Behind The Beat

X - The Problem

The venue was humming with restless energy. The faint scent of beer and sweat mixed with the tang of freshly cleaned wood floors and stage equipment. Rozalie followed Val and the band through the back entrance, waeving past crew members carrying cables and adjustiong lights. The buzz of the audience beyond the walls was a low hum, vibrating through her chest like a hearbeat.

The green room was cramped but lively, its worn couches and scratched coffee table surrounded by the bands' casual conversations and last-minute preparations. Val had taken her place in the corner, tuning her guitar with a look of intense focus. Mike sat on the armrest of a couch, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his thigh while chatting with one of the techs.

Rose perched on the couch on the other side of the room, her eyes darting around the place. She wasn't sure where to focus.

— This is a nice venue — Rosalie said softly, more to herself than anyone else.

Mike chuckled, leaning back.

— Yeah, it's cozy. The sound's decent, too. Wait until you see the crowd from the stage—it always feels bigger than it looks.

Rozalie's stomach tightened at the thought of going on stage even to only look, but she pushed it aside. She was here to watch, to learn, not to perform.

Fifteen minutes before the show was set to start, the door burst open, and a crew member stepped inside, his face tense.

— We've got a problem — he said, glancing around the band.

Val straightened, her brow furrowing.

— What kind of problem?

— It's Jack — he replied. - Backup guitarist can't make it. He just called in.

The air in the room shifted instantly, the relaxed atmosphere giving way to tension. Mike swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

— You've got to be kidding me — Val muttered, pacing the small room.

— Can we adjust the setlist? — One of the other band members suggested.

— We'd lose half the show — Mike shot back.

Rozalie watched the conversation unfold, her anxiety rising even though she had nothing to do with the situation. Her hands twisted nervously in her lap, her pulse quickening with each passing second.

Suddenly, Val's gaze flicked to her, a spark of realization lighting up her eyes.

— Rose — she said firmly.

— What? — Rozalie froze, her breath catching.

— You've been practicing. You know the songs — Val said, stepping closer. Her tone was steady, her expression determined.

— No — Rose said immediately, shaking her head. — No way. I can't. I'm not ready.

Val crouched slightly so they were eye-level, her hands resting lightly on Rozalie's knees.

— Rose, listen to me. You are ready. You've been working your ass off, and you know these songs better than anyone else right now.

Rozalie pressed her back into the couch, her body stiff and rigid, as if she could sink into the cushions and disappear altogether. Her breath came faster, her chest tightening. She shook her head again, her voice trembling.

— I'll mess up. I'll ruin everything. They'll hate me. — The thoughts looped in her head like a broken record, their weight pressing down until it felt impossible to move. — I don't even have my guitar.