The carpet is soft under my legs, freshly vacuumed and clean, and for the first time today I feel at peace, with my legs crossed under me, my Epiphone acoustic resting in my lap, my ratty composition book open in front of me, Disintegration flowing softly from the record player. My face is free of makeup, my hair still wet from my shower, and despite the permanent cloud hanging over my head I feel slightly at ease.
I strum a few cords with my pen trapped between my teeth, humming along as I pluck out a tune.
The reason why I continue to put on an act, the reason I suffer through mindless activities day in and day out, is this right here—my one true passion. Music was always supposed to be my way out, and it will be. I won't let anything else get in the way of that.
"Think there's a hole where my heart went..." I mumble aloud, scribbling the words into the lined paper. "Black...blood dripping on the....carpet."
My phone buzzes under my knee, and I yank it up and unlock the screen to check my messages.
Becky: Last chance, Ryah. C'mon, you're gonna miss out.
With an eye roll I drop the phone back to the floor, not bothering with a reply, and my fingers resume their positions on the strings. I begin to go back over what I've been incessantly working on for the last half hour, reworking some notes, making adjustments to the tempo, finalizing lyrics. It's always been my process, ever since I learned guitar and started writing music at age twelve, to work section by section, working out a rough draft of the music and lyrics before moving on to the next portion of the song.
"So just don't waste...nobody else waste," I sing, the string vibrating under my fingertips. "Don't waste your time on—"
A knock at my door startles me to a stop, and I hoist myself to my feet and close the short distance to the door. Pulling it open I see the last person I expected, though not really an unpleasant surprise.
"Halston," I state, my curiosity seeping through my tone. "What's up?"
He holds his right hand up to meet my gaze, his pointer finger extended, a white ribbon dangling off the end, an almost-smirk on his lips
"Your bow or ribbon or whatever. Found it in my car." He grabs it between his fingers and holds it out to me, the fabric falling into my palm when I extend my hand towards him. He's wearing an even more flattering t-shirt now, the cotton hugging his toned frame in all the right places.
Goosebumps prickle my skin—no draft to blame it on this time—and I gulp. I almost forgot what it's like to find a man attractive, but my body sure didn't forget.
"Thank you," I reply, my eyes meeting his stormy ones. They are so dark brown they're almost black, a soft silvery speck directly beside his right iris glistens in the overhead light, the only real sign of life within them. It's almost like looking in a mirror, in a sense—I often notice that my eyes seem dead and lifeless too.
If anyone bothered to pay enough attention they'd notice that about me.
With a curt nod Halston spins on his heels and reaches his door in three quick steps.
"Hey, Halston," I interject, the small act of raw kindness leaving me feeling brave. "I owe you. For the ride and all. I was gonna go next door for some Chinese food. Wanna come?"
He stares at me from across the hall, his lips briefly falling open, then pressing together in a tight line, as if he's wrestling with something in his mind.
"I already ate," he finally says. "But thanks. See ya around." And with that he ducks back inside his room, the door clicking closed behind him. I slink back inside my own room, allowing the breath I had been holding—albeit, unknowingly—to escape my lungs.
