My Little Decoy

♪ Where the Dreamers Go ♪ {29}

"Not that I won't remember where I'm from
Just don't wanna be here no more
It's not enough
I'm gonna go
Where the dreamers go." -Daydreaming



[recap: Chasing Avenues had made it to the first round of the competitions, and they're just about to perform. This round is the beginning of the television show where the nation decides who continues or not. Lacey had been badly injured after a confrontation with her father, and she's currently in a debately physical state.]

I met the rest of the band by the mouth of the stage, swallowed behind large, velvet curtains that crashed down in majestic waves from the catwalks over our heads. Taking my position beside Drake and Xander, the five us formed a line- determined and nervous yet dripping with excitement. A hand snaked around my own, making me jolt. Xander gave a small smile by my side, squeezing my hand lightly before letting go. I was so nervous I almost craved his warmth to return.

Looking straight ahead, the band on the vast stage played their song, the vocalist swaying slightly as the band thrashed around in time to their heavy metal. If I leaned just a little to the right, I could spot the silhouettes of the audience, their heads bobbing up and down as the band on stage played their hearts out- their own desires matching Chasing Avenues.

The world could have swallowed me up by that point and I wouldn't have been anything but relieved. The roaring pounding in my skull drowned out the cheers and the noise, and the only sound coursing through my ears was the blood rushing loudly through my head. My hands were clammy as I brushed them off profusely onto my jeans.

There was no way I could perform out there without murdering and or embarrassing myself. Yet, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins and seeing the grim expressions on my band members' faces, I knew that I was better off sucking up the pain and performing with all I got.

Feeling a bead of sweat drip down my forehead, I wiped it away but even the slight movement brought a barrage of exhaustion onto me. I leaned to the side, putting some of my weight onto Xander, and I was relieved when he didn't pull away. Willing the throbbing in my head to disappear, I watched as the band's drummer brought the song to an end with a dramatic crash of the cymbals, signaling the end of their performance.

The man standing beside us, who I didn't even notice until he started to move, made his way out onto the stage with a wide grin that had me grimacing. It looked so fake that I had to tear my gaze away. "Ladies and gentlemen, give another round of applause for Sinsational!" The crowd obliged, and I heard the faint sounds of hoots and whistles as Sinsational took a bow and veered off stage right.

"Great job, guys." Gabriel nodded to them as they passed by us but the other band hardly gave us a glance. Shouldering past Zac roughly, they grabbed the water bottles out of the techies' hands before heading to the waiting room to await their scores. Zac rubbed his arm as he frowned.

"Rude." Drake scoffed, scowling at their actions. Gabriel grunted his agreement as he turned back to face the stage. As the announcer rambled on about how to cast their votes on the website, and what time the results would be announced on the show, I felt a jolt of nervousness hit me hard.

"And now, our next contestants: Chasing Avenues!" Gulping, Zac patted me on the back, urging me forward as the rest of the band made their way on stage. My hold on my drumsticks tightened, the urge to run back into the shadows of the stage overpowering. The five of us made our way to our respected spots as the audience soaked in our presence. I noted how some people looked bored, and others were watching us with curious expressions.

"Alright, you guys ready?" Gabriel spun around to face the band, his back to the audience and microphone. Even he looked nervous. His hands were drumming on the waistline of his pants, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Drake gave him a nod, a large smile on his face. At least one of us didn't feel like throwing up.

Putting a small, yet confident grin on his lips, Gabriel turned back to face the crowd, his hands caressing the mike as he leaned into it, his lips softly brushing against the edge. "We're Chasing Avenues. Don't believe the hype."

I snorted as he ripped off the infamous line delivered by Alex Turner, before twirling a stick around my fingers and waiting for my cue.

In and out, the breaths flew through my frenzied nerves, rooting me to the spot in an attempt to cool down. Gabriel's fingers lifted to his temple as he took a breath- and suddenly, we were alive.

I slammed down on the pads, blowing out weeks of careful rehearsal as instinct took over. The song played in my head, both on stage and in the depths of my imagination. We blended the two together, blasting out a single masterpiece - enticing the crowd in a barrage of sound.

As Gabriel's voice wafted through the arena, I found myself feeling a little faint but frowned it off and continued with my concoction of rhythms. Gabe's voice was slightly muted now - I didn't remember him sounding that quiet at rehearsals, what the hell was he doing?

Unless... It wasn't him.

Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, my mind began to spin in circles, driving my body into a mess of hallucinations and nerves. Though my playing was still as normal as when we started, I started second-guessing the patterns, which I never did. But I felt flustered, confused even.

Sweat dripped down my forehead, making me wince. It was only a minute or two into the performance, I couldn't have worked up a sweat already, couldn't I?

