Two years have passed since Riley first burst into the music industry with the hidden identity of, The Masked Singer. With two albums under her belt and a third one on the way, Riley supposedly has her pathway marked out. No tours are planned, no in...
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My fingers sting as they press down against the guitar strings. It's only when I turn my mind off and look down at my fingers, I notice how red and numb they are. I rub my fingers together, only to feel the indented grooves in the pads. How long have I been in the studio? I look towards the clock on the wall to see its eight thirty at night.
"It doesn't feel that late." I stand up and stretch my back as I look towards the large window at the back of the recording studio. The sun has disappeared and instead the glow of the moon shines over the bustling city.
The sound of the door opening snaps my attention to the entrance. I watch as Alex pokes his head through the door before moving his whole body into the room. I don't particularly like anyone in the room with me, but Alex turning up here is different.
"How are you?" he wearily questions.
"Good." I nod my head slowly.
"How's the song coming along?" he questions.
My reaction is slow, but I shrug my shoulder and remove the guitar strap from around my neck. I place it on the stand before moving towards my book to snap it shut from his prying eyes.
"It is coming along good as well." I plaster on a smile.
The song isn't coming along, in fact, there were no songs to be coming along and I don't want him to know that. Alex would stress out and probably miss his flight if he knew there's a possibility I'm not going to make the deadline for the label. But this is something I need to do for myself, and Alex still has a hard time getting his head around that concept. It's cute that he worries about me, and I adore that quality in Alex.
"Will you play me what you've written so far?"
"When I'm finished, you'll be the first to hear it, I promise." Alex deflates but nods his head.
"Okay."
For the last couple of months, I've been working on my next album. I pitched a few songs and the concept yesterday, but the new direction and sound to the album doesn't sit well with the head of the label. He's scared the music will be rejected by my audience and prefers I go with something similar to my last two albums.
So, I've been sent back to the studio to work on a new song and an album concept for them. I'm supposed to send it in tonight, but I have nothing. It's hard to write about topics or themes I can't identify with anymore. I'm not that seventeen-year-old, naïve girl who walked into the industry, I've changed and morphed into someone else. I don't want to be a one track spinner, I want to create music. I want to create art.
"Make sure you take a break, okay? I don't want you over working yourself." Alex lightens up and smiles at me.
"I will." I smile back, "I'm was about to head home, in fact." Grabbing my book off the table, I shove it in my bag along with a few other things I have on the table.
