Resuscitate (Annihilate #1)

by S. Morayla

  “Zayne wanted me to check on you, make sure you’re okay.”

  “I appreciate that, but really, I’m fine. I think lack of sleep was making me act oversensitive.”

  “Alright, I just came by to talk to Les, but apparently she’s too good for me now. I also wanted to see if you were okay after last night.”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks. I had fun last night.” Her face brightens.

  “I did, too. We should do it again next Friday. But, in the meantime, Leif is coming to get me. We are going to go watch movies at his house, want to come?”

  “Nah, but thank you. I have a ton of homework to do, maybe next time?” I ask.

  “I’m going to remember that,” she singsongs, holding the door open. I roll my eyes and throw my pillow at her, but she closes the door before it reaches her. Her laughter can be heard through the wall, making me smile.

  By 10:30, I have a handle on my plot lines assignment. The ten page paper that accompanies it? Not so much. I know I slept most of the day, but homework drains me. I slide back under my covers and sink back into sleep.

  The door slams, jostling me awake. Leslie throws her shoes, causing more of a commotion.

  “Sorry. Guys are such assholes,” she says before walking back out. I check my text and email.

  I type out a quick text and then curl further into my blanket, feeling my body meld into the mattress as sleep takes over once again.

  * * *

  My alarm goes off at 7:45 a.m.

  Grumbling, I get up.

  Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, ‘cause I’m a dumbass. Who the hell books a recording studio this early in the morning? While I stretch out the kinks in my back, I mentally assess what’s on the agenda for today. I sigh just thinking about it all, but I know the driver will be here soon and I already agreed to do this so I have to get my ass in gear.

  A quick shower helps wake me a bit more, but only coffee will fully bring me out of this sleepy fog. I decide on black leggings paired with a plaid shirt. Simple and easy. I glance at my phone, which reads 8:20. Shit! There is no time for breakfast. Starbucks, it is.

  Snatching my purse off my bed, I walk out of the room quietly. I don’t want to disturb Leslie. As I approach the gardens, a head of familiar curly hair catches my eye. He’s leaning against a short wall with a notebook, his hand is moving furiously. While I want to just walk past him, I know I can’t and my manners kick in.

  “Morning.”

  He looks up, surprise taking over his features. “Morning. What are you doing up this early?”

  “I have an appointment?” Internally, I groan. Really? Can my responses be any stupider?

  “An appointment on a Sunday?” His brows furrow together.

  “Yeah.” I don’t know why I say this. Maybe I just can’t stand lying to people.

  “Actually, I’m on my way to the recording studio.”

  “Seriously? Do you sing? Play? I knew it yesterday when you were so evasive.”

  I shrug, then do something even stupider. “Wanna come?”

  “Really? Yeah, that would be wicked.” He kicks off the wall, his eyes bright with excitement

  “We might be there for a few hours, is that okay?” I cringe a bit, knowing a studio session can take hours, especially for what I’m about to be doing.

  “Sure, I was just going to write anyway.” He nods.

  “Alright…well, they’re picking me up in a few minutes, you ready?”

  He smiles down at me. “Yup.”

  Maybe it’s because he reminds me of Rhys.

  Maybe I’m taking pity on him.

  Maybe, just maybe, I’m crazy and that’s why I’m allowing him to enter my sanctum—somewhere no one has been since Rhys left. That part of me died when he went away. Whatever the reason, we walk out to the parking lot where a black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows is waiting.

  I laugh to myself when I see the car. I have read Fifty Shades of Grey and this is so very Christian of him. My uncle is a bit of a screwball.

  “Ms. Martello?” The driver asks. I nod my head and smile at the older gentleman in the black suit. Harrison’s face makes me chuckle once inside the car.

  “Why do you look so confused?” I ask him

  “I thought your last name was Rodriguez?” Well, shit. The other night at the karaoke café, Lennon asked my last name, which technically now is Rodriguez. How did he even remember? It was so inconsequential. I really hate lying, but at this point, I have to protect myself.