I was suddenly aware of it. Of the pain skyrocketing through my temple; I gritted my teeth and tried to drown it out. The lights above my head were suddenly ten times brighter and warmer, and the sweat collecting around my palms was making it harder to grip Rev. The sound of crashing cymbals and snares did nothing less of slamming into my head.

This wasn't right. My drums were my medicine not my disease.

The crowd was hyped, their energy reflecting off our own. Their screams had the noise in my skull increasing by the second, until my head felt like it would burst from it all. Drake and Xander were shredding their guitars, playing back to back as the bridge erupted, and I backed out slightly- to make their sound heard even more and to lessen the impact of sound waves towards my skull.

I was vaguely aware of how Zac's bass caused the floor to tremble with each low slap, and I began to sway slightly from side to side. The song was almost over, but it felt like an eternity until it would be.

And then I was slipping.

The edges of my vision began to black out, red spots danced around in the darkness, mixed in with the colors of the crowd. My sweaty palms moved a second too late and then the beat faltered. It was barely noticeable; the crowd hadn't caught it, the band hadn't caught it, and I hoped to God the judges hadn't caught it.

But I had. It was imperceptible, just a twitch of the wrist that lagged behind for a split second but it was enough to yank me out of my music-driven daze and into reality. I messed up.

I never mess up.

My eyes darted from the snares to the crowd, connecting accidentally with Mike's gaze in front of the stage, who merely raised an eyebrow at my erratic behavior.

Bringing the song to a close with a final bang, I didn't even realize it was over. All I could think about was the tiny mistake, a flaw in the seemingly perfect system of instinct and passion, and how my head really fucking hurt.

My hands started to shake, my eyes wide open in horror; a single mistake could be the start of many more. I couldn't make any more mistakes; the effects were too costly. It wasn't my fault though, I tried to reason with myself. It was because of Marco-

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, give it up for Chasing Avenues!" Th announcer bellowed into the microphone as he dashed onto the stage with his fake smile and his expensive suit. As soon as the crowd cheered, an uproar of sound that had me wincing, I knew I couldn't take anymore.

Without waiting for the others, I made a beeline for the stage wing, ignoring the band's confused glances and clutching my temples with both hands, drum sticks pressed against my left cheek.

Zigzagging past techies and the last remaining contestants, I almost made it to the exit when I heard my name being shouted. Not bothering to turn around, I pushed past the steel door, which led into a grungy, dirty alleyway.

The sky above was starting to turn shades of pink and purple, swirling into the whites of the clouds. Dusk had already quickly approached. The smell of cigarettes and exhaust fumes fanned around, trailing above the honks and beeps of cars travelling the ever busy streets of Seattle.

It was only when I was greeted with the natural presence of the city that I crouched beside a pile of trash and let out a whimper of pain that I had been holding in for too long. I had known the signs even before I went on stage that I was suffering from a concussion; this wasn't my first, and I doubt it would be my last, but I hadn't thought the pain would be this bad.

My eyes were squeezed tight as the sounds from inside seemed to echo inside my head. With each thump of the bass, all I could imagine was the impact of his fist colliding with my body. With each scream in the crowd, I heard my own cries for him to stop. And the one mistake I foolishly made was just another score on the tally; another point to show he was winning, and I was losing.

The door leading into the building creaked opened, I heard the creak of the hinges cringe slowly, indicating the person opening the door was hesitant. I didn't look up, too focused on my thoughts -neverending, never kind- when the door slammed shut and footsteps headed in my direction.

I felt the presence in front of me before I fully acknowledged it. The breeze from his or her clothing swept past my cheek, and the gravel underneath their feet crackled as they bent down to my sitting height.

"Fuck off, Mike." I deadpanned, immediately assuming it was him. I didn't even recognize my voice, hoarser than usual and strained.

I was surprised when a familiar voice, low and soft, and definitely not the man I thought was in front of me spoke,"Guess again?"

Slowly opening my eyes, the world was a monotone blur until my eyes focused in on the messy fluff of chocolate brown hair, covering the top of familiar forest green eyes, which were looking concerned.

"You're such a stalker." I muttered, halfheartedly giving him a small smirk. My eyelids drooped as I forced them to stay open. Don't fall asleep with a concussion, rule numero uno.

"Still convinced about that theory?" Blake played along, though his tone indicated that he was still worried.

"Positive." I replied, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair away from his eyes without thinking. The action startled us both as my palm lingered against his cheek for more than a few seconds. He reached out and cupped my hand with his own, slowly pulling it to his lap where he stroked my fingertips with his own calloused fingers.

"Damn, you're hot." Blake noted, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

"Thanks. You're not too bad on the eyes either."

