Page 6 of Save Your Breath
Isabella offered me a sad, sympathetic smile, the California wind blowing softly through her hot pink hair. She had light brown skin, honey gold eyes, and more piercings and tattoos than an entire motorcycle club combined. She was the kind of beautiful that could stun you speechless and also scare you just a little bit, just enough so you didn’t dare fuck with her.
I envied that.
I, on the other hand, was very much the American girl next door. Long, silky chestnut hair, tan skin that mostly came from genetics rather than my time in the sun, bright blue eyes and, blessedly, naturally long lashes. My lips were just plump enough that my team never harassed me to get fillers, and I had a single dimple on my left cheek that I’d always loved — along with a beauty mark right above it.
Ever since I was fifteen, I’d been calledcute.Not hot, not sexy, not rich in feminine power and talent.
Just cute.
Not that Imindedbeing cute. Being cute was fun.
But sometimes, I wondered how long I’d have to age before another adjective would be used to describe me.
“You’ve been at this for seven years,mi amor,” Isabella said. “What do you think?”
I heaved another sigh, shoulders deflating. I knew the answer to the question I’d asked her. I just hated it. When I’d first rose to stardom as a teenager, I didn’t understand much. I kind of laughed off the criticism while licking my wounds in private, trying to pretend like none of it mattered. That was what a good little pop star did, right? I was to smile and be amiable, never confrontational. I was to stick to my music and never have an opinion on anything else.
Now, with a few albums and years of touring experience under my belt and with a fanbase I’d worked tirelessly to nurture, I was starting to have a change of heart.
I didn’t want to be the girl who smiled and said it was all just fine.
I wanted to be the lion that roared back and bit anyone who came too close.
“It’s just…God, it’s so frustrating,” I said. “I’ve won album of the year twice. I’ve sold out stadiums across the world. I amconsistently one of the highest streaming artists on every music platform. I write my own music, my own lyrics, and orchestrate my own tours. I singanddance live forhours on endwithout using auto-tune.” I shook my head, staring at my phone like it was a friend who’d betrayed me. “And yet, all they want to talk about is fuckingnonsense—me still being hung up on Austin.”
“It appeals to the masses.”
“The male masses,” I filled in for her.
“Female, too, sadly. Women love to hate other women — especially those who are successful. The internalized misogyny is wild in these streets.”
“So, I just have to take it,” I said flatly, not even really as a question. “I just have to hold my head high and ignore all the people sharing this article in victory like thisprovesthat anyone who listens to my music has bad taste. I have to be okay with the fact that, no matter what I achieve, all they’re going to talk about is who I’m dating or who broke my heart or what stupid fucking swimsuit I wore and how my body looked in it.”
Isabella didn’t answer, just leaned over enough to squeeze my knee and give me a moment.
And truly, that was all I needed. She was right. I’d been in this for seven years — and that was only after being discovered. Music had been my life since I was three. I knew how this all worked.
In the end, I’d get over this stupid article.
I’d laugh it off — not because I had to, but because when the frustration wore off, I really would find it funny that this waste of oxygen was so obsessed with me. Then, I’d move on and be happy despite what that little prick wrote about me and what all the little trolls said online, because Ilovedwhat I did.
I loved my music.
Iespeciallyloved this album, which felt more mature than any I’d released before. It was like stepping into a new chapterof my life, one I knew my fans would jump into with me because they could relate to everything I was singing about.
Maybe that was what hurt the most.
I could take it when I was younger, when I read through those harsh reviews and saw a little truth in them. I could agree that some of my songwritingwastrite, that I played into what sold and did what I had to do to gain popularity — mostly at the insistence of the adults driving the decisions of my career at the time.
But this?
This album felt personal, like a love letter to my fans. It was me sitting at my piano and bleeding out for months as I sat alone with my biggest feelings. It was my label trusting me to create whatever I wanted to, knowing my name alone would sell it. It was me belting out at the top of my lungs about the truth of love and heartbreak and friendships and growing up and losing innocence. It was me plucking at my guitar with my heart not just on my sleeve, but in the palm of all of their hands.
It was me breaking free from the industry know-it-alls around me trying to pull my strings and realizing thatIwas in the driver’s seat, that I could take the wheel and choose the destination and the route to get there.
So, to have it diminished so quickly, before the first single even dropped…
It killed me.
