But There's More To You

4 | If breathing is scary, why are you still alive?

"What's wrong?"

Cynthia didn't mean for it to be obvious that she was genuinely not okay, worry eating at her sides, depriving her of sleep and pushing her around till she was sure she was just a rag doll with no other purpose than to be used. She wasn't feeling well, utterly distraught but still trying to push through, having no other choice, but Jade seemed to see past her blinds, clearly, eyeing her the moment she stepped a foot inside the now familiar car.

They didn't talk about the kiss. Jade never seemed to mention it and Cynthia was too scared to address it, so it stayed that way, for weeks on end. Buried into the depths of nothingness till it sunk, till it sunk and drowned beyond saving.

And matter of fact, she sort of...accepted it.

It was too good to be true in the producer's opinion, so despite being swarmed with rehearsal after rehearsal along with the lock she used to keep herself inside her studio till she could no longer see from how sleep deprived she was, she couldn't help but think about it, about how sugary Jade's lips tasted against hers and she eventually chose to believe it never even happened in the first place, that it had been a dream, that the night she let her cold fingers rise from Jade's chest to rest against his face as she kissed him till she was sure she could see colors without having to open her eyes was an absolute illusion. And if it wasn't, then it was just a dream of them in an alternative universe; an alternative universe where they both weren't the same way they were now.

An alternative universe where Cynthia was never a producer and Jade never a singer, an alternative universe where Cynthia could roam the streets without worrying about getting mobbed and Jade never mugged, an alternative universe where perhaps Cynthia owned her own bakery and Jade worked at a pet shelter. An alternative universe where they both existed in different bodies but all tied by the same soul. An alternative universe.

"Nothing...just stressed," she mumbled.

"Hm?"

Cynthia knew he heard her, so well actually, he only needed to understand why now, he wanted to hear Cynthia's side of the story, her worries, and nobody was ever there to listen to the producer so the moment Jade offered her that soft hum, she felt a lump automatically rise up her throat, her heels thumping against the padded flooring of the car to try to distract herself for the sudden urge to cry.

And at first, Cynthia was going to stay silent, to never respond to that comforting hum, to ask Jade to let the car's roof down to feel that stingy breeze against her cheeks because when the wind blew hard against her face, her tears never surfaced her skin and therefore, in her head, she never cried.

Jade only glanced at her for a second to know that she was barely hanging on and that itself made Cynthia even more vulnerable. Her shaking leg only seeming to calm down once a warm hand pressed atop of her thigh, lowering it down so that the nerves running through her veins would slow down. Cynthia could feel the singer's thumb caress over her clothed thigh, a gentle ease to his warm touch, a successful attempt at grounding the producer. "Tell me, Rosie," he spoke slowly, although eyes on the road but his attention all the way to the producer.

And how could Cynthia ever decline the offer when Jade was speaking ever so softly, moving ever so slowly and pressing against her body ever so gently as though she had been a prized possession, so she took a deep breath in.

"My first concert is at the end of this month. it's inevitable- I postponed it last month and I can't postpone it again...it's just unfair for the people who have already paid and sold out the tickets and are excited," she couldn't help herself, her words like water flooding from a broken faucet, eyes staring outside the window, never meeting Jade's because she knew if she did, she would break down and cry horribly.