DAYLIGHT FADING

six | well you'll up and get another one

                       | six: well you'll up and get another one |

                                                       or

                            | dirty pretty things: deadwood |

“How do you know?” Moira’s face transforms into one of shock as I yell, my eyes narrowing at her. My pulse thunders in my ears as I stalk towards her, my muscles tensing and shoulders dropping.

“It was only the name. I didn’t get further than the name. I couldn’t,” I relax at that. The name is okay. The secret remains safe. I would have preferred for not even her name to be found, but some things are impossible to bury. I can live with a name.

“That’s okay then,” I give Moira a sharp look, “and before you ask, no, I will not do some off-the-record answering of questions, especially on that particular subject.”

“How did you ever convince anyone that you were a pop star?” huh, I guess Moira does have the power to surprise. That’s the second time tonight that she’s done that. Maybe she’s just a terrible interviewer.

“Some very good acting and a very big reason to make sure no one could tell that I wasn’t,” and that’s as honest as I’ll probably ever get on that subject. Not for my sake, mind you. There are some secrets you don’t speak of, regardless of the circumstances and regardless of what changes.

“You’ll tell Adam Marr one day. I can tell,” I narrow my eyes at her.

“And how do you know that?” I actually wanted it to come out as a curious question, but instead it’s biting and slightly sarcastic.

“Because as much as neither of you wish to admit it, you’re perfect for each other, even now,” Moira gives me a secretive little smile and then wanders off. She really likes getting the last word in, doesn’t she? She’s also still stupid. Me, perfect for Adam Marr? That’s like saying a nuclear bomb is perfect for humanity.

I wander into my dressing room, twitchy and rattled. I’ve had a few too many bombshells dropped on me. Moira twice in the space of a minute and then having to strangle in my need to yell that Angel was a piece of crap for the entire interview. And the fact that I was in the same building as Adam Marr. That’s a pulse racer in itself.

I retrieve my iPod and headphones from my bag and click off The Bends. I need a song that means something in the current situation and as much as I love Radiohead, I’m not feeling it. Losing My Religion has been gotten out. I need something… different. More light-hearted.

My scroll stops on You Me At Six and I recall the lyrics to their latest single and decide that this is the one. I’m not going to be a purist and be all like ‘only old stuff is good’. Yes, I don’t agree that You Me At Six is rock, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy it. I like a lot of things that aren’t strictly speaking ‘rock’.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and shimmy down the corridor, not really caring if anyone sees me. Angel is never coming back. Angel’s dead and in the dirt, where she belongs. I can make real music now. I can learn what it’s like to go on a stage and play something that I mean again.

The song hits the chorus and I decide I really do love that line: ‘and if I lived a lie, would someone meet me on the other side?’. Perhaps I should be sad that now I’m on the other side, there isn’t anyone here for me, but I’ve got myself.

Perhaps I’ve got Cam, in a way, but phone calls don’t quite achieve what I need. I need people who will be mine, not totally, but in all of the ways that count. People who will take me as I am, but I don’t know if I’d recognise them if they were right in front of me.