Page 60 of Silver Sweet

He doesn’t erect a wall. He wants me to reach him, and the intensity ignites something inside my soul that scares me. I feel myself out of breath.

Phoenix adds more lyrics. We switch some that don’t feel right. The longer we work, the more exposed I feel. Like each hour is another layer of flesh being peeled off my body. I worry he won’t understand me—he won’tgetme—even after all of this.

13

PHOENIX ST. PIERRE

This is the quickest I’ve ever fallen in love with a song, and we’re still tweaking the rhythm to the second verse three hours into the bedroom session. But the hook is killer.

I’ve scratched out a few words, but on a clean page, I rewrite a draft of what we have.

Rip apart my flesh and bone

To use as kindling

Only to be left alone

Skeleton in a nuclear cold

Where nothing good grows

Pen bleeds on my thumb, and I smudge the red ink against the margin. Tom sings the chorus as he finds the melody with his guitar.

His rasp is spine-tingling. It pricks the hairs on my neck. As he belts the first verse, he sounds so raw yet controlled. Like he’s spent hours perfecting his timbre and pitch and won’t let a note derail.

I want to hear him scream.

But I’m too wrapped in the haunting sound against my ears to suggest one coming off the last verse.

His voice is blood-pumping, soul-smashing. Destructive power. A blizzard hurting to be a firestorm. I have trouble not staring at Tom when he emotes with the same intensity as the bleeding noise pouring out of him. It’s hypnotic.

He’shypnotic.

A lump forms in my throat. My nose flares. I swallow hard and focus on jotting down the lyrics.

Is this what you wanted?

Frozen into eternity

Is this what you wanted?

Nuclear winter

In a nuclear cold

Is this what you wanted? (wanted)

Where nothing good grows

Tortured into eternity (left alone)

Is this what you wanted?

Nuclear winter

In a nuclear cold

(Flesh and bone)