Maisie pressed down on the callouses on her fingertips as George swept her hair away from her face. "That was the biggest place we've ever played," he said, taking her hands in his, "why aren't you happy?" His palms were sweaty.
She rolled her eyes. "I am happy, Gee, but I'm also fucking exhausted."
His teeth glinted in the low light. He picked up a plastic water bottle from the side table and swigged it like mouthwash, before handing it to her. "Here."
She hadn't expected it to burn on the way down, so she coughed a little, trying to cover it up by speaking. "Wow, okay, we're doing that now, are we?"
Smirking, he took it from her and pulled her up from the sofa. "Come on, you'll probably have to say hi to people on the way out."
Maisie let him manoeuvre her through the twisting corridors backstage, as people in Haven t-shirts carried various equipment and supplies around. She let go of his hand, listening to the buzzing in her ears. If she was honest, she would have rather stayed where she was before until everyone else went home. Her limbs were heavy. George stopped, glancing down at his hand like he hadn't realised they were meant to detach.
"What?" he said.
Maisie stood, vodka aftertaste on her tongue. "I don't want to go yet."
He raised an eyebrow. "But you were just on stage in front of them; you've seen them all before already. What's the problem?"
"I don't have to see their faces on stage," she said, aware that someone was lingering at the end of the corridor.
"Come on," George said, reaching for her hand again.
"I'm not a dog," Maisie stepped back, bringing her hands to her chest, "I said I'm tired."
There was a brief moment when Maisie questioned the look in George's eyes, something glass-like, sharp. Yet he looked her right in the face and smiled softly. "Okay," he said, "I'll go and say hi, see if I can clear them a little. I'll come back when it's clear. Are you too tired to come to mine still?"
The relief stung like Maisie had just been smacked with it. "No, I'll still come over." She turned to walk away, stopped, met his expectant face watching her. "Thanks, Gee."
She supposed she was sitting in the green room, but none of the furniture was green. Most of it was worn out leather, the sofa and a weird ottoman that doubled as a drinks stand. George had taken his plastic bottle with him, but there was still an empty beer bottle or two sitting around. Maisie didn't know if he'd been sitting in here, listening to her muffled voice while she was performing, smiling into his vodka. It felt like he'd been standing right there next to her the whole time, like he'd been waiting in the wings. He must have been. He got on stage at the end of her set fast enough. Josie had said something like this might happen. That he was hungrier than her, ready to claw on the back of her success until he made it his too. But Josie had been overthinking it. George and Maisie had been a thing since college, and neither of them had been performing anything back then, just sitting in the smoking area talking about how people would know their names someday. Josie hadn't known him then. Besides, maybe George really thought she wanted Heartbeat to be on her set. People liked it anyway. It had been a good idea.
She reclined slowly, melting into the sofa. Her hand dropped off the side, and she swore she could have slept right there and then. She imagined George outside the stage door, chatting to congratulatory people, preening. There was another plastic bottle, kicked half under the sofa. She picked it up, a cola bottle.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered as she realised it wasn't just cola. She pictured George, pouring various spirits into every bottle he could find. He always said it loosened everyone up, made them perform better. Maisie took another sip. She supposed it did. She imagined George out there, soaking up praise like a sponge. She wondered why she was so bitter. If she went out there, she'd be doing the same thing. Josie probably had something to say about that too, but they hadn't been texting recently. Maybe she should go out there, she told herself. The thought filled her up, winding around her like a spiderweb until she finished the bottle and stood up, blood rushing to her head.
The cold air danced around her, pulling her hair back as she stepped outside. She found George talking to a few people, arms in full motion as they watched, enraptured. The door shielded her from them, and halted. Doubt clouded up her vision. She stepped back, let the door pop shut in front of her. She watched through the window, feeling her heart beat in her throat. It took all her energy not to sprint down the corridor, out of sight. George looked over once. She swore he caught her eye. She ducked away from the window and sucked in a breath, but nothing happened. He couldn't have seen her after all. She went back to the green room.
She was half napping when George finally came back. "Gee," she smiled dozily.