  “I have two last names. It’s a long story.” I shrug, not wanting to get into why.

  “Are you some kind of celebrity or something?” I laugh, shaking my head at him.

  “No, nothing like that. My family is crazy. They like for me to get where I need to be in style.”

  “Oh,” is the only response I get.

  “Ms. Martello, is there any particular music you prefer?” the driver asks.

  “The radio is fine. 92.3FM is great. Thank you.”

  “Ma’am.” He tips his hat to me, then searches the channels for the station I requested.

  “What are you going to the studio for exactly?” Harrison asks after quite a while of silence.

  Vague.

  Cryptic.

  Evasive.

  I try hard not to really spill all of my secrets.

  Once we get there and I start messing with the instruments, I know he’ll get it. He’s a writer, and for some reason, that make me feel like he and I connect on a different level.

  With traffic and our Starbucks stop, it takes us a good fifty minutes to get to the studio. Pulling up, I immediately know this is one of the studios my uncle has brought me to in the past. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside.

  Drab.

  Greyish.

  Lackluster.

  That changes once you walk through the door. Countless artists have used this studio to record their tracks. As well as several well-known producers. The driver tells me which studio is mine for the next six hours. I make my way inside, leading Harrison.

  Nervous.

  Excitement.

  Apprehensive.

  My feelings don’t know which way to go. The butterflies erupt in my stomach; a burst of energy invades my body. My soul feels the thumping of the bass, the smell of the instruments awakening it from its long slumber.

  “Hello. Are you due for a session today?” The girl behind the front desk asks.

  “Yes. My name is Natalee Martello, I’m booked for studio D.” I pull my purse straps up higher on my shoulder and look toward Harrison, who is checking out the memorabilia from artists and producers who have used this studio to make their hits.

  “Found you. Do you know your way around or would you like me to show you where it is?”

  “No, thank you. I remember where it is. Do you know if the mini fridge was stocked?” I ask her. She types something into the computer as Harrison comes to stand by my side. “This is so cool, Natalee,” he says quietly.

  “Yes, it was. Everything should be ready for your session.” She hands me the key to the studio. “My name is Amanda, by the way.” She looks at Harrison, pushing her breasts out and giving him a seductive smile. I bite down on my lip so the giggles threatening to overtake me won’t come out.

  “Thanks. I’m Harrison.” He offers his hand for her to shake, which Amanda quickly takes.

  “Nice to meet you, If you need anything at all, just let me know, Harrison,” she purrs. Alright…well, this is awkward. I grab Harrison’s arms, pulling him toward the stairs. Guys get distracted easily with boobs and a pretty face.

  “C’mon, lover boy, let's get to the studio. I’m sure Amanda and her offer will still stand later,” I tease him as I lead him to the second floor.

  “She was nice. But, what if I was your boyfriend?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

  “Well, if that were the case…trust me, I would have shut that down, but since you're single and she’s cute, why not?”
Our shoes echo on the hardwood floor as we make our way down the hall. I search out studio D.

  Harrison is pensive and quiet.

  Unlocking the studio, my hands begin to get clammy. I take a deep breath before following him inside.

  Stay

  “WOW!” is the only word that falls from Harrison's lips.

  I look around and tears spring to my eyes. The last time I set foot in a studio was two years ago. I inhale deeply, taking in the smell. Slowly, I release the breath to calm my heart rate. My hands shake as a flash of a memory darts through my mind, too fast for me to grasp, but the feeling that remains in my bones is serene.

  “So, what do you think?” I look over to Harrison, who is still taking it all in.

  “I...wow, this is incredible.” My eyes follow his as he scans the room again.

  “Do you know how to play these?” His hand motions to all the instruments. Apprehension takes hold, but I didn’t bring him all this way for him not to see what I can do.

  “Yeah, I play pretty much all of them.”

  “Who are you?” he asks, his voice full of awe, making me laugh. I’m sure whatever he is thinking is way beyond the truth.

