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CHAPTER 8,a mirror only works if you open your eyes...
What was supposed to be momentary, just to annoy Nathan, turned out to be a job for Phoebe. Everything the band needed, she went after it without complaining, attended meetings and never missed a single rehearsal.
Not clashing with Joey was easier than it looked, after they met at the gas station, they didn't talk anymore, Nathan still dropped some hints at her in rehearsals, but she ignored them to the point that he stopped. They only exchanged a few words if it was extremely necessary, but nothing more.
With the album release closer than ever, everyone was tense but very excited. There was a whole buzz around this album, "the first Slipknot album", the weight of the debut made everyone crazy. The internet was growing fast and so was their fame, they were never so grateful for wearing a mask before.
Phoebe was in an internal conflict about her mask, it was supposed to be something that represented her... But every time she thought about it, she felt like there was no personality type or something that could represent her, she even thought of a white mask, but Joey already wore one of these.
Drawings and more drawings filled her notebooks during rehearsal breaks, she didn't need to perform with them just yet, but it was all she wanted most.
— Dude, give it up — Luke said between drags, seeing Phoebe half-naked on his bed, a notebook on her thighs and a pencil in her mouth. — I can't stand you drawing these hideous masks any longer.
— I already told you I won't give up... I just need the right inspiration.
— You know this band is not going forward, right? — He stubbed out his cigarette and walked over to her, pulling out her notebook.
— Of course it will Luke, soon the new album will be out and... — He gave a soft laugh, sliding in to lie down beside her.
Luke pulled her into a hug that was supposed to be warm, but for Phoebe, it was just suffocating.
— No, honey — he buried her between his arms and bare chest, the scent of nicotine making her intoxicated. — No, no, no... It won't work. You know it.
— But Luke... — She was ready to protest, he just stroked her hair and cut her off.
— You know it's true — his voice was as soft as a huge sheet of the purest silk, the problem was that there were needles hidden in the fabric. — Remember our other band? — Phoebe's heart clenched in her chest. — Maybe your destiny isn't to play in a band.
Luke caressed her face, she felt like crying. All she needed now was a hug, to feel comfortable. But what could she do if her comfort was what hurt her the most?
— Shhh... no need to cry, I'm here, love — Luke wiped her tears and pulled her closer. - It's the truth, if it weren't for me, everything would have gone wrong. Glad you have me to fix your shit.
Luke coiled around her like a snake, nearly crushing her bones so he could eat her, he hissed and she could have sworn there was venom in his bites.
— I'll be here forever — he brushed a lock of her hair out of the way to kiss her neck. Forever.
He only let go of her to answer the phone that was ringing on the first floor. Phoebe sat up in bed, feeling guilty about something she didn't even know, her heart pounding against her hand, nothing new under the sun.
When she looked up, she saw her face in the broken mirror – Luke had punched it in one of their fights to scare her. The broken reflection of her tired face looked more like her than her own face in a perfect mirror.
The other day, she pitched her mask idea to Corey and Paul, and soon she was able to take the stage as the new masquerade number 9.
— Number 9... Bring your ass over here — Corey spoke into the microphone at the beginning of the first show with her, Phoebe felt like she was going to throw up from nervousness, but she did as Corey asked her to and walked up to the stage.
Her mask was several pieces of broken mirror glued together, she herself had broken a mirror and glued it to whatever black mask she had bought. The mirror's shards were smeared with something red and black, simulating blood and tar.
With trembling and sweaty hands, the girl adjusted her instrument on her body by the strap. Her apprehensive eyes darted around the audience, everyone looked like a blur, she wondered if she would really go on to play something, until Corey announced the name of the song and the other members started playing.
Her chords came out automatically and the pressure slowly dissolved into the air. Eventually she managed to see the faces of the people in the audience, some were familiar, she was sure she had seen some of those people at previous shows, when she was in the back, just following the band.
What was once apprehension turned to euphoria before becoming disappointment and, soon after, anger. Luke wasn't anywhere in that bar, she thought she just wasn't seeing him, but then it became obvious he wasn't there, he was tall enough to stand out in that crowd. The tears came but never left.
With heavy steps, Phoebe left the stage after the show. Carefully, she unbuckled the buckles of her mask, set it on top of her dressing table, sat up and looked at herself in the mirror. She wet a cotton pad and wiped the black makeup off her face. She unzipped her industrial red jumpsuit, revealing the white shirt she wore underneath, stripping off her warm suit top.
Everyone was too busy with their post-show rituals to notice the melancholy cloud forming on top of the girl's head.
An old napkin lay just under her mask, she pulled it out along with a pen on the dresser next to her.
"How can I let someone have so much influence in my life?", she wrote on the paper.
— Let's go out to eat — Corey said, approaching his friend and holding her shoulders, he wasn't asking. — Hey, what's up?
— Nothing.
— I didn't expect to see you like this after your first show — he looked at her face in the mirror. She laughed. Her mask rested just beside the mirror.
— I just got tired — she said, standing up and stretching.
— I know — he looked at the paper on the table. — Look, if Luke is—
— I don't want to talk about it — she cut him off so abruptly that he startled. — I'm going to change clothes.
Corey crossed his arms and watched her bend down to get her bag under the dresser, Joey approached Corey to ask something. Something caught their eyes: A rock stain on the girl's arm, in the perfect shape of a hand squeezing. The vocalist wasted no time in pointing that out as soon as the girl stood up.
— What the fuck is this, Phoebe? — Corey asked.
— I said I don't fucking want to talk about it! — She practically screamed, drawing the attention of the others who were still there. Sid approached, thinking it was a fight, Joey just crossed his eyebrows, alternating his gaze between the stain and the guitarist's face.
— What's going on, cousin? — Sid asked.
— Nothing! Nothing's happening! Phoebe looked annoyed more. — What the fuck are you looking at, Jordison? — She asked, before walking away from the trio.
