Between Songs

by N. Kognytao

  “Oh, believe me, I felt how out of practice I was,” Mr. Gracie laughed. He looked around the waiting room as everyone began gathering their belongings, cleaning the makeup off their faces, packing up costumes, and replacing microphones. He tightened his arm around Emma. “Why don’t we head home?”

  She nodded.

  “Um…” 4U raised a finger. “Can I get a ride?”

  Tim laughed, rolling his eyes.

  “Alright, since you came all the way from Tokyo.”

  With a final round of congratulations, they exited the waiting room.

  Leah’s head was swimming, unable to completely process everything that had happened that night. She could still hear the cries of the crowd in her ear and feel the thrumming of the bass through her feet. She was drunk on the feeling in a way the clubs had never allowed. She knew already she was addicted to the feeling of performing full concerts.

  But as the adrenaline wore off and the makeup was wiped from her face, she began to feel empty in a way she could not explain. The members of his band bid her goodnight and left. She was the last one to finally step out of the waiting room. The concert managers, stylists, technicians, and everyone she passed on her way out of the tent congratulated her and she thanked them in turn, but for some reason, it felt empty, as though everyone was speaking out of habit.

  She thought about the way Mr. Gracie left with his arm around his wife and a strange sense of loneliness washed over her.

  She wanted Braydon there to celebrate with her.

  Leah stepped out of the back doors of the tent into the cool night air with her head down. However, her head snapped up when she heard cheers from one side. Her name was called over and over again from concert-goers who had stayed to watch the artists leave the venue. They were held back by metal barriers and burly security guards, but they continued to snap pictures of her and call to her, telling her they loved her and how they adored her performance.

  She smiled and waved to them before climbing into the dorm shuttle with a few of the other musicians.

  The door closed and he let out a long breath.

  “Popular already,” one girl complimented, tapping her on the shoulder.

  “You seriously were great tonight,” one guitarists seconded.

  “Thank you.”

  The van fell silent as the tired musicians were taken back to the dorms. Even though the drive was short, some of them fell asleep in the back, exhausted from the ordeal of the Outdoor Show. Leah stared out the window at the dark streets, a bittersweet feeling sitting in her chest.

  Everything was too quiet.

  The van pulled up in front of the dorms and Leah stepped out, taking a deep breath and hesitating before getting out.

  As the others filed out of the vehicle behind her, she turned and saw a familiar Mercedes parked at the curb with a man leaning against it, pocketing his phone as he saw her.

  Elated nearly to the point of tears, she strode quickly over to him and hugged him before she could stop herself. They both fell against the car as he hugged her back.

  “Congratulations,” he murmured.

  “You were there?”

  “I watched the broadcast,” Braydon corrected. “I had some edits to catch up on, so I had to stay home.” He pulled away from the hug and placed a hand against her cheek, his gaze warm and gentle. “You were incredible.”

  Closing her eyes against her tears, she met his mouth in a kiss, feeling a strange sense of happiness and relief chase away the bittersweet pride that had engulfed her.

  She smiled gently when they broke the kiss.

  “Come on,” he said, nodding back to the car

  As they drove to Braydon’s flat, he held her hand tightly.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” she finally murmured.

  “Why?”

  “Because I should be over the moon right now,” she explained. “Everyone said I did a great job. Mr. Gracie wants to put out an album as soon as possible. Even 4U, my idol for years, told me that he knew I had talent from seeing me at the auditions. And yet…”

  “Yet, you’re not happy?” Braydon asked knowingly.

  “I should be, but I feel…I don’t know.”

  “It’s a post-concert depression,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It will pass.”

  “I don’t think there is such a thing,” she laughed lightly.

  “Once the adrenaline wears off, you’re wracked with a type of exhaustion that goes down to your bones. All that screaming of the crowds, that feeling of being seen, it’s overstimulating. And when it’s gone, you feel that void intensely.”

  “…yeah,” she murmured. “Does that mean Mr. Gracie told you about it?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “He used to tell me after every 4Ever concert that he was so lonely he almost cried himself to sleep.”

  Leah lowered her eyes and sighed.

  “I don’t think mine is that bad,” she admitted. She looked at their entwined hands. “At least, not anymore.”

  He smiled briefly before pulling into the parking garage of his building.

  They walked up to the flat and Leah sighed heavily, flopping on the couch.

  “Are you hungry? You must be.”

  “Not really,” she admitted, stretching.

  He sat next to her and she leaned into his shoulder as he cradled her head against his neck.

  “Thank you for picking me up tonight,” she whispered.

