Page 4 of Composed
“Don’t you ever just want to experience it, though?” she asks, twirling her pen between her fingers. “That all-consuming, fireworks sparking, once-in-a-lifetime love?”
What if I said I already had?
Swallowing hard, I tug at a ball of cotton on my joggers. I’m not nearly sober enough for this conversation. “If I want fireworks, I’ll look out of my window on New Year’s Eve.”
“Ha.” Her pink cheeks round as she smiles. “That was funny, actually.”
“Thank you.” I smirk and push my stool back. “Anyway, I gotta get to the studio. If I don’t crawl into a ditch and die before the days out, I’ll see you tonight.”
Dying in a ditch becomes more appealing with every tick of the clock.
My back cracks when I sit upright. I roll my neck and stretch my arms above my head before tugging my headphones off. Unwrapping my hair, the long black strands fall down my back. I drag sharp purple nails over my scalp with a moan.
Wood creaks behind me as the control room door swings open, harsh light spilling in from the hallway.
I shake my hair out and spin in my chair.
Dressed in an all-pink tracksuit, spiral caramel curls piled on top of her head and her russet brown skin flushed, my business partner Talia juggles pizza boxes while holding the door open with her arse.
Vertigo sways me when I shoot up from my chair. I grip the mixing desk and pull in a steadying breath before crossing the room.
Talia hands the boxes over to me. My stomach rumbles, my mouth watering as the scent of cheesy, herby, tomato goodness wafts through the air.
“You are an angel,” I tell her, setting them on the small coffee table before dropping onto the green, chenille couch tucked against the wall.
“Figured you needed sustenance. I know I do.” She nudges the door shut with her hip. “How’s your head?”
“Pretty sure a mariachi band has taken residence inside of it today. Yours?”
“Elephants stampeding.”
I clench my teeth and hiss playfully. “Remind me never to drink again.”
“You said that last time.”
“And I’ll say it every time until I’m mature enough to listen.”
Talia glances at me pointedly but says nothing as she drags her thumb over her phone screen. Music filters through the speakers. She does a little shoulder dance and places her phone face down.
I prop my foot on the cushion, hugging my knee to my chest as I nibble on a pizza slice. I groan when my tastebuds explode. “This is exactly what I needed.”
She winks.
We fall into a comfortable quiet, only the melodic rock from Talia’s playlist filling the space.
I’m almost done with the food when she asks, “Did you get the song I sent over earlier?”
I nod, swallowing down a sip of icy Coke Zero. “It’s not bad. I’m happy to mix as it is, but I wonder if it might be worth seeing if they’re open to adding another guitar riff in the bridge. It doesn't need it, but I do think it would elevate it, especially with them aiming for a more niche sound.”
Her expression drops. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t need it. Just a thought.”
“And a great one.” She jumps up and steals a notebook and pen from my drawers. “Remind me why you’re just a mixing engineer and not a producer.”
I choke down my pizza in the hopes of easing the knot gnawing at my stomach.
Maybe once I thought songwriter and music producer was in my pipeline, but that was a long time ago and things change. “Just not cut out for that life.”
