Levitate (A Bad Omens RPF)

Chapter 11

Performing in Mesa was by far the least enjoyable show I had ever played. 

Despite Madilyn's deft hand when it came to makeup artistry (a skill I found myself severely lacking) the garish bruise across the bridge of my nose made it's presence aggressively known. Glancing at my reflection before the show, I could still see the dark shadow beneath a heavy layer of concealer, color corrector, foundation and whatever else Madi had smeared onto it.

Doing my level best to put the same energy into this performance as every other one, I eventually had to accept that hiding my injury was a lost cause. The set had barely started and, already, a combination of bright stage lights and far too much dynamic motion had me sweating "like a whore in church" as Analie so eloquently phrased it.

I knew that all of Madilyn's hard work would be destroyed before I left the stage that night, and it was hard not to let it bother me. Especially when it seemed as though three hundred and some odd pairs of eyes were honed directly onto the offending discoloration.

And then there was the pain, heaped upon the slightly vain embarrassment of it all.

It didn't feel so horrible as to be unbearable, nor was it negligible enough to be ignored. It was a vague annoyance at best, but the fact that it hurt in the first place rankled me. I never noticed how much singing and talking vibrated through the bones of the nose until then. 

Every sound I made came with a dull throbbing sensation that made me wish I hadn't given up my job at the nursing home so quickly. At least when the dementia patients kicked me, they weren't strong enough to do any real damage. 

Not only that, but I was able to go home and be away from them every night. In this situation, I was still stuck with my assailant when I "clocked out". Having to sleep directly below him on a bus that was clearly not meant for two bands to share, regardless of the number of bunks. 

It couldn't be called a great relief from seeing and working with Jolly every day.

I was glad when the set was finally over, and I was able to draw attention away from myself and onto the band everyone had truly come to see.

"...and again, thank you guys so much," I said into the mic, already backing away from the spotlights and into the semidarkness of side stage. Until then, I had never before heard applause that sounded like pity.

The moment I was out of sight, I spun around and headed for the green room, feeling as though I could scream with frustration.

I wanted nothing more than to be furious with Jolly, and I was. But a part of me kept remembering the sickened, guilty expression he'd had on his face at the sight of my blood; the same part of me that kept remembering Noah's words. It's bound to be tense.

Clearly Jolly felt bad for what he had done, and hadn't meant for it to happen. I was just being stubborn and I knew it. But when I, annoyed with myself, let out a frustrated huff, the pain reminded me why I was upset in the first place. 

I stepped into the green room and caught sight of myself in a mirror on the wall. Madilyn's work was most definitely destroyed. 

Sweat tracks ran through the makeup, giving my face a patchy look that was even worse than the original damage, if I were honest with myself. Rather than one large bruise, it looked as though I had multiple small ones at odd intervals. That, or a highly infectious skin disease, take your pick. 

My jaw clenched, and then immediately unclenched as the pressure caused a jolt of discomfort to the battered area. 

No, I didn't think I could forgive Jolly so easily.