"What's your advice about life?"
"Live Fast, Die Young." She said low. "Life taught me that in mere seconds we might be not breathing anymore and everything will be gone. So you've got to live your life as much as you can. Do e everything you want t...
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Shivers run down my spine countless times and I can feel the bones underneath my skin shaking. The nervousness building up inside me are bigger than myself.
Duff did it. He got me a session with his manager for me to sing, so the man can evaluate my singing and to tell me I have either or not talent to be a star.
We are now on our way to Rumbo Studios and I feel like I'm going to pass out. Fear of making fool of myself in front of people rushing all over me.
Feeling Duff's hand touch mine, I hold it. His touch always makes me feel at ease. From the window, I watch the sunny streets, the trees, the people minding their own business.
"You don't need to be nervous." The blond tells me, his voice so soft as always. "You'll do great."
I take a deep breath, trying to believe that myself. I try, I try hard. But I can't stop feeling my chest filling up with pure anxiety.
The car is already parked on the studio parking lot. We took less time that I wish we would. I glance over my lap for a moment, trying to think of something to gain a bit more time.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I take yet another deep breath.
All the possible scenarios of what's about to happen next rush through my mind a blink, and it makes it even harder to breathe. I try to calm down and not have some kind of attack, but it's hard.
"Heather." Duff's voice brings me back to the moment and my eyes meet his. "It's going to be fine. I'll be with you the whole time."
I only limit myself to nod and take off my seatbelt, ready to face whatever has to come. The faster I do this, the faster this nightmare will be over.
I sound ungrateful, I know. There's people around here who would give anything to have this opportunity and I'm acting like a brat and spoiled child.
I'm better than this.
When we arrive at the recording room where the Guns usually work, a man is already there, sat on a chair, reading a newspaper.
He has a hard expression restion his his face along with glasses. His heir is slick and reach his shoulder and his beard is weird.
Duff introduces us. The man sat on the chair, Alan Niven, gives me a smile and shakes my hand.
After a small talk, we start talking about the reason we are all here. My ability to sing.
My boyfriend, brags about my hidden talent, making my cheeks flush. I'm not as good as he claims me to be.
I'm given instruction to go on the recording booth, but the headphones on and sing. Shyly, I do as I'm told.
"Sing something you know by heart. Something you love and it has meaning to you." Alan tells me and I nod.
In my head, I search for a song that fills the requirements asked.
