Behind The Beat

IX - The Distance

The faint hum of a guitar filled Rozalie's room, blending with the occasional creak of the apartment settling. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her guitar balanced on her knee, strumming the same riff over and over. Each note felt like a small battle—finding the right rhythm, hitting the right pitch, and stopping when the sound wasn't perfect. Her fingers brushed the strings, slightly out of tune, but she ignored it, unable to stop the feeling that the song still wasn't ready. Every failure felt like a mark on her record, something she couldn't erase.

For the past few days, this had been her routine. The rehearsals were overwhelming, the pressure palpable even when no one looked directly at her. Here, in the quiet solitude of her room, she could stumble and fix her mistakes without judgment. It was safer.

The soft padding of footsteps broke her concentration, and Rozalie glanced toward the door to find Val leaning casually against the frame. Her presence, always steady, made the room feel smaller somehow, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was like a space where Rozalie could breathe, even if she hadn't quite figured out how to share it yet.

— You know — Val began, her tone teasing — I'm not half-bad with a guitar. You could've asked me to help.

Rozalie's fingers stilled on the strings. She set the guitar down carefully, her gaze dropping to the floor, suddenly self-conscious. The silence between them stretched for a moment before she spoke.

— I didn't want to bother you — her voice quiet.

Val's expression softened, the playful glint in her eyes replaced with something more sincere. She stepped inside the room, crossing the threshold, and settled down beside Rozalie, sitting on the edge of the bed.

— Bother me? Rose, I'd love to help. That's kinda the point of you being here.

Rozalie hesitated, her fingers absently brushing the edge of the guitar. The hesitation wasn't in the words she wanted to say, but in the vulnerability she'd have to reveal to say them. The truth that hovered just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment.

— I just... I like to practice alone — she said eventually, her gaze still fixed on the floor, avoiding Val's eyes. — It helps me catch my mistakes.

Val tilted her head slightly, studying her with a curiosity that made Rozalie squirm. The way Val's eyes searched her, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn't sure how to solve yet, was too much. Rozalie wanted to shrink back into the safety of the walls she'd built. But the words, soft and gentle, cut through the tension.

— That's it? — Val asked gently. — Because, if I'm being honest, it kinda seems like you're scared of messing up in front of me.

Rozalie froze, her breath catching in her throat. The air seemed to thicken, the words too heavy to bear. She didn't respond, but the silence in the room answered Val's question in its own way. She didn't rush Rozalie, giving her space to breathe and think.

— Rose, you know I'm not going to lose it if you screw up, right? That's not how I roll.

Rozalie forced a small, tight smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She wished it did. She wanted to believe it.

— I know — she murmured, her voice uneven. — It's just... easier this way.

Val didn't push. She didn't need to. Instead, she reached out, giving Rozalie's shoulder a gentle squeeze, a silent promise that no matter what, she wouldn't let go.

— Alright — she said finally, her tone warm and reassuring. — But don't forget—I'm here, okay? Anytime.

Rozalie nodded, her fingers brushing the strings absently as Val left the room. Her words hung in the quiet like an unspoken invitation, an offer Rozalie wasn't sure she was ready to accept, but was slowly beginning to understand.