She is beautiful. Never in my life have I seen a woman so gorgeous. I stare at her like I'm in a trance. I must be, because it's impossible to look away. Her red lips. Her soft closed eyes. He long blonde hair. Her hips. Her hands in the red sparkly...
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I take a deep breath, steadying myself. Tonight's not over yet, and I need to keep it together. But as I look in the mirror, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep up this act before everything starts to crumble.
I take a deep breath before stepping out of the dressing room, my nerves taut like strings. I've got about five minutes before I have to go on stage again. This time, it needs to be a happy song, something light and fun so people can dance. It's Friday, the night everyone comes here to forget their troubles, and I'm supposed to help with that. I exhale, trying to push down the unease in my chest.
I can already hear William out there playing the piano, filling the space with his usual effortless melodies. I don't know how he manages to keep going all night without a break. Doesn't his fingers get tired? He seems like a machine sometimes, always calm and collected, never missing a beat. The thought makes me smile a little. He's always been like that, a constant source of stability in the chaos.
The muffled sound of laughter and the shuffle of people dancing reaches my ears. Lacy's on stage right now, performing with some of the others. I peek out from behind the curtain, scanning the crowd. The place is packed, as usual. I feel a pang of nervousness, but I remind myself that this is routine. I've done it a thousand times before. I just need to get through these next songs, and then I'm free.
As I look closer, I spot him. Michael. He's sitting at a table, laughing with Steven and James—his friends from the military, I think. I can't help but feel a wave of relief wash over me at the sight of him. There's something about seeing him there, smiling like nothing in the world is wrong, that calms me. Like he doesn't have to go to the war. Like he's not at risk of losing everything. But the moment passes, and I pull myself back to reality. I need to get ready.
The spotlight turns toward me as I step onto the stage, my lips curling into a wide, cheerful smile. The crowd cheers, and I take a second to bask in the energy of it. But inside, I feel a disconnect. The song I'm about to sing is upbeat, full of life, but I don't feel any of it. I've never been good at writing happy songs. I don't know how.
I take a deep breath and start singing, hitting every note perfectly, my voice soaring above the piano and the crowd's clapping. The smile on my face is bright, but hollow. My mind drifts as I perform, wandering back to darker, quieter places. I much prefer the sad songs—they feel real, like they come from a place deep inside me. But this? It's all an act.
After my two songs, I step off the stage, applause ringing in my ears. The club's alive with laughter and conversation. The sound of boots shuffling, glasses clinking, and people's chatter fills the air. I start to gather my things, switching back into the clothes I arrived in. I'm always one of the first to leave—after all, I'm usually one of the first to arrive.
As I pack up, I glance back at the stage. The band is still playing, the guitarist laughing with William, their faces lit up in the warm glow of the stage lights. It's good to see them like this. It's been too long since William smiled like that, since the weight of his illness lifted. The sight warms something in my chest.