"Are you ready?" He gathered up all the bottles, filled up to varying volumes, eyes on her as she slid on the jacket she remembered she'd brought with her. He passed her a hairbrush from inside an old plastic bag, making a wide gesture to her head.
"Oh," she said. There wasn't a mirror, so she pulled it through the tangles in her hair and waited for George to say she'd done enough. He held out his hand for it and she put the brush back. Then he stuck out his hand and she took it.
Maisie didn't feel the cold when they got outside. The whiskey or whatever the hell it had been was doing its job. She imagined the streetlights were spotlights, or camera flashes. She thought about all the dreams she'd had a few years ago in the mist of cigarette smoke, tried to walk like she knew everyone she ever needed to, like she knew everyone wanted to be her. She kind of just wanted to go to bed. The dark crept closer around them as they wound through narrow streets.
George's hand was clammy. She loosened her grip, slowing her steps. "I thought we were going to yours."
He turned to her, eyes sparkling. "Oh, I was talking to Alex earlier. He invited us over, an after party I guess." George wrapped an arm around her. "What's wrong?"
"I told you I was tired," Maisie said, hardly audible.
"That's fine," he said, lips grazing her forehead, "we won't be there for long, but I thought it would be rude if we didn't go. We can just have a drink and go."
Maisie stepped back and eyed the clunky plastic bag in his hand. "Haven't we done that enough?"
He just laughed and pulled her in close again, kissing her and steering her forward. "Come on, it'll be fun."
It was a big house; she could admit it looked fun from the outside. The driveway was bigger than the flat George lived in, and filled with random people milling around. George slowed down for a moment, nodding at most people he passed by. Maisie didn't recognise anyone. Light was spilling out of the open front door. A wall of noise hit them as soon as they stepped inside. George seemed to come alive, standing taller, face more coloured, bottles clinking against his legs. He let go of her hand and slapped someone on the back, leaving the bag on the floor by her feet. It didn't take long for him to get swallowed into the sea of people, who occasionally mumbled his name in approval. It smelled like bodies and vodka sweats, spilled beer and the faint tinge of old food. Maisie hadn't been expecting the wave of panic, but it hit her like a brick wall. All she could seem to think of was him. Where was George? How do I get back to George? And a question that rang right over the rest: when do I get to go home?
Clutching the cola bottle from before, she ventured further into the swarm, drifting in and out of rooms like a ghost. She found him in a bathroom with a few others, who were either in or perched on the edge of a huge bathtub.
"Maisie!" He threw himself forward and draped himself over her shoulders.
"You left me," she said into his ear.
He kissed her neck sloppily. "No, I didn't."
Maisie tried to push away, but he stuck like glue. He trailed a kiss up to her ear. She was aware of faint laughter. She yanked his head away, glaring into his eyes. He glared back, green irises just small bands orbiting the widening darkness of his pupils.
"Why aren't you happy?" he whined. "Come on, I'll go make you happy." He grabbed her hand and hauled her out of the room into the hallway. He pushed her into the wall and took too long to notice as she slid out of his grip.
"Not now," she said.
"Don't I make you happy?"
Maisie rolled her eyes and steadied him by the shoulder. "You do, but you also bring me to parties when I said I was tired so many times."
The hallway was quiet, just the faint thud of music through the wall and muffled voices shouting and singing. Someone was nearby, leaning against the wall with their phone pressed against their face.
George placed a hand on either side of her face, eyes glistening. "I'm sorry," he said, voice a lot quieter than it had been, "we shouldn't have come."
There wasn't much Maisie could say. She watched him as he glanced back to the bathroom he had been in before. A laugh erupted from the crack in the door, escaping with the yellow light. She exhaled, shoulders dropping. "You can go back to them if you want."
"You could come too." He laced his fingers into hers and squeezed. "They won't mind."
She shook her head. "I don't want to."
He pressed a kiss into her lips and left. Maisie stood, listening to everyone else, catching snippets of conversation. None of it really made any sense to her, but it was grounding, stopped her from falling asleep on her feet. The alcohol was starting to fade out, turning the cotton wool softness into something scratchy. She'd lost track of her bottle somewhere, and she missed it now.
