I mentally cringe at the idea. That’s a definiteno. “Getting me to cover entertainment isn’t much better.”
“Please, Rosalina!” Damion pleads as he holds his hands up in prayer. “I’m grasping at straws here!”
“I think you should do it,” Charlie shrugs with a small smirk before dragging our coworker into it. “What do you think, Steph?”
The server turns, a small smile playing on her pouty lips. “Rose! Rose! Rose! Imagine the crowd cheering your name.”
Damion cups his mouth, mimicking a roaring crowd. “Rose! We love you! Encore!”
“Rose! Rose! Rose!” Charlie begins a chant as she poundsher fist in the bar. Everyone around us joins in, and I narrow my eyes at the regular down the bar who’s also banging his fist in encouragement.
“Not you too, Howard.” I groan.
He raises his brows as he pounds his fist harder. He rallies a few other regulars into their weird chant until the whole floor is filled with men hooping and hollering like it’s a concert.
I close my eyes, my face screwing up. “Fine! But if I pass out, I want extra pay.”
“Yes!” Damion pumps his fist. “I’ll do you one better. Extra pay for performing your little heart out. The stage is already set up—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off. “I know how it works.”
He makes a sound of glee before gliding back into the kitchen to alert the rest of the staff of the changes. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m going to hurl.
“My best friend is going to sing!” Charlie shakes my shoulders, jostling my stomach further.
“I hate you,” I mutter past the building, saliva in my mouth.
“No, you don't,” She winks. “I’m going to record it for Dad.”
“Great. Evidence of me passing out will go a long way in court.” I’m being pessimistic, but can anyone blame me? Performing in front of a crowd is like a living nightmare to me. The last time I attempted this was months ago, when I had every intention of delivering my valedictorian speech.
A horrible reminder of my bullies resurfaces, tugging at the part of myself that can't seem to stop thinking of my past. I know all three boys were shipped off to basic training, thanks to Charlie, but a small part of me wonders how they're doing.
Iloathethem. With every fiber of my being, but I can't seem to quiet the part of myself that's hopeless and always looking for the brighter side of things. That fragment of myself always yearns for the best, even if I wish the three boys whotormented me would choke on their own saliva.
I wouldn't wish what happened to me on anyone. My therapist says empathy is a good quality. I say she's giving me too much credit because, despite hoping they're okay, I want them to suffer in the military.
Charlie helps me get set up on the stage, and the whole time we work, I play the last months of my time in Mystic on loop in my head. I don't know why I can't stop thinking of the pain, but it consumes me in a way nothing ever has. It’s a distraction from what I'm about to do as my friend pulls up her playlist.
“Do you want something upbeat?” She asks, scrolling through the thousands of songs she has saved on her phone.
I think for a moment, my hands halting as I reposition the mic. “Yes. Put on a pop song.”
What better way to get my head out of the darkness than to force myself to sing something bubbly? At least then I can pretend I'm not drowning in the agonies of my past.
“Oh!” Charlie shows me a new song that's been making its rounds on the radio. “That’s different from what you’re used to, but it's a hit.”
I stare at the overwhelming amount of likes on the song. Over one million people have labeled it a top seller. “That’s the one.”
She connects her phone to the speakers as I situate myself behind the mic stand. The stage lights burn my eyes, cutting into my deepest fears as my heart thumps painfully in my chest. A few locals are staring at me with raised brows, but no one questions as I take center stage.
“Close your eyes,” Charlie commands softly.
I do as she asks, settling into the darkness. The sounds around me are heightened—a bar stool scraping across the ground, a few people conversing at a nearby table, and the sound of blood rushing past my ears.
“Stop focusing on everything else, andfeel, Rose.” My friend whispers.
Roman’s final expression comes to mind first, the hint of regret I saw etched into his brow like a sculpture as I fell down the stairs. Then Maddox’s silent shock, his dark eyes wide in disbelief as he centered his focus entirely on me. Next, Kairo’s wide-open mouth, as if he intended to yell something as I tumbled down the stairs. It all bleeds together, making mefeelsomething.