He gave a pointed look at the blatant sarcasm but didn't reply, simply continuing to stroke my hand. It was a comforting gesture, something that instantly brought relief to my nerves. Much like Xander, but Blake was far more... effective? I don't really know.

Slowly, I felt myself beginning to lose consciousness, eyes drooping even further as I sunk deeper into the black. My hand in Blake's fell limp as I tried to stay awake. "God, I'm tired." I murmured drowsily to no one in particular, my voice slurred as he bgean to blur in my vision.

"Shit." Blake cursed, and suddenly I was airborne. Not only was I feeling lightheaded enough to feel like I was flying, but I was being lifted up bridal style in Blake's arms. His strong muscles flexed under my weight, and my head lolled against his chest where it lay as he began to move forward out of the alley.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Taking you to the hospital." He replied smoothly. His footsteps echoed against the pavement, melodic and rhythmic. The slight bob of his step had me bouncing slightly in his arms; I wrapped my own around his neck, drawing myself closer to the safety of him. Inwardly panicking, I shook my head although it made the pain worse.

"Wait, you can't." I protested, my voice hoarse and pleading. I didn't want to go back. I never want to go back.

He sighed, a sound of exasperation. "Sturm, I don't know what's going on but you have to."

"Please." I begged. My voice cracked as I stared up at him with a pleading expression. Sure, the pain was bad, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Right?

Already, memories of the hospital flooded through my thoughts and I squeezed my eyes shut again, wincing. Yet, all I still saw was the body of my mother on a simple, metal bed, blankets covering her motionless body as the doctor announced in a grim voice, "Time of death, 4:23 PM."

Something in my tone must have gotten through to him because he seemed to pause in his stride, glancing down at me with a frown. He sighed once more, this time sounding defeated. With a nod, Blake resumed walking and I buried myself thankfully in the crook of his neck.

The time it took to get to wherever Blake's destination was located was blurred and improbable to tell. He came all the way by foot, his steps pattering against the pavement in a blurry of melodic thuds. All the way, not a single complaint exited his mouth, taking my weight in stride as I clung to the safety of his body, not wanting to let go in the first place. When I asked him about why he just didn't take a car, he replied in a clipped tone, "Don't have one," and his tone implicated that the conversation was over. It had me thinking though. The boy holding me in his arms had to be one of the richest people in the music business, yet he didn't own a car or bother to call up his chauffeur? Is the motorcycle even his too?

Mike would want to know about this.

And instantly I was revolted by the fact that the thought flitted across my thoughts in a flurry, before I even had time to think. There was a lump in my throat that I swallowed down in disgust, efficiently shutting up. The rest of the walk was in contradicting silence; comfortable for him, uncomfortable for me.

I was just about to doze off when the swaying of his walk slowed, eventually stopping. He set me on the ground, holding an arm around my waist gingerly as I wrapped my own around his shoulders.

"Here we are," Blake murmured, a hint of pride in his voice. "My humble abode."

I didn't know what exactly I was expecting. I assumed he was taking me to Tilted Reality's mansion, cascading upwards towards the sky in all its extravagant glory, but instead I found myself facing a small flat. It was connected to the other apartment buildings, lining up like soldiers stoically from one end of the street to the other, each a rusty shade of maroon and blue. The one in front of me, presumably Blake's, was similar in fashion to the others, but something about it felt different. It had the same chips and cracks, decor and style, color and shape, but something was definitely off. Whether it was because of the life of the small garden blossoming in front of the walkway, or the guitar themed curtains visible through the windowpanes, but it felt more cozy and warm.

As I gawked, he gently nudged me forward, and I stumbled ahead of him. He let me lead the way up the walkway to the deteriorating door, all the while staying by my side and helping me as I fumbled with putting one step in front of the other. Once we got to the door, Blake fumbled for his keys with his free hand, finally whipping out a small silver key, which glinted in the rays of the setting sun.

I was anxious, not in a nervous way like I had felt just before I performed, but more of an excitement of a two-year-old experiencing going to the zoo for the first time. I drummed along the hem of my shirt, watching closely as he unlocked the door, pushing it open with a small grunt. With a small grin, he gestured for me to take the first steps and I did just that, flicking on the light switch that clung to the wall on my right, and watching the scene unfold.

The inside was smaller than expected, only one floor with the kitchen and living room tossed together into one single area. A small couch was off to the right, opposite a television set and small table. Magazines and music sheets were strewn across the surface, a pair of drumsticks haphazardly laying on the burgundy couch. In the corner of the room was a drum kit; I recognized the brand immediately: Tama Starclassic. The kitchen had a small island, with unopened letters and wrappers thrown carelessly on top. I half-smiled, recognizing his kitchen in the same state mine was in. Past the kitchen was a narrow hallway, leading to three doors, one being his room, the other a bathroom I was guessing, and the last a possible guest bedroom or practice room?