  “Natalee Rodriguez.” I raise my eyebrows, chuckling. “I’m not a celebrity. My uncle works in the music industry. He makes the music. He used to manage a few bands and solo artists. I told you I help him out once in awhile.”

  “Okay, you do write songs then?” His eyes are wide with excitement.

  “Well, I write lyrics and I actually write the melody for others to play. I compose music,” I say shyly. To most people, it’s not that big of deal—hell, even to me it isn't—but because I can play any instrument by ear and composed my first piece by the age of six, accepted into Juilliard at the age of ten, I’m considered a musical prodigy. I’ve made scores for blockbuster movies and have won many awards. I don’t advertise it because…well, because I gave it all up. His smile gets wider. “Oh, you know what this means? I’m going to use you now.”

  “Oh, Harrison, please, you can’t afford me.” I laugh when he pouts.

  I walk to the other side of the partition where the piano is. I pull out my iPad and bring up my email with the lyrics to the song I will be working on. When Uncle Vic called me yesterday, I never thought he would ask me to do this for him. He is in a tight spot and begged me to help. How can I refuse the man who helped me overcome so much? I agreed, but not before throwing myself into self-pity and doubt.

  Rhys and I spent hours in the studio, practically lived there, helping my uncle whenever he needed it. Now, it makes my heart ache. This was our dream and he’s no longer here. Dr. Winchester will be getting an ear full during our next session, for sure.

  Harrison walks over and sits on the bench next to me, looking at the lyrics. I can feel his curiosity. “So, what? They write the lyrics and you do the music?” he inquires.

  “Something like that. Usually I just help with lyrics. I haven’t really done this…” I stop mid-sentence. Emotion clogs the back of my throat and I shake my head.

  Come on, Nat. You can do this. Breathe through the pain. You can do it, relax.

  I look forward, distracted as the tears build in my eyes.

  “Hey, hey, Nat, it’s okay,” Harrison says. I smile tightly, looking over at him.

  “Sorry, it’s just...it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.” I raise my thumb to my mouth, biting it.

  “This is the reason you skivved out yesterday?” He looks into my eyes, but I avoid eye contact and press a finger on the E key on the piano. It makes a high trill.

  “Yeah, kinda lame, right?”

  “No, not at all. Everyone has reasons for why they do things. So, do I get to help you?”

  I try not to smile, but Harrison has a look about him that makes me feel comforted. He’s like an old lost teddy a child would hold during a storm to receive pacification.

  “Yeah, you can be my errand boy.” My weary eyes assess his before I raise my eyebrows at him. He immediately frowns, causing me to laugh. My fingers fly over the piano keys and I look to Harrison as I continue to play Rihanna’s Stay. When I begin to sing, I try hard not to chuckle or become distracted by his open mouth gaping at me.

  Awe.

  Shock.

  Bewilderment.

  He gazes at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. In a way, I guess he is. I close my eyes as I sing. When the part of the song where Mikky Ekko comes in, Harrison begins singing softly, harmonizing his voice with the notes. I hang back, continuing to blend the keys, making the melody flow gracefully. Goose bumps erupt on my skin as Harrison hits a long, steady note. I join in to sing with him. For the next half hour, we just sing.

  Cathartic.

  Invigorating.

  My soul feels free, like a bird flying in the breeze. My wings have expanded, I dip and free fall, feeling weightless. This is what music does to me. Many people can never truly understand how freeing playing and singing can be. Just being able to unleash the pent up emotions is enough to make me cry.

  Finally taking a break, we go back into the main part of the studio. We sit on the couches, talking about songwriting.

  “Damn, Nat, you impress the hell out of me.” I lean forward, grabbing my Red Bull. I look over at him, rolling my eyes at his words.

  “What about you guys? How do you get the music, melody, and lyrics?” I take a pull from the can, watching the smile on his face grow.

  “Nick and I write a majority of the songs. Since we both play guitar, we try to find a melody. We let the guys hear a rough version and as a band, we try to find the pitch and slowly arrange who sings what and where to put in low or high notes.”

