Silently In Tune (COMPLETE)

Five: Study

Valerian Calix

At the end, people were screaming, my mind throbbing with a migraine, my stomach aching with adrenaline based anxiety.

I was out of breath, wiping my forehead with my rag, drying my clammy hands.

I went backstage as they all vocalized the classic thank you's.

Corvina was chugging a bottle of water, holding my shirt in her other hand.

She paused and looked at me, her curly hair that hit her butt was frizzy and shoved in a messy bun.

"You alright?" She asked, concerned, studying my legs which I froze in an attempt to be still.

She handed me a new bottle of water and I was so fucking thirsty I couldn't stand it.

"You're incredibly talented." She told me.

"Thanks." I nodded.

"I appreciate getting to meet you and your band mates, I don't believe I classify as a super fan after tonight's screaming though." She laughed.

I shrugged.

She studied me, looking for more to fill my silence, leaning against the piano behind her.

"Is the reason you don't talk publicly or really ever to rest your voice?" She asked.

"Those willing to understand my silence are worth my time. Those who don't, don't care for me." I told her.

"Since I may never get to interact with you again can I ask some questions?" She asked.

She'd see me again. Where the hell did she get the idea she wouldn't?

My obsessive mind spiraled insults at her unobservant mind although she didn't have the information I did.

So I understood the way I was feeling was unfair and something I wouldn't confess.

I nodded.

"Is it true you were in and out of foster homes that all abused you in some form?" She asked.

Yes.

"Isn't that where you met Harden?"

Yes.

"You've never had a relationship that I know of but your songs make it sound like you've been in love so many times." She said, more of a statement I didn't have to exactly respond to.

"You have anxiety?"

Yes.

"Is it all across, like social anxiety, abandonment, thought consuming? I know there's different kinds but you intrigue me." She tilted her head, her brown eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

She fidgeted with my shirt and I was wondering what she was gonna do with it.

"All of it. People make me claustrophobic. Ironic Hm?" I smiled, sadly.

She shrugged.

"It sounds ironic but your job is to exploit music for people to resonate with. Not to be touched on or without space. I mean with your kind of music it's hard not to sexualize you but you're still a human." She shrugged.

I liked that perspective.

"Is it true when your stressed like after concerts you go on motorcycle rides and stop somewhere to maybe get inspiration to write?"

Yes.

"That's cool." She smiled to herself, looking down at my shirt.

"Do you want it back?" She asked.

No. Never. I wanted to know everything she would do with it though.

"Okay. Well thank you for your time." She said when she heard everyone coming back.

I walked to her while Jessie talked and gushed to my friends.

"I expect to see you for making my album cover." I said and she frowned.

"You weren't kidding?" She asked and I stepped closer as they were loud and I bent down, smelling the delicious scent of her that I'd been obsessed with for years.

"I don't joke. I'd like to contact you." I said and she blinked at me when I stood back up.

Her eyes trailed my abdomen and stopped on my hand.

"Can I see?" She asked and I wondered what she'd been looking at as I lifted my hand.

She touched over a tattoo that made me laugh and girls romanticize.

It was on the curve between my pointer finger and thumb that said "Put throat here".

"Why?" She asked.

I shrugged.

"Fun."

She smiled a bit as she studied the tattoos on my hands.

She used her two just to hold my one.

I watched her, unsure of her thoughts as I studied everything I'd missed in person the past few years, social media the only visual I had of her for a while.

She looked up at me, clearly aware of my gaze.

Time slowed for a second as she stared into my eyes with a million questions and I didn't move an inch.

She grabbed my other hand, adjusting her eyes to study that one.

"Why the half skull?" She asked and I lifted my hand to my face, positioning my middle finger between my eyes but the rest over my mouth.

"That's cool." She smiled.

I imagined it over her face.

I liked that concept better.

Mentally, I was willing to call her an obsession.

Vocally, it was creepy and no one understood what I felt about her.

It was based on an immediate infatuation.

After that night I didn't think of it again until I saw her at a bookstore in the city and I heard her friend say her name.

And I spiraled.

Most of the things I wrote were in general but the girl I always referred to mentally was her.

I imagined her throat fitting in my hand and the tattoos going perfectly with the scenario.

I imagined the skull on my hand covering her face as I took her in every position I dreamed.

I was a mental mess. It was unrealistic.

But I planned the next few months perfectly around her.

To see her, hear her, learn her.

She became an infatuation, an obsession, and something I just couldn't let go.

I know. Creepy. Stalker ish.

But if it wasn't her, it was no one.

I'd die on that statement.