But what caught my attention was the wall to the left, adjacent the living room. Shelves lined the surface from left to right, top to bottom, completely filling in the cream walls with stacks and stacks of vinyls and CDs, organized neatly and even color-coded. I widened my eyes, gliding past Blake to his collection, thumbing lightly against the edges of the vinyl casing and marvelling at how old some were. Edges were torn and frayed, color slowly fading, but yet each felt alive. In front of the stack off in the corner was a record player, sitting on a small desk with only a lamp and another pair of drum sticks.

"Pick your poison." Blake raised one eyebrow, smiling in amusement at my awe.

"Are you serious?" I pointed to the collection with my thumb, all feeling of pain completely numbed away by the sheer beauty of it all: the records, the apartment, Blake...

He nodded and I drifted to look at the labels closer, picking out classics like Led Zeppelin, The Libertines, a few Smiths albums. In the end, I decided to settle on one of my favorite albums of all time: Hot Fuss by The Killers. I carefully slid it out from between Jimmy Eat World's self-entitled and Nirvana's Nevermind. My feet were moving on its own accord, and soon I was in front of the record player, sliding the record onto the track and putting the needle on. There was a burst of static and suddenly the room was alive with sound. As Jenny Was a Friend of Mine played, I whirled around to face Blake, a grin on my face.

He looked surprised, caught off guard by my smile, and in reality so was I. Sure, the band was starting to help me loosen out of my shell, but this... this grin was something out of pure bliss. Brandon Flowers singing around me, encompassing me in my own serenade, I closed my eyes and just smiled, letting the music completely wash over me.

Well, until I felt another rush of vertigo and nearly toppled to the ground. Blake caught me before I made impact, holding me to him as I softly sang along to the song in both a loop and music-driven daze.

"We should probably treat your concussion now."

"That's always an option."

He shook his head, rolling his eyes as he guided me to his couch and told me to lay down and be still. I obliged, but took the drum sticks from the couch and tested them out on my legs. They were great quality, unlike the pair Blake used, and I wondered why he preferred using worn out ones instead of newly bought ones like these. As the song changed into Mr. Brightside, I closed my eyes and drummed along, singing along again.

"I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine. Gotta gotta be down because I want it all-"

"It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss. It was only a kiss." A voice that wasn't mine sang, his voice rich and smooth like silk. I opened my eyes to find Blake bending down to sit beside me, on the floor. I smiled, lips curving upwards and he smiled back, pressing the cloth in his hands to my forehead. It was ice-cold, making me shiver involuntarily, but I knew it would help bring the swelling down so I dealt with it.

"Now I'm falling asleep and she's calling a cab, while he's having a smoke and she's taking a drag." I sang, continuing to drum. I felt far more comfortable than I had ever been, surrounded by music in a cozy atmosphere with a guy that was so down to earth, it wasn't even fair.

A guy that I was tricking into falling in love with me. A guy I was just using for my own selfish needs. Grimacing, I shooed the thoughts away and tried to refocus onto Blake's sweet baritone voice as he sang back, "Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick and it's all in my head. But she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now. Let me go."

"And I just can't look it's killing me. And taking control."

As the refrain started, I sang as he filtered in with a beautiful harmony, and our voices were one. My low soprano blending with his baritone, two uniquely different voices becoming a single identity. "Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price I pay. Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes cause I'm Mr. Brightside."

He met my gaze as we sang and I felt a spark in my gut, the familiar feeling that felt extremely unfamiliar. His crooked grin had me smiling back and I recalled the kiss he placed on my forehead just before Chasing Avenues' performance. It felt right, at that very moment, that I was with him and not alone. Not trapped in my head like every day, but instead venturing out into unknown territory where the birds sang and butterflies fluttered. I felt happy.

And it was then that I decided that being happy was quite a good thing.

--

Alright, how many of you just want to shoot me right now? Come on, raise your hands. I know there are a ton of you. Yes, I know it's been almost five months since I updated this. I tried to make this chapter extra longer for you all. Hopefully I haven't lost too many faithful My Little Decoy readers. To be honest, I had such a bad writer's block. I hadn't outlined the story up to this point, so you could say that I'm truly winging this story. It will just go with the wind then. Haha. Hopefully updates from now on will be quicker, so keep your fingers crossed.

Dedicated to foreverpurple1000 because I just realized how much I missed talking to her, and because Finding Aria has blossomed into such an amazing story. If you're a fan of My Little Decoy, you'll definitely enjoy Finding Aria.

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Isabelle