Page 50 of Wild Stars

Perhaps, it is because I don’t want to lose the feeling I have right now, where I feel...content and not alone.

I set my chopsticks and my bowl down on the table in front of me and take the guitar from him.

“I don’t have anything new I’m working on, unfortunately.Just the same old shit.”I strum out the first few notes of Satellites.

“Don’t you know your songs by heart at this point?”he asks as he sits down next to me.

I shrug.“Of course I do.But I haven’t performed in a while.I want to make sure that this performance, this tour...I need it to be perfect.”I say the words with unwavering clarity because it’s true.It’s what my fans deserve, but also I just want to feel like I am powerful again.

Like I know who I am and what I am good at.

Like I am not astral debris.

Because for the last year, I have felt like a damn fool, and that I’ve fallen too far from where I once existed.

Stepping away from music for so long...I missed it.

I didn’t realize how much I missed it until this moment, as I expertly tickle the chords of Satellites, humming along to the melody.

It’s part muscle memory, sure.But for me, it’s more than that.

Music is my language.I can express how I feel without having to put it into words.

Words are Hailee’s talent, mostly.I learned after we released our third album,Control, that even though I loved writing, my tastes were not as commercially palatable.Hailee writesgoodhits.She’s been writing for top acts for the last five years while I’ve been on hiatus, though she rarely gets any actual credit, but she tells me she prefers it that way.

I segway from Satellites into one of my favorite songs absentmindedly.

Control.

I whisper-sing the words, as my fingers remember just how to dance along the frets.

“Here I sit in supplication, careening for your touch

Begging for your forgiveness would never be enough

Strike me, guide me, cleanse my fucking soul

Quiet the chaos baby, give me control”

Dare twists his lips, and a sense of relief floods me as I let the words come easy, getting lost in them once again.

“I don’t think you could fuck it up if you tried, Matty,” he says, his voice soft and kind.

It’s the most genuine I’ve heard him.

Something about the tone of his voice makes me feel warm, flushed.I fight to look at him as I go into the bridge.

I haven’t played this song in ages.Mostly because the label has tried hard to erase the failure of theControlalbum.

“I mean, your playing has always been second to none, and personally, I think you’re better than Felix.”He flashes me with a smirk.“And your voice is way better.Gravellier.”He coughs.“Sexier.”

I can’t fight the blush that threatens its way onto my cheeks.

I turn away, clearing my throat as I continue to playControl’s melody.It sounds so much different on an acoustic.Softer, but darker somehow.

“Thanks,” I reply, but the word is uncomfortable on my tongue.

I’m more than aware of my voice, especially when I perform, both on the stage and behind locked doors.

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