The music, money and melancholy.
It starts at the ending and ends with another.
A very different novel about the lives of the rich. The sacrifices and the hardships. The sinful endeavours of two of the most renowned musical artists.
( It takes place...
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Song for the chapter: The Hills ~ By: The Weeknd
Found out I was coming, sent your friends home. Keep on tryna hide it but your friends know. I only call you when it's half past five, The only time that I'd be by your side. I only love it when you touch me, not feel me. When I'm fucked up that's the real me, When I'm fucked up that's the real me.
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"So, you mean to say... today's your interview?"
The man stood dumbfounded, almost as if he hadn't expected to be declined with such an incredulous excuse.
Of course, the man knew Raven was never very fond of social events. Not even those with friends. But saying that she had to get ready for a demo, and record the final ad-libs just seemed like something she won't ever joke on.
It was a very hard process, yes. And the woman looked much paler than her usual yellow-ish hue, almost like a parched vampire because of her black outfit. The man was worried because something was up.
"I'm telling you, Triton, you're wasting my time. I have so damn much to do before this meeting." The woman vented out her worries, moving to and fro in the recording studio. Triton, for sure, didn't know what was wrong or right, but one thing was clear...Raven was too stressed.
She knew that too and that was the reason for her getting more hyper by the minute. Just the very thought of showing a demo song to the very posh CEO seemed like a war declaration.
She could almost hear clocks of her doom ticking.
She couldn't sing because her adrenaline rush was getting the best of her. Usually, Raven did good under pressure. But there was something more biting away at her, she felt as if it was truly her first time showing her prized possessions. She was afraid of getting judged.
Raven had worked her way through the song and the instrumentals were near perfect. Now, her voice seemed to shake and crack at the most simplest of notes, and she hated herself more for it.
"Raven...stop. Just stop. At this rate, you'll hyperventilate. That'll be no good for whatever your meeting is about." Triton tried to calm down the singer as much as it was possible without knowing from where she came from. What was the interview about.
"Right." The said let out, huffing at the sheet of lyrics in her hands.
She was shaking like a leaf, her palms sweaty. "Everything's wrong. Everything's wrong." The woman still kept mumbling away at her anxiety.
She couldn't show her work. It had been rejected, during the first few years of her debut, and since then she had lost trust in her own words.
