Heartbreaker [h.s.]

Chapter One

"They asked you to come in for an audition?" My best friend, Eva, asks with a voice that's raised from excitement. She's perched on my bed, and truthfully, in my way, as I rush around trying to find the red leather pants that I want to wear for, maybe, the most important day of my life.

It's a cliche, really, but I grew up in a small southern town; raised among churches, dirt roads, and a mother who incessantly entered me in beauty pageants that I wanted nothing to do with. My dreams veered way off the path of what was considered appropriate for me by my parents and folks in town. That's why I had a boy from school secretly teach me how to play guitar, which I'd pay him back for with shitty handjobs. And then I got a job at the local diner that paid meagerly so I could save up for the used electric guitar that hung at the pawn shop in the town over.

The summer after I graduated high school, I was feeling extra restless when my boyfriend at the time, Colton Wright, proposed to me. I agreed upon the initial question and then laid awake that night in the stale summer heat and decided I needed to bolt out of there. And that's why the next day, with whatever money I had left over, I purchased a bus ticket and cheap bottle of vodka with my fake ID and headed to New York City.

Not that I always knew I wanted to be a musician, but I knew what I didn't want, and that's whatever life I would have had back in Mississippi.

It wasn't until I learned of the true caliber of my talent that I decided, steadfast and stubborn, that music was it for me. And I'd work tirelessly to make it my reality.

Which is why today is of the utmost importance.

"Yes," I hiss at her. "Now will you move! I think you're sitting on the pants I want to wear." As soon as her denim clad ass gets up, I spot the deep red embossed leather that I was searching for and slide them up my legs.

I got an email from the bands manager earlier today telling me that the band listened to all the demos sent in and that mine is among one of the standouts. He asked me to come for an in-person audition—same day which is why I'm stumbling around, trying to look presentable for, what could be, the beginning of everything.

Adjusting her minuscule crop top that looks more like a bra, Eva now finds a seat on my fuzzy white desk chair. "Charlotte Brynn Leighton! This is a huge deal!" She shouts with a squeal.

I know it's a big deal, but in true southern superstitious-fashion, I keep my smile at bay with my lips pressed together, as to not get overly excited about something that might never come to fruition.

"I'm well aware of that, Eva. Thank you very much," I quip back, blue eyes narrowed.

"So are you gonna tell me what band you're auditioning for?"

"Shadow Pulse," I admit, running a brush through the tangled copper mess that is my hair.

The band is pretty well known in the indie rock enclave. They're not huge, but they definitely have potential to become bigger. They play venues like the House of Blues—places that size.