Page 34 of Ravaged By Lust

“Look through your liquor for the bottle with the highest alcohol percentage. That’s what I want. I’m assuming it’ll be some kind of tequila.”

The server leaves, and my head is in my hands.

“Oh no, Gary.”

“This will get you in the mood for some singing. I need to hear you live, girl, if you’re going to be staying in my apartment. Consider it my down payment.”

“I promise you I’m not singing, Gary.”

“How can you follow your dreams when you can’t even sing drunk in some random bar?”

I sigh.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll give it a go.”

Gary’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “That’s the spirit, girl.”

The shots come. Tequila, of course. Proper Mexican heavy-duty stuff. We sink them quickly and then I’m practically pushed onto the karaoke stage by Gary.

Before I know it, I’m facing the bar and freaking out.

Okay, pick a song, Chloe.

I type in Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. I used to always sing this song with my brother when we were kids in the living room. I know it so well.

The familiar opening chords begin to play, and I turn to look out at the audience. It’s been a long time since I’ve performed live. Everyone seems to be staring at me. Gary is staring at me.

They want me to sing.

But I don’t.

I don’t sing a word.

I’m vulnerable. Alone. Exposed up here on stage.

Those… feelings of what happened come rushing back and there’s a voice in the back of my head that repeats over and over, louder and louder, until it’s screaming.

I’m going to screw this all up.

Bishop did this to me. He was the one who made me unable to ever sing in public again. He tipped me over the edge all those years ago, and he did it deliberately.

I’m unable to perform live because of him. Because of the fear he instilled in me.

I act like I’m in a dream and immediately walk straight off the stage.

I stand at the back of the bar with my back turned to the audience. The chords of Landslide continue to play with no words.

I can’t leave it like this. This is all my nightmares coming back to haunt me at once.

I have no choice. I have to prove it to myself that I can perform live. I have to prove to myself that Bishop doesn’t hold that power over me. It’s been seven years. I don’t have to be enthralled to that man anymore.

I am better than this.

“Come on, Chloe,” I whisper to myself. “This is your passion. Let’s kick some ass.”

A deep breath. And then another. The screaming voice in my head dissolves.

And I’m going back on the stage, heading straight for the microphone…