Rockstar Serenade: The Chorus

Ch 12: Confessions Of A Lead Singer

KAILEY~

I’ve been staring at my notebook for almost half an hour now. I’m really finding it hard to form phrases or even come up with the right words. Why don’t you write songs on love and romance? I try to drive Zek’s words away, but they just kept on coming back. That encounter with the interviewer just burst my creativity bubble all of a sudden. I’ve never been lost for words this long. A band with a girl for a lead singer has songs, even if it’s just a few, dedicated to a boy.

What if he’s right? That I’m an epitome of somebody who doesn’t know what love is or how it feels like?

They said that when writing a love song, you need an inspiration. Who’s the sorry boy am I even dedicating this to? I decided to make a song out of Steuart, my ex, but words just won’t come out. It got me thinking, have I really been fervent with my feelings towards him?

Writing a song about those creatures called men is truly ripping my brain cells apart. It’s like I’m losing the will to live.

“Quite the lyrics there, Kailey.” I freak out that I almost jumped fifteen floors from my seat. I never expected company in the balcony this time of the day.

“Imprison me with your warm embrace. Hug me tight while the world collapses...” Oliver is leaning to what I’m writing, his breath tickling the back of my neck. “Hm, are you working on a love song?”

My face flushes bright red that I bow my head so low that the only thing I see is the wooden varnish of the table.  “Uhm, yeah,” I reply shamefully. Not only that Oliver just finds out that I’m a failure in writing love songs but he also finds out my secret attempt to write romance. Why the hell would he even be here? My cheeks burns hotter than ever. Biting my lower lip and clenching my fists, I quickly rip and crumple the sheet of my notebook.

 “No wait--”

Oliver is late to react. I have already sent it flying out to the bushes below. I sigh a breath of relief knowing that it’s gone for good.

He raises his brows and tips over the rails of the balcony. “Why’d you throw away your beautiful piece?”

“Beautiful? God, don’t make me laugh, Oliver,” I say turning at an angle where he can't see my face. “I’ve been working on that piece for thirty minutes, and what I’ve written doesn’t even count one stanza. Additionally, those two lines are too dull.”

“So what? Masterpieces require a lot of investments of time and concentration. And I don’t think it sounds dull.” His face falls to a frown, an expression of I can’t believe you just did that written on his face. He shakes the can of root beer he’s holding and takes a gulp.

“You can say whatever you want.” I stick my tongue out to him. “It just does not feel like the Kailey Poxlier way. In a span of thirty minutes I would have probably been starting my second stanza or already polishing the chorus. Don’t deny it; you’ve always been a witness.”

“Hmm, you’re right.” He says as he tilts the can of beverage. “Very unusual of you.” He pauses and I take a peek of my guitarist as the sun’s morning rays bounce off him. He’s one hell of a pretty boy, having tons of fangirls reeling for him. “But what’s more unusual is for you to work on a love song.”

I duck my head in embarrassment, in frustration, and probably in defeat. Defeat from what? I don’t know, but that’s how I feel right now – utterly defeated.

He approaches me and lands a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t dwell on what that unskilled interviewer said to you. If you work best with lyrics that deals with society issues, suicide, family problems or whatever that interviewer told you, then do so.” He shakes his can which I can tell is nearly empty by the sound of it. “The Flame Alyconia Way. We make songs for people to live by. Not to entertain some shit of an interviewer.”