Throughout the house, people were starting to wind down. Someone was vomiting in a corner, a tired looking friend holding their hair out of the way and gazing down, faintly disgusted. Maisie found a clock in the kitchen. It was almost five. Someone had handed her another drink a while ago, and she had stumbled around for a while, laughing with whoever approached her. If Josie was here, they would have danced, or sung, or just hung around for a bit, just the two of them as the centre of the world. The night felt wasted. The cool air embraced her as she stepped out onto the driveway. She hadn't noticed how stuffy it was in there until she left, and now she didn't even know how she had been able to stand it. The sun was glinting over the horizon and she watched curtains twitch from across the street. Vague shouts surrounded her.
She was halfway down the street before she realised she probably should have waited for George, but she hadn't seen him for hours, so maybe he'd already gone. If not, he was probably slumped against a wall somewhere. She basked in the light of the tentative sun, watching her shadow grow shorter as time went by. Her arms were bare, goosebumps raising in the breeze. She'd forgotten her jacket.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Maisie said under her breath, before turning around to go and get it. After picking her way through the litter and vomit and general mess, she wondered if it had even really been worth it. She found it hanging off a chair in the kitchen, miraculously with all her stuff still in the pockets. She supposed nobody cared about her house keys when everyone was coming down.
On her way out, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The dark shadows under her eyes did not do her any favours. Maisie didn't relish in the walk this time. She was tired and a little pissed off that George had brought her there. She stomped down the street. It didn't even count as night anymore. The summer morning sun was low in the sky, peering over rooftops as she passed by. Morning joggers waved at her as they passed by. They couldn't have looked more different.
The walk seemed to go on forever, until she made it to the park around the corner. Birds twittered overhead. Someone was stretching on the grass, movements fluid and long. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, baby hairs catching the sun. Maisie kept walking, hoping not to be noticed, but her stomach started churning. Her mouth tasted metallic. All she had to do was cross the field, then she'd be home. That was it. The nausea slowed her down. Maisie swore as she sat heavily on a bench. She was sweating. Her throat was thick. Then she bent down and threw up by her feet. She swept her hair back behind her shoulders, straightening back up. Maisie started laughing, just a small chuckle, amusement tightening her stomach. George would not be proud of this.
"You okay?" A shadow cast over her and she looked up. The girl who had been stretching before stood in front of her, peering down with her nose scrunched up. Something in her eyes clicked and her mouth twitched. Maisie recognised that face, but it had been younger and rounder before, now it was all angles and shadow. Her lips pressed together.
"Jasmine?" Maisie squinted into the sunlight. "Jasmine Novak, right? From Bankside?"
Jasmine's eyes were a deep shade of brown, becoming amber pools in the brightness. She blinked. "Uh, yeah. You're Maisie, aren't you?"
"That's me," Maisie said, resting her hands on the bench.
The girl stood there in her leggings, shifting from foot to foot. "You didn't really answer my question."
"Oh, right. I'm okay." Maisie was still drunk, that much was clear now, but it was strangely euphoric. "Just, uh..." She trailed off, not sure how to explain.
Jasmine nodded slowly, eyes flipping up and down from Maisie's feet to her face. "You should probably get cleaned up."
"Yeah," Maisie said, looking over her shoulder, "I should." She laughed a little breathlessly. "Sorry, this is embarrassing."
"Were you celebrating?" Jasmine checked her phone and looked back at her. "Playing Haven, I mean?"
It took a couple of moments for Maisie to connect the dots. "Yeah, I guess I was."
"You were really good," Jasmine said, "if that means anything to you."
Warmth filled up her stomach and she smiled. She'd heard it before, but the edge was never really taken off. "Thanks, it does." She stood up. "I should probably go home."
Jasmine nodded. "Nice seeing you again."
"You too."
Maisie crossed the rest of the field, buzzing with embarrassment, cringing fiercely. She turned back, catching Jasmine's figure running through the green, long athletic strides carrying her into the distance.