'm just refreshing my fingers with the notes. It's been a while since I played some of these."
"I was hoping for a performance," I tease. 
She actually blushes.  "Um... I picked seven songs.  That might take a while," she says nervously. 
She continues shuffling the papers and gets out another.  She does the same thing—practicing a few notes and then moving on. 
"Don't I get to hear you sing?" I question grinning. 
"I'll sing tomorrow," she laughs.  "Have you ever been to a church service before?"
"No," I reply. 
"This... isn't actually a concert, per se.  It's worship," she tells me. 
I nod not really following along.  I never really understood this religious stuff. 
"Do you understand what I mean?" she asks. 
"Not really," I admit. 
"I will play music and sing but generally everyone else will, too—sing along, I mean.  What we'll be doing tomorrow is loving on our God.  It's our way of thanking him for all he's done.  This service will be a bit longer than what I'm accustomed to—the worship and the message," she explains. 
"Okay," I nod understanding a bit more of what they're doing. 
"I feel like I should say something..." she starts, fidgeting with her fingers.  "Gale mentioned to me today that my ex-fiancé was quite rude at their church.  I never knew about any of this behavior until this week.  She said... well, he did several disrespectful things around the building and when I went up to play while everyone was praying... she said he fell asleep and was snoring."
I laugh in surprise. 
"That was my first reaction in discomfort and disbelief upon hearing that, too," she says.  "I can understand if the music is relaxing or if someone was really tired for whatever reason or another... but his behavior beforehand tells me that he wasn't interested in listening to the message whatsoever."
"What'd he do?" I question intrigued. 
She sighs, "It's honestly really hard for me to talk about this.  The man I've known for years... who I even thought I cared enough for to marry turned out to be putting on a facade the entire time I've known him.  It's as if he was lying to my face or putting on an act...  Gale said he spit coffee he didn't like out on the church floor, complained about it, and threw the full cup near a trash can.  I can only imagine the mess a volunteer had to clean up."
"Sounds like a mongrel," I mock. 
"Yeah, I really know how to pick them," she says disappointedly. 
I move closer to her and grasp her hand.  "I wasn't insulting you," I tell her. 
"I know.  Can... can we not talk about him?" she says with her voice cracking. 
"Yeah," I whisper.  She's really struggling with this.  I don't know how I'm barely bothered by my ex-girlfriend.  I'm not even thinking about her much.  I'm almost relieved it's over—that I wasn't the one to have to call it off.  I think we just grew apart.  I wish she would've told me she wanted to end it though since I was actually trying to make it work.  We could've parted earlier on better terms.  Now, I'm probably never going to speak to her again.
I hear Megan sigh and she begins to play the next song.  I really want to hear her sing but I honestly think I make her nervous.  I'm enjoying hearing her practice the little bit she's letting me sit here for.  She does seem decently skilled.  I look her over and can't keep my eyes off of her.  She's so beautiful.  She has dark brown hair that reaches past the middle of her back.  She has a medium shade of brown eyes with a black ring around each.  Her lips are full and sensual.  Her nose is cute and little.  She's crinkled it a few times today and I couldn't help but smile at the expression.  She has high cheekbones.  Her eyebrows are perfect arches and I can tell that she's not wearing makeup like many women do—that she wasn't earlier either.  Her brows aren't excessively full like the style as of late and I like that.  She's actually prettier without makeup than most people are with makeup.  She has a couple beauty marks on her face.  One is just below her right eye, another to the right side of her nose, and one on the left side of her chin.  They're minuscule though and can only be seen up close.  Her completion is flawless and I'm wondering why she doesn't model.  She's tall for a female and slim, yet I noticed earlier she's quite fit and muscular for a sheila.  She's no bodybuilder, just her muscles fit her size.  She has some curve to her body—not the curves of a full-grown lady but she is definitely old enough for me.  Although, I've never dated anyone quite as young as her before. 
I observe her as she goes through all of the songs quickly, then puts my guitar away in the case. 
"You can keep it here tonight," I tell her. 
"Thank you," she whispers. 
"Do you want to go to that bonfire?" I ask. 
"Yes," she smiles. 
"Let's go, then," I say getting up.