  “Awesome. At the show, I saw Lennon plays the keyboard and Leif plays the drums. I didn’t know you played guitar, though.” I’m being a bit sneaky. I mean, I could come right out and ask if Zayne plays any instruments, but Harrison would take it too far.

  “I’m not as good as Nick, but Leif and Lennon trade with the drums. Zayne mostly sings, although he can play the drums a bit.” He laughs, sitting back into the couch. “When we first started, we would sing covers but mix them up a little to make them our own. We had a good time playing all over London.” A faint ringing sounds throughout the studio. Damn it, I know it’s my phone.

  Comfortable.

  Too comfortable.

  I don’t want to get up.

  Eventually, I do. It could be my dad or uncle.

  I dig through the contents of my purse. Figures the stupid thing would be at the very bottom. Shit, I groan and look to Harrison.

  “What’s the matter?” Panic runs through my veins and I take in a short breath to pull myself together before I explain to Harrison why I’m freaking out a little.

  “Adriana is calling. Look, Harrison, I really don’t want people knowing about this. Me. All of it. Like I told you, it’s been a long time since I’ve sung or performed in front of others and I’m not ready for all the questions attached to that.” He raises an eyebrow at me. Maybe this was a mistake.

  A heartbeat later, he says “No problem. I get that.” He nods, reassuring me.

  “You won’t get mad if I say I wasn’t with you today?”

  “No, it’s okay. I get it, I really do.”

  The phone rings again, Adriana’s name flashing. Geez.

  “Guess it’s important.” I slide the tab to answer the call.

  “Hey, Adriana.”

  “Sooooo, whatcha doin’?”

  “Um, nothing much, why?”

  “Oh, you know, a little birdie saw you leaving campus with Harrison. He was just curious.”

  “He? As in Zayne?” My eyebrows shoot up. I don’t remember seeing him on campus. An odd sensation flows through me. I appreciate the fact that Zayne cares, but I need to keep my distance. I can’t bring others down into this plague of darkness with me. I grab the pen from the coffee table and motion to Harrison that I need something to write on. He grabs a piece of p
aper from his back pocket.

  I scribble down that Zayne saw us leaving.

  He mouths an “Oh,” back to me, his eyes big in surprise. Motioning for the pen back, I hand it over. He writes under my statement, Tell them you dropped me off at Jesse’s house. I look up at him, confused. I shrug a shoulder, nodding at him.

  “Yeah, Zayne. Says there was a black SUV, tinted windows. We all have been calling and texting Harrison, but he hasn’t been answering. So, what’s up?”

  “I had a family thing. My grandparents live in Santa Monica. They sent a car for me. I ran into Harrison on my way out. Told him I was going to visit family. He asked if I could drop him off at some guy named Jesse’s house. I agreed. Why?”

  Harrison laughs silently to my right as Adriana erupts into laughter. “Uh-huh…well, Jesse is a girl, not a guy, so yeah. Ech, I swear, I hope he’s not hooking up with her again. Wait, your family sent a car to get you?”

  “Yeah, long story. Anyway, I’m in the middle of something, can I call you later?”

  “Sure, sorry about that. I guess someone is feeling territorial.”

  “Interesting,” I mutter. “I will talk to you later. Bye.” I press end and throw my phone to the couch. Scratching my head, I turn back to Harrison. “Really, I dropped you off at a girl’s house?”

  “Best I could think of in a pinch.”

  Pulling the rubber band out of my hair, I let it fall around my shoulders as I massage my head.

  “Well, check your phone. They’re trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Bloody hell,” he exclaims. “It’s like I’m a child. They can’t let me be for five minutes,” he huffs, exasperated.

  “They worry about you. It's not a bad thing to have friends who care about you. Especially being so far from home. Most people would kill for that, to have friends who care that much.”

  I give him a side look and raise my brow.

  “Yeah, I know. I love them lads, but sometimes I wish they would let me breathe.” Looking at his phone, he sighs and begins tapping out texts. Finishing, he tosses his phone onto the table before him, then leans back against the couch cushion, dropping his arm over his face. We sit in silence for a bit.