Page 32 of Bound By Song

I need a distraction.

With a heavy sigh, I put the brushes down, frustrated. I slip downstairs into my small basement recording studio. There was a tiny amount of money left to us when Grams died, and when my sisters moved out they used some of their share to gift this space to me. I love it. It’s the first thing in the entire house that’sjust mine. Just for me. And it reminds me of them and makes us feel connected, closer, when I’m missing them.

The walls are lined to be soundproofed but I also have a few of my personal canvases up too. Some finished, some waiting to be touched up. But today, I don’t want to paint. I want to lose myself in something else.

Music.

I flick on the small ring light and settle in front of my computer, pulling up the familiar video sharing app. I don’t want to think about them, so I slip into the familiar anonymity of my online persona,Honey.

With the press of a button, my hot pink neon sign on the wall illuminates and I click to go live before I can lose my nerve.

The camera only shows my logo. I’m much more comfortable out of shot, but even so, it only takes a minute for the viewers to start joining and sending their welcome messages.

I have a small but really sweet following.

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the pull of the music. This is how I cope – how I channel everything I can’t quite put into words.

I pick up my guitar and strum the first few chords, the sound flowing from me before I even realise it. The words come next.

“You’re a storm in my head, can’t find the way to feel you

I’m trapped in your silence, when all I want is you

I’m spinning in circles, unsure which way is true

But every time you pull me close, I break and pull you too…”

The song flows, raw and unfinished, but full of all the emotions I can’t express in any other way. The conflicted pull between desire and fear, the ache that gnaws at my insides.

I can feel the tension easing as I let the music carry me away, pouring every bit of frustration, confusion, and longing into it.

By the time I finish, I’m breathless.

I don’t know how many people are watching, but when I glance at the comments scrolling by, I see the words that make my chest tighten.

“This is amazing!”

“So much emotion in this. You’re incredible!”

“I can feel every word. Don’t stop playing!”

And the direct messages…

“Your voice is so haunting, it gets under my skin.”

“You’ve got a gift. This song, wow.”

“I can’t stop listening. You’ve got something real here.”

I don’t know if they’re hearing what I feel or just picking up on the rawness of it, but in this moment, it feels like the first time in days I’ve been able to breathe. To let go.

I spend a few more minutes responding to messages, thanking people for their support, but as the excitement from the live performance starts to fade, I’m left with that emptiness again.

The same emptiness that’s been gnawing at me all day.

I close the laptop and sit there, in the quiet of the basement, the soft hum of the computer the only sound. The ache hasn’tgone away. If anything, it’s grown. My omega is restless, still longing for something I can’t quite reach.

I know I need to stop torturing myself. I need to make a decision.

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