  He turned her face to his, pressing their lips together, slowly intensifying the kiss until he was reclined on the couch and she was above him, kissing him slowly, her hands pressed into the hard muscles of his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric.

  She broke the kiss, her eyes sliding shut as she rested her head over his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

  When she did not move, Braydon hesitated, and then craned his neck to look at her sleeping face.

  He would never admit to Leah that he loved the way she slept. She looked as though she was contemplating something, her brows lightly furrowed and her jaw clenched. Occasionally, she would grind her teeth, but that seemed to be only when she was deeply dreaming.

  He carded a hand through her hair gently, feeling the remaining hairspray from the concert and smiling to himself.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he listened to her breathing and let her sleep.

  * * *

  At some point in the night, Braydon roused Leah enough to get her off the couch and into bed. He undressed her and covered her with blankets, climbing in next to her, though she was still mostly-asleep through it all.

  When she fully woke, her head foggy, she needed time to orient herself. She glanced around Braydon’s bedroom, blinking several times, groggy. As usual, he was not next to her.

  She rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and ended up taking a quick shower to clear her head and remove the final remnants of the stylist team’s work from the concert the previous night.

  When she meandered into the living room, Braydon was walking out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He stopped and smiled at her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry…I guess I sort of fell asleep on you.”

  “You were exhausted. No need to apologize.” He nodded to the kitchen. “There’s a new pot of coffee.”

  She walked into the kitchen as if she lived there, pulling out a mug without thinking and filling it with coffee and creamer.

  When she returned to the living room, Braydon was at his desk, looking over the notebook next to him, his headphones settled around his neck. Still a little groggy and not wanting to bother him, Leah went to sit down until the coffee woke her up. However, her eyes caught sight of two books on the coffee table with the name Kyle Hayward across the top and the watermark over the cover reading Proof Copy.

  “Is this your new book?” she asked, picking one up.

  He turned.

  “Yeah, I got the proofs yest
erday.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “It’s just a proof copy. There are probably still errors in it.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “I would like to read it, anyway.”

  He shrugged one shoulder.

  “I suppose, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  “I liked The Eye of Andrew.”

  “This is not at all like The Eye of Andrew.”

  “I’m going to read it anyway,” she declared with a smile, walking to the chair by the window and sitting comfortably, taking a big drink from her mug.

  “I have to get some pages done today, so I’m going to put these on,” he motioned to the headphones.

  “That’s fine. I’d like to just be quiet today, anyway.” She lifted his book. “Read a little bit.”

  His expression showed that he was convinced she would not like the book, but he nodded and turned back to his computer, putting his headphones on as Leah turned her attention to the book titled For Evan in her hands.

  Leah had enjoyed reading when she was younger, but had fallen out of the habit as the drama with her family had taken over her life and she found solace only in music.

  But on the limited days off before starting work on promotional materials for her first album, she found herself in a familiar flat, seated on a very expensive leather chair, reading a hardback book in her lap and everything seemed like a comfortable routine.

  It was only the second book of Braydon’s she had read, and she knew he had been a little annoyed when she asked to read one of the proof copies, but she was desperate to get into his head once more. Considering the amount of time she had seen him ‘writing’ she eagerly wanted to see where his head traveled to every day.

  For Evan was about a young man who had tragically lost his voice in a horrific accident that had killed both his parents. Leah was enthralled by the use of words to describe the desperation and pain the main character, Evan, felt. Each scene was painted as though she was constantly walking beside Evan and experiencing his losses with him.

  However, as she continued through the book, she began to see a parallel she could have never predicted.

  My feet moved on their own, carrying me over cracked cement slabs toward the railing of the walking trail. I looked over the twinkling of city lights, hearing the distant sounds of nightlife and the revelry of workers greeting the weekend. It took me far too long to realize the blurring of the lights was from the tears in my eyes.

  Agony was tearing me apart. I wanted to scream, to force the pain out of my lungs, but the scarring around my throat was a painful reminder of my incapacity.

  With the silent sobs causing needles of pain to radiate through my neck, I grabbed the railing and stepped higher, opening my mouth and forcing my breath from my lungs.

  Only sharp silence greeted me.

  Gasping for air, trying everything to voice my pain, I silently screamed into the night.

  When I was out of breath, slumping over the railing, a voice startled me.

  “Sir? Are you alright?”

  I turned, trying to see around the tears in my eyes. I could barely make out the figure behind me with long, brown hair and a warm expression. In the flickering of the broken streetlamp above us, I was unsure what to make of the shadows across her face, but her gentle smile warmed the air around us and put my worries at ease.

