Page 30 of Shattered Melodies

City of the Mundane

LIAM

Waking up with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like a dirty ashtray. The sun was streaming in through the cracks in the blinds, stabbing at my eyes like tiny daggers. I groaned, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow.

But the pillow was empty. Cold. Just like the space beside me in the bed.

I sighed, memories of the night before starting to trickle back in hazy fragments. The club, the pulsing music, the sea of writhing bodies. And then what was his name again? Jake? Josh? Something with a J, I think.

Not that it mattered. He was gone, just like all the others. Just another nameless, faceless hookup in a long string of nameless, faceless hookups.

I pushed myself up, wincing at the protest of my aching muscles. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, and then backed over a few times for good measure. But that was nothing new. It was the price I paid for the life I lived, for the choices I made.

I stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the hot water cascade over me. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool tile and trying to let the steam and the heat wash away the grime and the guilt.

But it was no use. No matter how long I stood there, no matter how much I scrubbed and scoured, I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness, the sense that something was missing.

After showering, toweling off and pulling on my suit. It was a good suit, tailored and expensive, the kind of thing that screamed success and power and all the things I was supposed to want.

But as I looked at myself in the mirror, as I straightened my tie and smoothed back my hair, I couldn’t help but feel like a fraud. Like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life, someone else’s skin.

Because the truth was, I hated this. Hated the long hours and the cutthroat deals and the endless, soul-sucking meetings. Hated the way my father looked at me, with that mix of pride and expectation that made me feel like I was constantly falling short.

He had no idea about my other life, about the music that flowed through my veins like fire. No idea that when I wasn’t playing the dutiful son and the ruthless lawyer, I was Corey King, the rising star of the indie music scene.

It was my escape, my salvation. The only thing that made me feel alive, that made me feel like I was more than just a cog in the machine of my father’s empire.

But I couldn’t let him find out. Couldn’t let him see that side of me, the side that dreamed and created and lived for something more than the bottom line.

Because if he did… if he knew…

I shuddered to think of the consequences. Of the disappointment, the anger, the inevitable ultimatum.

I had to keep up the charade, had to keep playing the role of the dutiful son and the successful lawyer. At least until I could make my music career sustainable, until I could break free of my father’s grip and live life on my own terms.

But god, it was hard. Hard to put on that mask every day, to pretend to be something I wasn’t. Hard to sit through endless meetings and conference calls when all I wanted to do was pick up my guitar and pour my heart out into song.

As I walk towards the kitchen, I noticed that someone was already sitting at the counter with a cup of tea in one hand and a stern expression on his face, was Jimmy.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I groaned, making a beeline for the coffee pot. “Not now, Jimmy. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

He snorted, pushing a cup of coffee towards me. “Too bad, because you’re getting one anyway. What the hell were you thinking, bringing home another stranger without having them sign an NDA?”

I sighed, taking a long swig of the coffee and wincing as it burned my throat. “I wasn’t thinking, okay? I was drunk and horny and he was there and… fuck, I don’t know.”

As I stood there, letting the caffeine work its magic, my mind drifted back to the first time I had met Jimmy. It was back in college, during a particularly wild party. We had both had a few too many drinks and ended up making out in a corner, all wandering hands and sloppy kisses.

The next morning, hungover and embarrassed, we had laughed it off and decided to give dating a try. But it quickly became clear that we were better off as friends. Jimmy was too much like me, too impulsive and reckless and prone to self-destruction. We brought out the worst in each other, and we both knew it.

So we had called it quits, but we had stayed close. Jimmy had been there for me through everything, through the highs and the lows and all the messy, complicated bits in between. He was more than just my agent, more than just my best friend. He was family, the only family I had left that really mattered.

Jimmy shook his head, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. “Liam, you can’t keep doing this. You’re playing with fire, and one of these days you’re going to get burned.”

I knew he was right, knew that I was being reckless and stupid and self-destructive. But I couldn’t seem to help myself, couldn’t seem to stop the spiral of bad decisions and worse consequences.

“I know, I know,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.”

---