the one that got away, zayn malik

chapter eight

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY
CHAPTER EIGHT
5th of october 2014

THE last show of the 'where we are' tour in miami. the electric buzz of the crowd was enough to make anyone's nerves sing, but for olive, it was laced with a sense of dread. management had been at her all year, controlling her image, her actions, even her voice. tonight, it seemed, they had saved their worst for last.

the first few songs went smoothly until olive stepped up for her solo in "little things." she raised the mic, her voice just starting to blend with the others, but her words were swallowed by silence. she glanced down, pressing her mic button, hoping it was just a technical glitch. then, she caught sight of the management team watching her from the wings. their expressions were unfeeling, eyes fixed on her like they were waiting to see how she'd handle it.

next to her, niall caught on quickly. he sidestepped over, smiling casually, sharing his mic with her to make it look like a playful moment. but as olive leaned in to sing, his mic cut out too. she gave him a look, equal parts gratitude and frustration, but they had to keep moving, playing it off like everything was fine. the show had to go on.

during the intermission, olive barely made it backstage before a member of the management team approached her. he was brisk, his expression unreadable, as if delivering the most routine update.

"we're cutting your main parts for the rest of the show," he announced flatly.

olive felt her stomach drop. "what? but... it's the last show. i have solos. people came to hear the songs they love."

"and they'll still hear them," he replied, his tone clipped. "the boys will cover your verses."

she bit her lip, holding back her frustration. "why? i mean, what's the problem with me singing what i've always sung?"

he gave her a dismissive look, as though the answer was obvious. "you need to push your image more, olive," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "stick to what works. the narrative we're selling."

she could feel the familiar anger simmering, the resentment. "the narrative you're selling?" she echoed, voice low.

the manager's gaze was cold, detached. "it's why you're here," he said bluntly. then, with a faint, almost mocking smile, he added, "you're the band's sex symbol. stick to the role you're here for."

the words hit her like a slap, but she forced herself to nod, biting back every retort building up inside her. she knew that snapping now, minutes before they were supposed to go back onstage, would only make things worse.

as she returned to the others, the boys were trying to keep things light, chatting and joking, and for a moment, she considered telling them what management had just said. but she stopped herself. the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene when they were all about to walk out in front of thousands of fans.

back onstage, olive tried to fade into the background, though she couldn't hide the unease in her expression. when the cut solos came up, she felt a pang each time one of the boys stepped in, singing words that had once belonged to her. the small audience interactions she usually threw herself into felt half-hearted. she felt herself shrinking, questioning her every step.

finally, near the end of the show, she leaned over to niall during a quiet moment. he gave her a gentle nudge, a silent reassurance. "you alright?" he whispered, concern etched across his face.

olive forced a smile. "yeah," she murmured, though the lie felt heavy. "just... the usual, you know?"

niall nodded, glancing at her with quiet understanding, and for a moment, the weight lifted, just a little.

OLIVE stormed through the narrow backstage corridors, anger churning inside her like a storm that had no outlet. she felt the weight of every cut-off lyric, every muted line. her parts had been stripped without warning, her voice silenced. she found herself in the cramped office where management waited, huddled around a table with barely concealed smirks, as if her outrage was some petty annoyance.

they glanced up as she entered, unruffled. one of them leaned back in his chair, giving her a tight smile. "olive, something wrong?"

she crossed her arms, her voice icy. "you turned off my mic, cut my parts without any warning, and made me feel like i'm just here to fill some image. what's going on?"

one of the managers let out a sigh, feigning exasperation. "olive, you're taking this too personally. you have to understand, these decisions—these 'adjustments'—they're about the big picture. we need a certain balance, a dynamic."

"balance?" she nearly laughed, but it came out bitter. "there's no balance when i'm pushed to the side. i'm here to sing, just like the rest of them. i'm not here to be some background accessory."

"olive, calm down," the lead manager said, with a smile that was more condescending than reassuring. "you're blowing this out of proportion. nobody is trying to sideline you."

"no?" her voice cracked with anger. "then why cut my parts at the last minute? why keep turning off my mic? and calling me a 'sex symbol'—what was that supposed to mean?"

one of them raised his hands in a mock placating gesture. "when we say 'sex symbol,' we mean it as a compliment, olive. it's part of your appeal, your unique role in the group. it's not about minimizing you."

"not minimizing me?" she stared at him, incredulous. "you've reduced everything i do to my looks and made me feel like i'm nothing more than an image. you think any of this feels like a compliment?"

another manager jumped in, his tone infuriatingly calm. "olive, you're misinterpreting all of this. no one's saying you don't have talent; we're just asking you to focus on what you bring to the table. you're important to the brand."

"brand? that's all i am to you, isn't it?" she snapped. "some image you can mold to whatever you think will sell. you're not even letting me sing!"

the manager's expression tightened, his patience wearing thin. "you need to stop getting so emotional. this is a business, olive. not everything is a personal attack."

she took a step closer, her hands shaking. "it's not just business when you're stripping me of my voice. you're making me feel like i'm not even part of this band."

one of the other managers raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk on his face. "olive, you're overreacting. we make these decisions because they're best for the group. you're acting like we're out to get you."

"because that's exactly how it feels!" she could hear the tremor in her own voice, a mix of anger and hurt. "you've been doing this for months—chipping away at what i bring, sidelining me. i'm not crazy."

"maybe you are going a little crazy," he chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. "olive, you're the one blowing this out of proportion. you're seeing things that aren't there."

another manager joined in, his tone almost patronizing. "no one's attacking you, olive. you're misreading all of this. we're only trying to emphasize what works best for everyone, including you."

she looked around at them, at their composed faces, at the way they exchanged silent, knowing glances. the way they'd twisted everything made her head spin, and her frustration felt like it might choke her. how could they make her feel so dismissed, like she was making it all up?

without another word, olive turned and walked out of the room, their voices trailing after her, tinged with that same patronizing dismissal. each step felt heavier than the last as she realized how little she could trust them, and how they'd always find a way to make her doubt herself.

AUTHORS NOTE
😢😢

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