Spotlight ▹The 1975

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"HELLO, I'M TATE, AND I WILL BE YOUR
entertainment tonight." I said as I set myself into the seat and adjusted the microphone stand to my liking,"I am singing an original. I hope you all enjoy." I smiled before taking a deep breath.

My palms were incredibly sweaty and my shirt stuck to me like adhesive. I was nervous of course, it was the first time the manger had allowed me to sing on the stage, and thanks to the current rush hour, Starbucks was in fact swimming of people.

I looked over at the register eyeing for something to keep me stalling longer. Of course I shouldn't have stalled, people were leaning forward in there seats, waiting for something to spill from my mouth.

Run. My mind thought. Get up and run.

"Would you fücking start already?" An elder man yelled from his seat. Typical New Yorkers.

I shifted forward, ready to bounce off the seat, and back to my position as the barista.

My phone shook against my jeans.

Don't fücking screw up Tate. I gave you the opportunity.

I snapped my head to the booth only a few feet away from me. His fingers were tapping I the table brutally, yet his face was waiting there patiently. That was never a good sign.

I reached up for the mic and brought it close before shutting my eyes,

"Was I a narcissist for believing you loved me?
You were too caught up in poetic articulates to see what you had
I don't know if this is what you do, but I know it's not right for me nor you
And I have the habit of believing in anything that has the ability to feel euphoria in their heart
Isn't that a bit funny? Isn't that just a bit dreamy?
No I don't believe so, my head hurts at that thought that it is though
I'm pretty sure I've had a few drinks so don't mind me
At least I wasn't with you for the money
Oh,
I sent you a letter two weeks ago,
Asking if you had ever loved me though
You said 'I loved myself more then you can ever know'
You were a freaking esoteric so how the hell would I know?"

My eyes flew open, before the chorus, and I stared at the crowd of people, who were clapping for me. It was funny how the old man was as well.

I felt nauseous.

I ran off the stage quickly, my hair flying, only to reach the bathroom and sit on my knees inside a stall, letting myself spew forth my lunch.

"Tate!" My manager called,"Get the hell back out there!" He yelled from behind the stall door.

"Brian, your not supposed to be in the women's bathroom."

"I don't fücking care! Get back out there!"

I dropped my head in my hands,"I can't. I really can't. I'll vomit all over the stage. I know it."

"I'll put a bucket-"

"No! Okay no! As my friend, you know I can't do this!"

"As your friend, I know you can. And as your manager, I'll give you overtime, with no pay, if you don't do this." He threatened.