Lana's pov
As the voices from the other side of the curtain grow louder and more impatient, I become more and more nervous.
It's the worst feeling in the world, but I can't seem to get enough of it.
Being on stage and performing feels like a drug; the highs are high and the lows are even lower.
And it's always the same.
I've never felt differently performing in front of ten people than in front of a hundred.
I take my place on stage and 10, 9, 8.... I breathe in 5, 4, 3....I breathe out.....let the show begin.
When the curtains are drawn my eyes instinctively wander through the room, but this time they don't do it aimlessly, they're looking for my new friend.
My eyes catch Tig's and I become calmer, now I'm not just performing, I'm singing for him.
I can't help but notice the many guys he brought along, all of them bikers too.
The performance feels like a trance. I'm on autopilot.
I don't like craving for the audience's approval, but I can't help it. Without them I am nothing.
I know artists are supposed to make art just for the sake of it, and not expect anything in return, be satisfied by just their passion;
Well I'm beyond that point... I've been singing and writing for myself for way too long.
As the end of the show approaches I always get a bit more tense; I can't help but feel like if the ending is successfull that's all that the audience is gonna remember anyway.
While I'm singing the last song I see Tig and the rest of the guys exit the bar...I guess I won't get to thank them for comming...
I bow in front of the audience and go backstage.
It was a decent performance, but I can't seem to be able to make it turn out any other way.
The past year has been nothing but a series of decent performances.
I sometimes catch myself thinking of getting tangled in the microphone's wire, or my voice horribly cracking and the audience laughing at me and booing me off the stage, but it wouldn't even be that bad.
At the very least I'd feel something even after the show is over.
After the manager pays me, I exit the bar and search an available uber to take me back to my motel, but I'm interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Lizzy, you were amazing!" Tig wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground, spinning around the parking lot.
I laugh hysterically and struggle to free myself from the chaotic hug.
"I've never in my life heard a more beautiful voice than yours."
"Thank you Tig." I say smiling.
"Let me introduce you to the guys. This is Bobby (he points towards a big man that looks just like Santa Claus), Chibbs (the guy has a scar from ear to ear, pretty intimidating if you ask me), Opie (by far the youngest of them all, but also the tallest) and last but not least, our club's vp and the prince of Charming, drumroll please....... Jackson!"
He smirks and looks me in the eyes; "But call me Jax."
I get a bit weak in the knees. There's someting about him that I just can't describe. He's the most attractive guy I've ever met.
"Nice to meet you all. I'm glad you liked the show. I hope the guards let you in for free?"
"Now why would we want that? We love supporting upcoming artists, especially talented ones." Said Tig with pride.
"Where'd you headed to darlin' ?" Asks Jax.
"I have to get back to my motel, I'm so tired..."
"No no no. We have to celebrate!" Yells the guy with the scar in a thick Scottish accent. "Come to our clubhouse, let's throw a party!"
"But it's so late..."
"LATE?! It's only 10 pm. Let's go" says Tig with enthusiasm. "You can ride with Jax."
"Yeah of course. Hopp on."
He hands me his helmet, just like Tig did... a bunch of gentlemen.
I put my hands around him and he starts the engine. He rides just as easily as Tig, but a bit angrier. I hug him tighter.
"Are you good with speed? Forgot to ask.... I didn't mean to scare you."
"Don't worry, I'm not scared so easily."
He chuckles and I feel a few butterflies in my stomach. Am I crazy? Going to some stranger's place in a new town...I mean I guess I've been in more dangerous situations than this, but I'd promised Jim to stay safe until he gets here.
What he doesn't know won't hurt him.
And I trust these guys. I don't know why but I really do, and I'm good at reading people.
I love the warm Californian nights. I've always liked the heavy feeling of the humidity and the salty smell of the ocean; we must be close to the beach. I start examining Jax's bike; It's a pretty old model but it's in great shape, also has some non original pieces, he must've altered it himself.
My eyes wander to his hands, covered in scrapes at the knuckles and a couple of black oil stains. He has a big, golden ring with the word "son" on it, a bit kitsch if you ask me.
"We're here." He interrupts my mental critique and snaps me back to the outside world.
We park into some garage's yard.
So that's what they do for a living; they're mechanics.
"Jackson!" Yells an older lady quickly approaching us."I need to talk to you!"
YOU ARE READING
Ride (Or Die) Lana Del Rey X Jax Teller
Romance"I was in the winter of my life And the men I met along the road were my only summer At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them I was a singer Not a very popular one I once had dreams of becoming a beauti...
