𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝘢.𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

☾︎ 𝔾𝕃𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔸𝕃𝔼 ☽︎

May 9, 2018

The air in the dressing room felt heavy, charged with the electricity of anticipation. Brooklyn paced back and forth, a water bottle in one hand, the other running constantly through her loose hair, tangling it with her fingers in a nervous gesture. Her lips murmured fragments of songs, as if she could calm her anxiety with the sound of her own voice, as if each word were an anchor keeping her grounded in reality.

But the reality was that she was terrified.

Her heart pounded against her chest with an almost painful force. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. She had read somewhere that controlling your breathing helped with anxiety. But at that moment, no technique seemed strong enough to calm the storm inside her.

This wasn't just another concert. It wasn't just another performance on an endless tour. This was her comeback. Her first time on a stage of this magnitude after three years. Her first tour after the disaster that had been 2016.

The memory of that year hit her without warning, like a cold gust in a warm room. She saw herself in those dark months, lost in the chaos of cruel headlines, of social media turned into weapons, of people who adored her one day and tore her apart the next. The press had shredded her. Her confidence had been crushed. There were nights when she didn't even dare to touch her guitar because every chord reminded her of what she had lost.

Brooklyn squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let those thoughts take over now. She had worked too hard to get here. She had written an album that was her most honest confession, her catharsis, her truth. And more importantly, she had Alex by her side during the worst moments, reminding her who she was when she had forgotten herself.

The sound of the door opening abruptly pulled her from her thoughts. She turned immediately, her breathing still uneven, and then she saw her.

Alex was there, leaning against the doorway, exuding her usual calm and confidence. She wore jeans and a simple black T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, but what truly caught Brooklyn's attention was the smile on her lips.

"Hey, superstar," Alex greeted softly, closing the door behind her.

Brooklyn tried to return the smile, but the knot in her stomach remained. Alex noticed instantly.

Without a word, she crossed the room and took Brooklyn's hands gently. Brooklyn realized she was trembling when she felt Alex's warm fingers rubbing hers in a soothing gesture.

"You're shaking," Alex murmured, her voice filled with a mix of concern and tenderness that always managed to break through Brooklyn's defenses.

Brooklyn lowered her gaze, feeling vulnerable but unable to lie to her.

"I'm nervous," she admitted quietly. There was no point in pretending with her.

Alex nodded, not letting go of her hands. "That's normal," she said softly. "It's a big night."

Brooklyn let out a humorless laugh. "It's more than that, Alex. I feel like… I have to prove something. Not just to them, but to myself."

Alex's eyes softened, full of understanding. She had been there. She had witnessed every tear, every moment Brooklyn wanted to give up. She had been her rock when everything seemed to be falling apart.

"Brooklyn," she said, running a hand through her hair, brushing her thumb against her cheek, "you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You already have."