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“When was the last time you rested? Do you know?”
He didn’t hear anything before this question was asked- which was probably why it was there in the first place. Not responding to anything she’s been saying is a likely indicator of not being in the best headspace. His stomach was warm with alcohol, his laughing was full and hearty and loud, but it was raspy. He had been singing his heart out all evening, everything was sore, but it was wonderful. He knew he did good when he felt it afterwards, the part of his soul he put into every performance tearing out of him and leaving everything feeling raw.
Nothing felt real. The bright stage lights made nothing the color it was supposed to be. The next band performing had a distinct style, one that just blended into everything, made the space sound like it was merely a dream. He couldn’t tell what made him feel weightless, the shifting colors around him and detachment from the world or the thrill from the performance.
“I don’t need rest, not yet.” He sounded so sure of himself. He always sounded sure of himself.
She was far more grounded than he was. She downed another shot, placing it on the table with a loud thud. She swung her guitar’s case onto her shoulder, and its bottom slammed into the counter’s edge. The singer winced, but she didn’t pay much mind to it. “I’m going back to the hotel; I’d suggest you come along too.”
“Am I not allowed to enjoy the night?”
She rolled her eyes, once brown but nearly golden in this lighting. She pressed her fist against his shoulder and gave him a light shove. “You’re not allowed to be here alone. That’s the deal you made. You too out of it to remember?”
He laughed once more, regretting it instantly with how it scratched against his throat. “I’m not out of it, and besides, it’s the first performance. I know you’re not getting the same excitement I am, but you must remember your first big act, yeah? The glory you felt after?”
“It’s not glory, I’m exhausted,”
“And a killjoy, I’ve noticed.”
He had another insult in mind, but he was swiftly shut up when she dropped the duffel bag of his equipment on his lap without warning and started to make her way to the door. “We’re leaving.”
He wasn’t sure what came over him, but the moment he recovered from the heavy blow from the bag, he grabbed her wrist. She turned to face him, looking just as shocked as he did. It took him a second to figure out where he was going with this, cringing as he spoke. “…Five minutes?” he sounded more hurt than he intended to, writing it off as aftermath of the duffel bag.
She scoffed. “What are you, a toddler?”
He tried to collect himself and figure out what he was even asking. “…You’re treating me like one. Get walking to the hotel, I’ll catch up. Just-… five more minutes.”
Her expression softened. It seemed like pity; he couldn’t stand it. His eyes started to dart to anywhere she wasn’t, but he still felt so small. It was pathetic, as only a moment ago, on the stage, he felt larger than he ever had.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Whatever. Yeah. Five minutes- if you’re not back to the hotel soon, I-‘ll-…”
He looked up at her again, and the pity was still strong.
“Just-… Have fun. Don’t push yourself too hard, it’s been a long day.” She continued her exit, and his hand slowly fell from her wrist (he hadn’t even noticed he kept it there).
He sighed and leant back against the counter, taking another shot from the bartender. People swirled the dance floor as the music changed to something more upbeat, finally being less surreal and more his style. He slid the shot glass back to the bartender with a bit too much flair, almost sliding it clean off the counter. He pushed himself off the stool, merging with the crowd nearly instantly, but not quite blending in. Pats on the back, cheers, drinks bought for him. He signed more items than he ever thought would be asked of him and items he’d never expect to sign. He moved with the crowd, getting shoved and dragged around by adoring hands, loving embraces, stumbling from one compliment to the next, one gift to another. Firm handshakes and congratulations circled around him. It was bliss, it was celebration, it was love.
The lights were vibrant oranges and yellows, making everything nearly monochrome joy. He danced with many- he thinks he did, at least. Everyone was kind, it was all compliments and nice smiles, and- how long had it been? How long had he been here? Did it matter, when everything was this perfect? Everyone loved him here. Nobody cared about his past or his future or him, they just loved him.
He got pushed around, stumbling until his back was against the counter once more. How it was, in a crowd, he knew nobody meant harm.
The cold evening air came through the door, sudden and sharp after the warm embraces of the crowd. The music slowed. He looked through the door, now propped open by a worker, desperately wanting people to wrap it up. He didn’t want it to end, not now, not soon, not ever.
The guitarist, she stood outside, leaning against a lamppost, hands in pockets and a piercing glare. Her short, dark hair blowing so hard you nearly couldn’t tell the cut was choppy and self-done.
“It’s late.”
She didn’t walk any closer to the vibrant hues spilling through the door.
People tugged at his sleeves, wanting him to return to the joy and liveliness and perfection of the crowd. She managed to get him out the door with a single tilt of her head, a patient and calm gesture towards the destination.
“Like I said before. Killjoy.”
She rolled her eyes.
He kicked at dandelions, watching their seeds be taken by the wind. The midst of spring filled every crack in the pavement with them, that same vibrant yellow and oranges as the room before. “You’re a downer, you know that?”
“And you’re childish. You’ve refused to tell me anything else nearly all evening.”
He walked in front of her, his movements getting more and more loose and exaggerated. “It’s our first real performance! We’re on tour! Shouldn’t you be having fun? Shouldn’t you be excited? This has been our hope since day one!”
“Your hope.”
“And everyone else’s, you’re the outlier here. Was going on tour with that other band all that horrible?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, as she had before. “You have to focus on our tour; I won’t be telling you that whole deal.”
He scoffed before hopping up the stairs to the hotel’s entrance. “I think you’re just scared to admit it wasn’t all that bad.”
