It wasn't just a song. It was a litany, tirade, a prayer.
It was joy and anger and longing and pain and desire and regret and—
A million emotions flashed through me in the space of a five-minute song, the singer's voice wringing out every feeling I'd suppressed since Harper had been killed.
It was as if the man had taken every emotion in the world, as if he'd taken all the love and hate he'd ever felt, and turned it back onto the audience.
That's when I knew.
This was what I wanted to do.
He was what I wanted to be.
I didn't want to be the old Cerise, innocent and insecure and naïve.
I wanted to be someone who could take everything the world threw at her and spit it back out.
I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to be fierce.
I wanted to sing.
"I'm in," I yelled in Gael's ear.
"What?" he shouted back.
"The band thing. I'm in."
Shock crossed his face before he let out a whoop and fist pumped. "Hell yeah! Now we just need a name for the band."
"I've already got one."
He tilted his head, curious. "Yeah?"
I nodded.
"We're going to call ourselves Cherry Lips."
