Crookedly in Love {a Shawn Mendes Fan Fiction}

21. The Descent

I sat, unmoving, in Shawn's dressing room. He started to tune his guitar, his fingers slipping on the strings. He was nervous, I could tell. But, I was too mad to feel sympathetic. He wanted a chance to prove he loved me. Well, here it was.

He took a deep breath and looked over at me.

"You mean everything to me," he said. "I've never written a song by myself, without you. But, I wanted to express how I felt about you. Truly. And I thought it would be weird if you wrote something about yourself. And I wanted to do this on my own. These are all my words."

My breath caught in my throat. He had never written a song on his own before, and this was the first one. This was about me. I couldn't help but let myself soften.

He began plucking strings on his guitar lightly.

I promise that one day I'll be around
I'll keep you safe
I'll keep you sound

It sounded so melodic and pretty that I couldn't help but feel my icy heart begin to thaw.

Hey
I know there are some things we need to talk about

I nodded, as he looked up at me somberly. The song continued on, and I could feel myself begin to forgive him, to understand the truth. Something about putting it in a song, scribing it into a lyric, made it sincere and genuine.

And take a piece of my heart
And make it all your own
So when we are apart
Never be alone.
You'll never be alone

I pressed my lips together, as he set down the guitar. I got up and walked over to him, where he was sitting on a stool. My face moved closer to his.

"I love you," he said, softly. "No one else."

I kissed him hard, desperately, as if he would slip away any second. He set his guitar down and tangled his fingers in my hair. He pulled me closer so our bodies were pressed firmly together and you could no longer tell where my body ended and his began.

"My heart will always be with you," he said, out of breath. "I don't want you to ever feel like you're alone. Wherever you are, I'll drop everything to be there for you if you need me."

"I can't believe you wrote that song for me," I whispered.

"Of course. No one else measures up to you, Jules."

There was a knock at our door telling us it was time for soundcheck. We reluctantly left the dressing room to practice, but I felt ten times lighter and my heart felt ten times bigger.

We continued writing for his new album that night. The tour was almost halfway over. We had already recorded four songs for his demo to show Nelson and Andrew to see if it was good enough for the EP.

It was his debut album. It had to be good.

The next morning, I was sleeping in my bed and woken up by a loud knock at my door.

I rolled out of bed, yawning, making my way over.

It was Camila. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she was clutching a magazine.

"Camila? What's wrong?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. I know we're not super close," she said, weakly. "I just – I didn't want to talk to my bandmates because they would've said 'I told you so' and I didn't know who else to turn to –"

She rambled on, working herself into a bout of hyperventilated crying.

"Shhh," I said, softly, pulling her into my arms.

She cried on my shoulder, and we stood there for a long moment. All I could hear was her sobs and her sharp intakes of breaths.

"Camila, hun, what's wrong?" I asked, leading her over to the bed.