Page 26 of Tear Me to Pieces
The band starts to play, but I don’t really hear any of it because I’m fighting nerves and an interest I don’t know what to do with. How to manage.
I’ve never been attracted to someone. We were warned so far away from anything like that when I was young, I was terrified of it growing up. And I sure as heck wasn’t attracted to the controlling, manipulative, asshole of a man my father made me marry.
Rubbing my sweaty palms down my thighs, I turn to find our waitress beside me. After ordering another drink, I focus on my breathing—pulling in enough to fill my lungs before slowly letting it back out. As soon as my bourbon arrives, I down half of it, glad the burn is there to distract me. I manage to make the rest last two more songs, before I’m once again staring at the bottom of my glass. I want more, but I know I can’t have it. My tongue will start to get sloppy, and I really don’t want to embarrass myself on stage.
In front of Simon.
And then, the moment I’m both dreading and anticipating arrives. Christian looks out over the crowd, his eyes landing on me. A wide smile spreads across his face as he announces there will be a guest singer tonight. The crowd doesn’t seem sour about it, which is nice, but I still might puke.
Or pass out.
Taking a deep breath instead of hyperventilating like I want, I slide out of my chair, making my way through the crowd as he introduces me. When I reach the stage, he meets me at the edge, holding out a hand to help me up. Motioning to his microphone, Christian steps back, giving me space.
I’m feeling a little lightheaded, so I pull in a deep breath, hoping the added oxygen will clear my mind. I take the spot Christian left for me, feeling oddly comfortable as my lips hover in front of the mic. As the music starts, I turn my head, peeking over one shoulder to where Simon sits behind me. He meets my gaze immediately, tipping his head in a small nod that is oddly reassuring.
I glance to my left where Tate holds his base, then my right where Christian plays guitar. Seeing them around me settles my nerves even more.
I always felt alone when I sang before, but that’s not how this feels. This time I have people beside me I trust. People who look out for me. People who want me to grow and be better and spread my wings.
Turning back to the mic, I look out over the crowd, ready to take what should have always been mine.
Until Christian’s song choice registers. Then I’m way less ready.
I offered up suggestions, but because I wasn’t sure what they would know how to play or what would fit their vibe, I kept things pretty general. Not for a single second did I expect Christian would pick the song playing now. It’s a song I’ve only ever sung to myself while cleaning my house, listening to my voice echo around the empty—and surprisingly acoustic—space.
My next breath is shaky and my mouth starts to dry out, but there’s no turning back now, so I close my eyes and start singing.
The first line of “Barracuda” by Heart comes out a little wobbly and soft as I get used to the mic and being in front of people I haven’t known my whole life. It doesn’t sound great, but I keep going, determination building with each line of lyrics I sing. Closing my eyes, I let the music wrap around me. Let the words flow through me. How they sound. What they mean. The way they make me feel.
I’m sure Christian picked the song because of the punch it packs, but it could have been picked for a different reason too. The song was written as revenge on an asshole who screwed with the singer and her sister, and it feels apropos that it’s the first song I perform outside of a church full of men who did the same.
My voice evens out. The edges smooth. What started as a stilted and emotionless performance grows and morphs into what it’s supposed to be. A purge. Emptying my soul of what someone else decided it should hold so I can fill it myself. It’s an act of defiance.
A reclaiming of something I once loved so much.
When the note that defines the song comes, I belt it out, hitting it spot on, arms wide, bared but not bleeding. And it feels sofucking freeing that I let go. No more holding back. No more holding in.
The song ends, but I’m still soaring, riding the wave of freedom I’ve been chasing. Christian moves into my periphery and I prepare to step down. Instead, he holds up a finger, his brows raised in a question as he mouths the words ‘one more’ since I can’t hear anything over the crowd cheering for my performance.
I nod, head bobbing with an eagerness I thought was dead and gone. It feels so fucking good to be up here, and I’m not quite ready to give it up. Not yet.
I recognize the next song immediately and give Christian a wide smile. He returns it and steps back. I mean to turn to the mic, but my eyes find Simon, and my breath hitches at the way he’s looking at me.
Like I’m the only other person here.
I’m forced to turn away when I have to start singing. I only make it a few words into “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson before the crowd of women packed into The Cellar are singing along with me. Belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs, arms in the air. I can see the emotion in their faces as we take back what was stolen from us. Together.
The moment is so fucking powerful it threatens to tighten my throat. I fight through it, proving the song right.
My past didn’t kill me. It tried like hell, but failed.
Because I’m stronger than it was. Stronger than the people who tried to break me. Stronger than the men who wanted to control me.
When the song ends, Christian comes to my side, announcing my name again to the crowd as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, beaming like he’s proud of me as they clap and cheer. After telling them the band is going to take a brief intermission, he leads me off stage into the curtained-off portion where the band can relax unbothered.
Christian gives me a quick hug before holding me by the shoulders at arm’s length. “You fucking killed it.”
“Thanks.” Excitement and happiness buzz across my skin. I feel fucking reborn. Capable of being who I want to be for the first time since leaving Arkansas behind. It’s euphoric, and I don’t really know how the feeling stays contained within the confines of my body.
