Rewrite the Rules

Mary: Part 66

"Oh, hold up," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. "Sorry, I missed..." The words died on my lips, the weight of my failure pressing down on me.

Bass, ever the pragmatist, stepped in. "Okay, how about this?" she suggested. "Play Namjoon's recorded vocals on the track. Now, Emma, sing everything you can. We'll pick the best parts later."

Relief washed over me, warm and welcome. With a renewed sense of confidence, I launched into the song, pouring my emotions into every note. We did it five times in total, each iteration a little smoother, a little more polished. By the end, a thrill of accomplishment coursed through me.

Stepping out of the booth, a shy smile played on my lips. Maybe I wasn't a professional singer, but for a brief, glorious instant, I had created something beautiful with Namjoon. And that, in itself, was a memory I would treasure forever.

Stepping out of the booth, a shy smile played on my lips. My voice, shaky at first, had grown stronger with each take.

"That was so fun." I said.

A lightness bloomed in my chest, a sense of accomplishment that radiated outward, warming my fingertips. For a brief, glorious second, I had created something beautiful with Namjoon. And that feeling, that shared creativity, was a memory I would hold close.

His phone still in my hand. My gaze snagged on a notification - a new text. A single word, innocuous on its own, sent a tremor of fear through me: Mary.

My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs as I inched closer, a morbid fascination pulling me towards the digital abyss. The message itself wasn't long, just two texts, but they were enough to shatter the fragile trust I'd built.

As I read them again a wave of nausea crashing over me.

The blood drained from my face, leaving behind a cold, hollow shell. Anger, hot and searing, threatened to bubble over.

The red marks blooming on my arms, self-inflicted seconds ago in a desperate attempt to quell the bubbling anxiety, suddenly felt like a beacon of my emotional turmoil. There was no hiding the storm brewing within me.

Bass clapped her hands, oblivious to the emotional earthquake happening within inches of her. "That's good, Em!" she boomed, her voice a jarring intrusion into my private hell. "We got some magic there."

Namjoon, bless his oblivious heart, reached out to pull me into a hug. My body recoiled, the physical contact a stark reminder of the emotional chasm that had suddenly opened between us. A strangled laugh escaped my lips, a hollow sound that echoed in the sterile silence of the control room.

"Wow, that was like a real pro." Bass said.

"No," I managed, my voice strained. "I... I took voice lessons when I was younger. Confidence building exercise, you know?" The words tasted like ash in my mouth, a pathetic attempt at normalcy in the face of betrayal.

Bass's brow furrowed in confusion. "Have you ever...?" she started, but I cut her off.

"Never," I declared, the anger finally finding its voice. "I'm not meant to be a singer. It's..." My voice trailed off, the rest of the sentence choked back by a sob that escaped my throat.

"Bass, I'm so sorry," I stammered, pushing past her outstretched hand. "Namjoon and I need to talk. Can you give us a second?"

Her eyes widened in concern, but she nodded silently, exiting the room with a soft click of the door. We were alone. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until I could bear it no longer.

"Em?" Namjoon's voice, laced with confusion, finally broke the tension. "What's wrong? If you don't want to sing anymore, I understand. I'm so sorry..."

His apology died on his lips as I met his gaze, the pain in my eyes mirroring the turmoil within. "I know you were with Mary last night," I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush of hurt and betrayal. There was no point in waiting, no room for gentle accusations. The truth, however ugly, had to be faced.

I held up his phone and showed him the two texts.

Mary: You were great last night.

Mary: I'm up for the next time, if you are. Keeping it secret from your girl, I hope it works out. Don't get caught.

The name hit me like a physical blow. "Mary?" He choked out, the single word laced with hurt and disbelief. My gaze darted to his phone, the screen dark now, the incriminating evidence seemingly vanished.

"You got a text from her about last night," I continued, my voice barely a whisper. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Don't worry, she's up for the next time, right? The wait until later, that was just a clever ploy to keep me strung along. Silly, silly me for falling for it."

Namjoon's head snapped up, confusion etched on his features. "What? Who? No," he stammered, his voice laced with genuine bewilderment.

"Yes, Namjoon," I pressed on, my voice gaining strength with each word. "I saw the text. It was clear as day."

He floundered for a moment, his hand instinctively reaching for his phone. "No, Emma, you see..." His voice trailed off, a panicked look flashing in his eyes as he stared at the screen. My stomach lurched - was he trying to delete the evidence?

"Right," I said, the single word dripping with sarcasm. "Okay, well, I think I'll just get going then. Namjoon." My voice, devoid of its usual warmth, echoed in the sterile silence of the room.

"No, Em, wait..." He lunged for me, his hand outstretched, but I recoiled, the movement sharp and instinctive. "Oh, f@@k it," he muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his voice. "I'm the worst keeper of secrets. My whole life is a spoiler alert."

"No!" I cried out, my voice thick with emotion. I yanked my hand free, the sting of betrayal a raw ache in my chest. "Don't touch me!"

"Baby, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice softening. But the pet name, usually a source of comfort, now grated on my nerves.

"Enough," I choked out, my voice trembling with unshed tears. "I... I really think..." My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, the words refusing to form a coherent sentence. "It's time for me leave."