Background Noise [HS]

PROLOGUE

He looked like a proper rockstar up on stage. He had it all: the girls screaming his name in absolute adoration; the long, wild hair that fell over his face with every dip of his head; a much too-big frilly shirt that parted at the top like a curtain to reveal his chest and two swallow tattoos. She could picture the string of broken hearts he carried along like the mic cord that followed him around the large platform.

He had the makings of a rockstar, only—the songs he sang were sad.

She would sit there alone, every night, watching him. Her head couldn't wrap round the aura he held—the way he languidly moved across the stage on long, lanky legs while somehow managing to put off this daunting persona. He wore all black besides the brown shoes that served as a base for his tall stature. They were worn and tattered, holes littered here and there. Nevertheless, he moved effortlessly about the stage, taking the mic stand with him as he went.

The eyes of his audience followed his every move. They would light up as he approached the edge of the stage, a pair of tattooed arms reaching out to touch the girls who screamed in excitement. Violet chose to sit in a booth away from the crowd. It was neither a popular nor ideal location for the event, but it suited her well. It was from the far corner of the room that she sat without company and watched him.

She liked it that way, his eyes never finding hers in the dark room.

Although the distance between them was a great one, his voice seemed to encompass the club. It travelled loudly through speakers that hung high on the walls, echoing off the thin structures with the fading out of his crescendos. Her heart leapt at the mere sound and like this she found herself coming back every night for more, though she hadn't planned to spend the majority of her week at Club 102.

It was a place where people went to talk and gamble. One where a good time was downing an unhealthy amount of booze and blowing all of your money playing poker. Smoke hovered like a haze around the room, the scent present whenever you so much as took a breath. It would sink down into your chest and fill the void that brought you into the small, quaint establishment. She felt as though it were all a trap, somehow.

Cocktail waitresses loitered aimlessly about all around her. Every now and then they would make their way into her little corner and offer a tray of drinks. She would deny with a wave of her hand and a reassuring smile, peeping around the waitresses' body in search of the boy only to become frustrated when they turned round to follow her determined gaze.

"Got your eye on someone?" one had asked with a smile. The pearly white teeth were obnoxious in the dark room. She quickly became annoyed every time the waitress so much as spoke to her, avoiding the question like a plague.

"I'm not interested in a drink, thank you."

The waitress' smile dropped and then, the girl was left to be alone once again.

Harry had stopped to take a break. She caught a glimpse of him propping his guitar up against its amp before drunkenly stumbling down the steps leading up to the stage. The sea of girls swarmed him, the ones in front tugging and pulling at his clothes. Violet watched helplessly as his button-down nearly slipped from his broad shoulders.

The shirt was much too big for him.

Her eyes followed his presence across the room. He ducked his head down, messy mop of curls falling round his face as he pushed towards the restrooms located on the other side of the club. There was little respect given towards him on his journey from the stage to the pair of black double doors. It shouldn't have been such a feat to get there, but the girls who seemed to adore him made it so.

She despised the idea of the other women showing interest in him. They probably only possessed the urge for a nice shag from the rockstar up on stage, not the innocent curiosity that Violet held. She had never so much as had a vulgar thought about him. She wanted to know the story behind the sad way he carried himself, not fantasize over what he'd be capable of in bed. What the rasp of his voice would sound like in your ear, gravelly and raw.