Behind The Beat

XVII - The Flashbacks

The studio hummed with its usual energy—a messy symphony of guitar riffs, rhythmic tapping, and crew members' chatter. But beneath the familiar noise, tension simmered. Rozalie perched on the edge of her chair, her guitar resting on her knee as she plucked at the strings absently, her eyes darting to Val.

Val wasn't herself. Usually the centerpiece of their rehearsals, Val's confidence and sharp focus set the pace for everyone else. But today, her movements were sluggish, her responses clipped. She sat with her guitar across her lap, tuning it absentmindedly, her gaze distant.

Chris, always quick to notice a crack in the veneer, leaned back against a speaker, arms crossed. His voice cut through the room like a blade.

— So, are we rehearsing today, or are we just watching the prodigy experiment?

Rozalie stiffened, her fingers freezing on the fretboard.

— Chris, knock it off — Mike said sharply, his tone carrying the weight of command.

Chris held up his hands in mock surrender, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

— Just saying. It's been all Rozalie, all the time lately. Makes you wonder who's running this thing.

Rozalie felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She glanced at Val, hoping for a word or even a look to anchor her, but Val's shoulders remained tense, her focus elsewhere. Rozalie bit her lip and forced herself to strum the chord progression they were supposed to be rehearsing.

— Let's go from the top — she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.

Mike gave her a small nod of encouragement, tapping out the rhythm. The music resumed, but Rozalie couldn't shake the feeling of walking on eggshells. She stepped in where Val faltered, her fingers instinctively bridging transitions, her focus so tight it hurt.

Chris, of course, couldn't let it go.

— Wow, she's running the show now, huh? — he quipped during a brief pause, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Rozalie's hands clenched around her guitar, the tension in the room tightening like a noose.

— Chris, seriously — Mike said, his tone harder now. — Cut the crap.

— I'm just saying — Chris muttered, unrepentant. — We're supposed to be a band, not a solo act.

The words stung, but Rozalie refused to look at him. She focused on her guitar instead, strumming a soft chord to drown out her thoughts.

— Let's take ten — Val said abruptly, her voice low and uncharacteristically flat. She set her guitar down and walked out without another word.

Rozalie hesitated, glancing toward Mike, who gave her a subtle nod.

— Go check on her, kiddo.

Rozalie found Val in the studio's storage room, sitting on a stool, her gaze fixed somewhere far away.

— Val? — Rozalie called softly.

Val glanced up, her expression guarded.

— Hey, Rose.

Her voice lacked its usual vibrancy, the word falling flat. Rozalie stepped inside, leaning her guitar against the wall as she approached cautiously.

— Are you okay? — she asked, her voice gentle but probing.

Val gave a faint, humorless laugh.

— That's the question of the day, isn't it?

Rozalie shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. The sight of Val—usually so composed—struggling to keep it together felt strangely wrong.