chrysalism. n.
the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension...
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New York, New York. June 6th, 2017. 11:03 PM. The Band's Floor.
Cole shuffled around the floor as quietly as possible, packing his things. The sound of the door slamming open behind him made him jump.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Ryan asked.
"None of your business, get out," Cole spat back, turning his back to his friend.
"Why are you suddenly so tense about this? She's right, we don't know anything about any of them, who are we to pass judgement?"
"Hey, man," Cole turned quickly, getting in Ryan's face. "Don't tell me how to deal with my sister," he whispered through gritted teeth.
"You're overreacting," Ryan hissed, "and you know it."
"Fuck off, Ryan."
Ryan huffed and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Cole was livid with Malone. To choose a guy, much less one like Bucky, over her own family showed him what was truly important to her, and it wasn't the band or her relationship with her brothers. He thought of her as selfish, and that disappointed him. He grabbed his packed bag and his guitar case, quietly exiting his bedroom. Ryan was nowhere to be found, but Kenny had just entered the living room, his drum sticks clattering to the floor as his eyes fell on his brother.
"Where are you going?" Kenny asked, although it sounded more like a demand.
"Home." Blood rushed to Kenny's face, turning it red, accompanied by a throbbing vein in his forehead, fists balled at his sides. Cole carefully set his bags on the floor, all too familiar with Kenny's violent streak that developed after his stint in rehab. "Kenny, you're not going to change my mind. I'm done."
"You're done? You're done?!" Kenny yelled.
"She's put us on the back burner, do you realize that? In the span of a few days, the band went from her first priority to so far down the list, she's not even showing up to writing sessions. That's unacceptable, and I'd say that if it were any of us blowing off our life's work. We took two years off waiting for her to come to Berklee! We've spent our whole lives pausing our dreams for her, waiting around for her. I'm tired of waiting, Kenny. Now, she wants us to wait for her to spill her guts to a 100-year-old man that she just met. We're getting the shit end of this deal, Ken, and you know it."
"How can you be so goddamn selfish, Cole?"
"How can you be so goddamn complacent, Kenny?"
The brothers stared at each other in silence, neither of them moving an inch.
"I'm going home," Cole breathed, reaching down to grab his bags. "When you're done getting walked on, give me a call."
He pushed past Kenny, silently making his way to the elevator. As the doors opened and he stepped inside, he heard Kenny's stomping footsteps move further into the apartment, yelling Ryan's name. Cole didn't dare look back as the doors closed behind him and he made his way towards the exit of the compound. A security guard stopped him.
