You took everything from me; you desecrated it all,
And yet you made me feel like I was giving it freely.
You tried to be my savior but you were the devil instead
And I will never ever, ever be that little girl again.
* * *
She opened her eyes as she felt a fresh emotion wash over her. Quentin wasn’t saying anything but he nodded to her in encouragement, listening to her every word. So she pressed on.
* * *
And I thought I liked it, thought I loved it,
Thought I wanted it, thought I deserved it,
Thought I needed it, thought I owned it,
Thought it was what I’d bought and paid for…
But that was just what you wanted me to believe,
Because it made me your willing vessel.
* * *
You used me: my body, my soul, my everything
And I don’t know who I am anymore…
But did I ever know that little girl anyway?
* * *
She couldn’t sing anymore. For his part, Quentin had remained respectfully motionless and quiet, letting her do what she had to do. The tears had started to fall again, followed by the anger. Forcing herself to stop crying, she ran the knuckles of her index fingers under her eyes, smearing black eye makeup on them.
When she looked at Quentin again, she didn’t say anything. After flipping a couple of switches on the board, he turned back to her. She continued to wait, knowing he had to hate it just like he’d hated what she’d shared earlier today. So she was ready for criticism and to hear any range of his distaste for her newest words, prepared for anything except what he actually said.
“That’s it.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the first song on your album.”
“Really?”
Quentin’s dark eyes were clear and sharp and she felt like he could actually see inside her. “Yes. That’s the truth you should be telling.”
Swallowing, Raine let out a shaky breath. “Okay…but that wasn’t really a song. It was a stream of conscious vomit session.”
“Yes, one that can be shaped into a beautiful, haunting song that people will never forget. You’ve got the basics here.” As she looked in those dark eyes, she found that she trusted his instincts. “Why don’t we write the chorus? What lines do you think would work for that?”
So many of those lyrics had been words in her head every day for longer than she could remember.
And she knew.
“I think it should definitely have ‘My soul, my heart, my bones, my art’.”