  “Here.” She extracted a handkerchief from her coat pocket, handing it to me. Wary, I took the embroidered cloth and dabbed at my eyes. “What are you doing out here? It’s not safe to be standing on the railing like that.”

  Even if I could have voiced my frustrations and anxieties, I was sure I would not be able to find the adequate words.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  She had clearly not noticed I could not respond. I shook my head, motioning in my still-limited sign language that I could not speak. Her expression lit up in understanding.

  She motioned: “I’m sorry.”

  Then, she spoke and signed: “Are you deaf, or mute?”

  Surprised at her immediate ability to communicate with me, I signed.

  “Mute.”

  Her face broke into another breath-taking smile. Unzipping her large handbag, she pulled out a pen and small notepad, clicking the pen open and passing it to me. I could only stare at the objects.

  “I’m Emilie,” she introduced, extending the pen and paper further. “What’s your name?”

  I took the two objects and scrawled a message. Perhaps it was the kindness of the stranger, or the strange weather rolling in over the mountains, but writing the two words felt as though I was speaking once more, as though I found someone who understood the words I had always wanted to say.

  I turned the page for her to see.

  “I’m Evan.”

  Leah blinked at the page, finding a startling similarity to the first night she had met Braydon. At the time of the meeting, and the subsequent times she had seen the author, she had wondered why he had been in the park so late at night sitting at the top of the slide.

  As she stared at the words, she wondered if he was feeling as Evan had been feeling, silenced and unable to voice his pain.

  More than that, she wondered if her appearance in his life had been like the stranger who had handed her the notebook.

  Eagerly devouring the following pages, she read through the rest of the chapter, which detailed another chance meeting between Emilie and Evan where they bumped into each other at a coffee shop. Evan’s aunt and uncle had meant to meet him there, but had cancelled, leaving him to sit dejectedly in the café until Emilie approached, asking him if she could sit.

  She had passed the small notebook to Evan and a pen, and they carried on what would be considered a normal conversation, asking how he was doing and what she was doing at the café. Then, when Emilie was called away by her friend arriving, Evan had tried to pass the notebook and pen back to her.

  Emilie looked at me, her eyes going back and forth between the pages. She smiled and resumed the seat, taking the notebook and flipping to the front cover, quickly jotting something before placing the pen between random pages and sliding it back across the table.

  “For you.”

  She stood and walked away while I could only stare uselessly after her. I did not understand what it was about her energy that was so calming and yet so electric. It was as though she was a perfectly contained typhoon, wild and powerful, but too captivating to turn away from. She was not a storm from which to seek shelter—she was the type of storm that compelled one to dance in the rain.

  I opened the notebook and was surprised to see that it was filled with her neat penmanship. The first words I read caused tears to reform in my eyes.

  “Why is it that the words always come out wrong?

  Why must we be bound to this communication of sound and syllable?

  My words always trip and stumble over themselves

  And no matter how I scream, this void is unfillable.

  I will never be able to tell you how I feel

  For it is a mystery to me as well

  Instead, I find myself sinking into the depths of your soul

  Wishing there was a way to show, not tell.”

  …She was a poet. Emilie was a poet who understood exactly how I felt.

  I hastily flipped to the front cover, wondering what message she had placed on my gift.

  “For Evan—To start you on the road to finding your new voice.”

  Struck dumb, Leah looked up from the book to the man sitting at his desk in the living room. He had his noise-cancelling headphones on, his fingers lightly tapping against the keys with the beat of the song as he thought about the next perfect phrase.

  Her heart was thundering. Without thinking, she stood, placing the book back on the chair as she walked to him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, causing him to jump and turn to her quickly. Confused, he pushed one of the headphones from his ear.

  “What is it?”<
br />
  “Are you going to start calling me Emilie?” she teased.

  Braydon stared at her, then a small smile pulled at his lips.

  “Don’t get too cocky.”

  “Did I help you find a new voice?”

  His smile broadened.

  “Too soon to tell.”

  “Seems only fair,” she murmured, leaning her head against his cheek before kissing the skin gently. “You helped me rediscover my voice that night. I would be honored if I could return the favor.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers, reaching back to place a hand against her face.

  “We’ll help each other,” he whispered.

  She kissed his cheek once more before leaning against his head once more, her arms tightening around him. He closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace. It was when they were still that Leah finally heard the song playing from his headphones.

  It was her song.

  Book 1 – END

  To Be Continued