The Masked Truth

Chapter Eight

The car hums quietly as we move through the unsettled streets of the city. I lean my head against the cold glass window and look at the scenery swishing past in a blur of flashing colours. It's not the most comfortable position - my head slightly bumps against the window as the car travels over uneven road. But it'll do for now.

Returning from a lost daze, I run my hand over my face and take a deep breath to help settle my nerves. I move away from my slouched position against the window to shuffle to the middle seat to rest my bellow on the back seat of the passenger chair.

"I'm scared, Archer," I say.

There's something about Archer. Perhaps it's because we've worked together for so many years - saved my life and shows dedication and trust that I can easily, and undoubtedly confined within him. I know he won't sell my secrets, but honestly be there for me. He'd become so much of a tour father, and I really appreciate that aspect of it all.

"Don't worry about the record label, Riley! Ava will help you out," he encourages with a weak, but reassuring smile.

Frowning, I lean back into my seat and gaze out the window again. I'm worried about my relationship with Alex, and the feelings I have for Nathan. Adding that with the stress of the record label - I want to pull my hair out and scream. I can't have them both, but I do. I want the safety of Alex by my side as I venture off into the world as a new artist, but I like the comfortability and relaxed lifestyle Nathan can help me build.

I don't want to hurt either of them, and I certainly don't want to hurt myself in the process. But being hurt in this world seems inevitable. It'll happen, and it'll hurt just as much. Heartbreak is horrible, but the feeling of breaking someone else's heart, uncomprehendable.

I feel so fake and hard under all of these layers of lies. Each one thicker than the next, another layer of paint to a picture constantly changing and morphine within restrictions. I'm so close to the ending, though. There's something I can use to be positive about. For once I'll settle the truth and be done with it.

Ten minutes pass and we're late - no surprise there, honestly. Archer parks in front of the record label, and I quickly slip out of the car and run straight through the doors into the front office and wave at the receptionist, then over to the elevators to make it to the meeting room on level ten. Three minutes later, I stumble into the office room without my breath and flushed red cheeks.

"Sorry," I announce as I quickly find my swivel chair at the end of the long glass table.

The balding man sitting at the end of the table pleasantly smiles and accepts my apology on behalf of everyone else sitting in the room. I feel awful for being late, but there's not a whole lot I can do when I'm out on a promotion job. Snuffing fans to make a meeting wouldn't be good for sales. I'm sure they'd agree with me with me on that respect.

I take a deep breath and begin to mentally prepare myself for what's about to happen. Best case I walk out of this place to write more music for the album I know they're going to want me to write. Worse case, I sign my life away for another couple of years. I don't want that to happen, not again. I have plans for the future and being here a minute longer that's not required of me isn't one of them.

"Firstly," the balding man addresses, "We love the demo song you produced. We want more music like the first two albums your written." As I look around the room, the men sitting along the table nod their head in agreement.

Nodding my head, I say, "I'll see what I can do."

"We are positive you can follow the same direction. Please organise another timetable to use the studio so you can record the vocals as soon as possible. The marketing team need time to prepare the album graphic, sales pitch, tours, merchandise line, and so forth."