bittersuite | b.e

First Performance

Mona O'Connell—Lisa, to those who loved her—sat in the cramped dressing room, the walls closing in around her. Her fingers twisted the strap of her worn denim jacket so tightly it left faint impressions on her skin. She could hear the distant hum of the crowd, the faint tuning of instruments, and the scrape of a microphone stand being adjusted. Normally, music was her sanctuary. But tonight, it was a storm she couldn't calm.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her shaking hands. Her stomach churned, her chest a tight knot of nerves and memories. Running away at fourteen, escaping that suffocating foster home, had left scars she could still feel beneath her skin. She had clawed her way into safety, into Maggie and Patrick's home, into a family who loved her without condition. But the past had a way of whispering in the quiet moments, and right now, it was whispering in a voice that screamed, You're not ready. You'll fail. Everyone will see you for what you really are.

"Lisa..."

The voice pulled her from the spiral. Billie. Her adoptive sister, older and fearless, stepping into the room with that familiar mix of warmth and fire in her eyes. Billie leaned casually against the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other tucked into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. "You okay?"

"I... I don't know," Mona admitted, voice cracking despite her best effort. "What if I mess up? What if I—"

Billie crouched in front of her, tilting her head, searching Mona's eyes. "Then you mess up. But you won't. You've got something nobody else has. Tonight? Tonight, the world hears you, not me. Not Finneas. You."

Mona blinked, swallowed. But the fear didn't disappear. It lurked behind her ribs, a living thing. She looked down at her hands, noticing the faint calluses forming from hours spent strumming her guitar, a reminder of the music that had saved her. Music was control. Music was her voice. And tonight, for the first time, it would be hers alone on stage.

The door creaked again. Finneas appeared, guitar slung over his shoulder, a small, encouraging grin tugging at his lips. "Ready, Lisa?" he asked, warm and easy. "You're gonna kill it. You always do."

Mona nodded, unable to speak. The flood of love and support from the two people she trusted most nearly made her collapse. Billie and Finneas had been her anchors from the very beginning, showing her what family could be, showing her that she could exist in the light without fear.

Outside, the crowd's roar surged like an ocean wave. The theater lights glared through the open door, dazzling her. The audience wasn't just anyone—they were fans, people who knew Billie and Finneas, who recognized the aura of new talent, and they had expectations. Big ones.

Mona swallowed. She let the guitar slide against her hip. Her knuckles white.

Billie leaned down, resting her forehead gently against Mona's. "I dropped everything to be here tonight, you know that, right?"

Mona's chest tightened. Billie, in the middle of an insane schedule, had chosen to be here. She had come with her old camera, ready to capture every note, every emotion, every trembling breath. The thought made Mona's heart ache in the best possible way. "I... I know. I... thank you," she whispered.

"Don't thank me," Billie murmured. "Go show them who you are. Go show them Mona."

And with that, she gave Mona's shoulder a gentle push toward the stage.

The lights hit, blinding and warm, and suddenly she was in front of hundreds of people. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Fans screamed Billie's name first, catching glimpses of Mona and Finneas together, and recognition sparked like wildfire. Cameras flashed, and phones whipped up to capture the moment. Maggie and Patrick sat in the front row, Maggie's phone filming, her face glowing with pride, Patrick clapping and cheering loudly enough for Mona to hear it over the chaos.