Queen of the Headphone Zombies

Bridge

*This is a double update!! If you haven't read the last chapter, Cacophony, scroll back to read that first! We owed you a couple 😉🎵*

Dead Man's Party // Oingo Boingo

ZOE

The nerves are real. And by real, I mean fucking real, like there is a car-sized knot sitting right now in my stomach.

It's bigger than a car, more like a freaking Mac Truck.

I look at Emerson as we stand backstage waiting to walk on and own the room; at least I'm planning on owning it. We'll see if we can pull it off. Em is in full zombie mode. Chelsea decked him out in green paint and fake rotting skin. But she also added punk details like his spiked hair and guyliner, which I never realized was so sexy. On fire sexy, I'm actually sweating a little just looking in his eyes. There's something about his rich brown eyes lined in heavy black that makes my skin tingle with need.

Well, at least his hotness has taken my mind off of the fact that we're about to out ourselves as a band.

Although no one will recognize us with all the zombie stuff, so we aren't exactly outing ourselves yet. Chelsea didn't just deck out Emerson, she worked her magic on the entire band, creating a walking dead effect, like the resurrection of the ghosts of punk's past. We are all silently nervous waiting to go on stage, but the tension is thicker than I can stand. It is bouncing off my skin and vibrating all around me and within me.

Emerson been feeling it too, I can tell. His silence speaks volumes, accented by that look in his eye, that look of panic just lying under the surface. I'm feeling the pressure too, but his nervous energy is off the charts. I don't want him to doubt himself or his talent. I need to do something, so I take the two steps from my side of the wings to his and push up against his chest. I'm forcing him to focus on me, on my body pressed against his. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, feeling his sharp intake of breath, and watch as his eyes find mine.

"You've got this, Em," I whisper. Then I just remain in place, telling him with my eyes that his mad talent is enough, that he will shine out there, that he has nothing to fear because I'll be right there with him.

I watch as his eyes flutter closed and he swallows just before taking a deep breath. My message has been received. When his eyes open he gives me a silent speech of his own.

I couldn't do this without you. You make me want to take risks. You make me brave.

I nod. Emerson leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, and we both breath deeply. Calmed, we turn to face the stage hand in hand. The MC announces the band.

The sound of our band name being spoken out loud causes all of us to stand up a little straighter.

This is it.

We are about to live the dream.

Holy shit we are about to play in front of a real crowd.

We sort of lumber out to our spots, zombie-like, and I watch as Emerson takes his place behind the drum kit. Not Dylan's drum kit this time. Chelsea, who's off somewhere in the room incognito, had worked a deal to have one set up for the night, so we didn't have to haul Dylan's out of his garage. That would have been a nightmare. And something hard to explain if someone saw us.

The sight of Emerson sitting behind the drums in his full punk zombie attire has my heart doing all kinds of crazy flips. And this new excitement that is coursing through me has nothing to do with performance anxiety. I'm beyond nerves now.

I'm on fire.

Josh gets us started with a guitar riff then Emerson hits the beat.

Seconds later, it's on.