To the Beat of My Heart

Wretched

Jaz leaves the wording of the competition Facebook page to me. I get it. It keeps me preoccupied and removes some of the hassle for her. I was just supposed to help her with the graphics but after our talk the other day in Amsterdam, she's been getting me more involved in behind the scenes things. Before it was just managing Clay's socials and I tried early on to help carry equipment, but I was just in the way. Everyone offered me false smiles. I felt inconsequential. Cue depression.

Clay's had a few competitions like this in the past. We fly a fan or fan(s) to the studio, to a show. They get a VIP package and a small meet and greet with him. When we hit Venice, we've basically got a week off. The lucky fan gets a show in Bologna and then from there a three-day all expenses paid holiday in the Italian city on water. All they have to do is share what Clay means to them. Can be a tweet or video or even a letter. We get lots of those. With me in charge, I feel kinda tingly, a little burdened with a huge responsibility, not gonna lie. We have a social media team who will help dig through the masses. Then they bring it to me. I pick. Jaz's call on that one. No pressure, right?

I'm proofreading the event details for the seven-millionth time. I'm just very picky about getting everything flawless. One small typo and I have to scan through every sentence ten times over. I have grammar and spellchecker apps and even then I feel like one fuckup will be a colossal embarrassment for me. Why trust me to handle anything if I can't handle something as trivial as a barebones competition page that amounts to four paragraphs?

I want to just say 'fuck it' and hit post. But then the unease sets in. I go back to that first sentence. Hell, even the title.

God, this is so mind-numbing! I feel my mind drifting, a queasiness in my gut, seeping all through my body, like I need to be anywhere else but here. I'm drained. I check my phone. No text from Leo.

Fuck. I need to get this right. I need us to be right. I feel like... Shit, I feel like if I can make Leo and I the best of mates, they can talk with me late into the night when Clay is too knackered and dead to the world and I have to stare at the back of his head, trying to hold onto him for some comfort, wanting to shake him awake, force him to listen to me vent. But I can't. Even in the quiet moments, he's not fully present. It's phone calls and vocal sessions and soundchecks and then wanting to chill with Kai. And when I try and talk to him in our pockets of bliss, it doesn't feel like he wants to hear me bitch. I'm just a negative blemish on his European holiday. I know how much touring means to him. It's the best time of his life. Why should I hold him down with my inane shit?

I need off this bus. I take my phone, check for notifications. None. Then stretch my legs and clamber off the bus, taking to the streets of Norway. Still got time till Bologna. The event was supposed to be made public a week ago but then that shit happened with Ansel and Jaz completely let it slip. I let it slip. No time for excuses. I have to submit it tonight. It means a short leash for whichever lucky fan to get their shit packed and bound for a flight to Italy. I'm holding them up because of my OCD. Bloody fantastic!

I find Kai and Zazie and a couple of others—a mixed bag from the crew and band set up with a couple of camping chairs down the alley, sharing a joint. Kai inhales, grinning up at me. He offers me the cigarette, smoke streaming through his teeth. The fucking audacity!

I smile an unpleasant smile and tell him no thanks. I have zero time for this.

I pass their merry band, grimacing at the pang of weed and feel Zazie's eyes on me as she takes the joint from Kai. A right pair!

Where is Ansel in this? I take out my phone and hit dial. He picks up, thankfully, a few seconds later. It's super gratifying knowing he's in sync with us again.