Page 10 of Scream For Me
The door to the dressing room opens, and the three men walk in. My eyes automatically findhisbefore I cast them towards the floor. The air suddenly feels too thick.
“I apologize, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier,” he says. “I’m Elias. I’m the owner of Headstone.”
My jaw just about hits the fucking floor.Of course he is. The way he effortlessly controls the room, the way everyone’s spines stiffened—I’m an idiot for not putting the clues together. And of course, my rotten fucking luck that the one guy who’s made me feelanythingcould now technically be my boss if this audition is a success. Great going, Kat.
“And this is Gareth, the manager of my establishments,” he continues, gesturing to the honey-blonde. “And this is Finn, my bar manager.” He gestures to the last man. “Let me be the first to congratulate you. You got the residency. I’ll have my assistant email all the details over straight away.”
All of our jaws drop to the floor.
Ryland and Luca fist-bump, and Harper wraps her arms around my neck and lets out a small cry. This is good, right? So why is the churning in my stomach not one from excitement?
My eyes lock with Elias’s. His lips curve into that devious smirk before he leaves the room.
I’m vaguely aware of the hushed screams and excitement around me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just walked into a lion’s den.
Five
Kat
As Yet Untitled – COUNTERFEIT.
The city blurs around me, streetlights morphing into sharp, continuous lines with the motion. Blank, nameless faces vanish into obscurity. My body refuses to match the city’s pace. My hands go still. My breath stalls in my chest while the world around me flows forward like a current that only I’m not caught in.
The adrenaline of tonight’s performance dissipates quickly, leaving my muscles feeling heavy. I don’t think I could pick up my guitar right now even if I tried. I can’t shake the lingering feeling of being laid bare tonight—and that was only in front of three people.
Well, it was really only one person.
Something in me tightens when I think about Elias—a coil of warning low in my stomach. He didn’t just look at me. Hesawme. The memory makes my stomach dip. I’m used to men looking at me, good or bad. Most of the time, it feels like an annoying little mosquito buzzing, and you just want to swat it away.
But this was different. It’s like he could see right through my mask. Right through everything I’ve worked so hard to push down deep beneath the surface. I’ve spent the past yearperfecting the art of being background noise. Blend in. Don’t do anything out of social norms. Smile. Don’t give anyone anything real that they’ll eventually take away from you. Although, that went out the fucking window as soon as I met Harper.
But being around Harper makes it easier to blend into the background. She’s everything I’m not, she’s loud, confident, and funny. Guys gravitate towards her, which is perfectly fine with me. But Elias doesn’t seem fazed by her at all. Andthatis new.
Elias seemed like he didn’t want our performance. He wanted mine.
I tell myself I’m projecting, that I’m being dramatic. I’ve seen the guy twice.Twice. That doesn’t mean anything. The thoughts fall flat because I still feel like I’m marked straight for the fucking slaughterhouse.
Pull it back, Kat. You’ve seen him twice.
I push the feeling down and shake my hands, wringing them together in my lap. The gentle rocking of the bus is somewhat soothing. Music has always been the one place where my mind goes quiet—the doorway that shuts out the world. The space where I can exist, forget about everything that’s been going on and justbe. But tonight, even the familiar vibration of my guitar strings felt wrong, like a noose tugging at the base of my throat.
I’ll find you anywhere, princess.
For half a second, the bus disappears. I’m not sure what jolts first, my heart or my body. The voice rakes through my memory like tendrils of ice. My throat tightens as if invisible fingers are pressing into the base of my neck, strangling me from the inside out. My hands fall from my lap and curl into the seat beneath me in a vain attempt to claw back to reality. My pulsehammers in my ears as the voice replays in an echo, over and over in my mind.
Not him. Not here.
I look around at the half-empty bus, my eyes settling on an older woman. She’s observing me too, looking me up and down with a gentle expression. I break the connection and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Counting to five and repeating.I am safe.
I meet my own eyes in the reflection of the bus window. No wonder she looked at me like that. My eyes are sunken, my ice-blonde hair, usually soft and shiny, now snaked over my shoulders, dull and flat. If I were the spiritual type, I would say there’s an immense sadness to my aura. But I’m not—I’m just fucking tired and fighting off a panic attack on a public bus.
My gaze focuses beyond my reflection to the street outside. People are going about their evening, couples bundled up together hand-in-hand. As the bus pulls to a stop at the traffic lights, soft jazz drifts through the windows. The street musician is wrapped in a big jacket with a balaclava obscuring his face, shielding him from the chilly October weather. He could be Kenny G, and no one passing would ever know. Everyone around him pays him no attention, the occasional onlooker dropping a few dollars into his saxophone case. He briefly stops playing to thank the generous stranger before starting up where he left off. His body moves in time with the music, not a care in the world.
Fuck this.
The thought settles heavy and solid in my chest, and a firm steadiness fills my limbs, loosening all the muscles that had been wound too tight ever since I set foot in Headstone tonight. Music is mine. It’s always been mine.
I grab my phone out of my bag and open my shopping app. The listing pops up instantly. Lightweight, black fabric. Perfect.