She had never been more scared to admit anything in her life, not to it being not that bad, but to the fact that despite it being horrid, she had willingly endured it once more. It made her feel weak, much weaker than the singer in his blissful ignorance.
And in his blissful ignorance he’d stay, partying and celebrating and being in a state of pure joy as they performed and performed again, approaching the summer months.
Months later, it was the same routine, giving it his all and mingling with the crowd amongst praises and love, dancing with anyone he was handed off to.
He wondered if the heat of the summer was getting to him or if he had just done a bit too much. He was lightheaded by the end of the performance, able to play it off enough where the only reactions were more cheers and laughter. He quickly put the microphone back in its holder, stumbling off much quicker than he ever would. He had never skipped an opportunity for a dramatic bow and a few kisses blown to nobody in particular, not before now. He didn’t remember much between being on stage and leaning against the bar with a cold glass of water. People in the crowd guided him there, told him his lack of breath was worth it, praised him despite how loudly he heard the drumming of his own heartbeat. It was a barrier between him and any other sound.
He was gripping the counter like an old friend, shaking. His bandmates had decided to just leave him be for the time being, though the guitarist hovered a handful of stools down the bar. He couldn’t bring himself to look over, more focused on the water. He could simply feel her stare, as he always had.
“Are you alright?”
It took him a second to realize it was directed at him, and a few more to get passed what felt like a sludge in his brain and form a reaction. “Just tired.” He drank the rest of the water, throwing his head back a little as he did. He hoped the combination of the freezing chill and the extra flair would give him a little more energy.
He finally got a good look at the girl who had asked. Tan skin- unlike the guitarist, she clearly knew what the sun is -beautiful freckles scattering her face like stars. Strawberry blonde hair framed her face, going a little more golden brown in some parts. It reminded him of a pale sunset. Her eyes were a sky blue, and her dress much darker. She had reminded him of every part of the sky, every time, every season- thinking this hard about it didn’t help the headache. She laughed and it was like a breath of fresh air, or light, charming bells. “Really? You seem rather-… Out of it.”
“Nothing some rest couldn’t fix.” It finally clicked with him how hard he was trying to appear charming, curse him for choosing a difficult personality to try to portray on stage. He grinned despite it, not letting his exhaustion get the best of him.
She laughed more. “Are you sure? I was going to offer a dance, but if you’re not up for it, I could always wait until next time.”
He didn’t think to ask what next time meant, desperately trying to shrug off the sudden sleepiness tugging at his body, pulling him to the ground. “I’d be honored for a dance.”
He let her guide him into the crowd, her smile much brighter than any lights. It added to the headache. She was kind to him, she was wonderful, she was the only one to ask how he was in several months that wasn’t just the guitarist’s nagging.
“Tell me about yourself. Where are you from, musician?”
He laughed as he spun her along to the music. “Ah, well, I was born in Ne- “
“New York?” She asked, eyebrow raised.
He paused for a moment. “…Yes, yes, exactly, how’d you guess that?”
“Lucky guess, I suppose.” Her laugh was louder than usual, like she was trying to convince him it was funny. The singer laughed as well, thinking it maybe should’ve been. “I was simply born there, and it seems to make the most sense. You have a way with crowds, can’t imagine someone like that being from a less crowded space.”
His laugh was more genuine this time. “Ah, of course!”
“Next question, now, I’m truly curious, what is your name?”
He paused for this one. “This is a rather crowded area.”
She giggled. “Would you tell me if we were alone?”
He glanced to the swaying mass of people around him. “I’m not allowed to, you see. Whole band agreed we aren’t to tell anyone our names.” He paused, trying to think of how to get her to take her mind off it. He most definitely didn’t want her to take him to any other location, though she seemed rather wonderful. “It adds, doesn’t it? It adds to the mystery. The-… The flair.”
“I suppose it does,” she replied with a smile, and the weight lifted from his chest as the topic changed. She occasionally stepped closer to more personal questions here and there, but seemed to understand his vague answers, or complete lack thereof.
Despite this, despite her lovely smile and laughter, despite every kind thing, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling like he was drowning. The ground felt uneven, like it was moving away from him every chance it got. Everything was a blur of that pale sunset. Everything about her felt almost ambiguous, her smile felt a little too perfect, her laughter oddly placed. He noticed her smile never left, but every moment they were interrupted, the creases around her eyes had. It looked like she had turned to porcelain. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it and each time he nearly asked, she whisked him away into another dance. Her attention was entirely on him, her grip a little too tight- but it was nice he had a fan, wasn’t it? This was what he had dreamt of, wasn’t it? Fame and glory and love.
He didn’t know how long they were dancing. He didn’t know his own emotions and understood hers even less. She seemed hesitant to let him leave, promises of a “next time.” He didn’t ask her to elaborate. He was distracted by her smile turning porcelain once again.
It didn’t take long for him to learn there’d be a next time. One after that as well, and another, and another, and-
“How long has she been following us?” The guitarist asked once more, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
“I was in the middle of counting the performances! You just had to go and make me lose track because you’re impatient.”
They had sat in a hotel room, exchanging glances with each other and the lovely note that was slipped in his duffel bag before they left last night’s venue. Same location they were planning on returning to that night, or at least would be if things were different.
The letter was soaked in perfume. It was hers, the blonde’s, it was always hers. It was always her. First at every venue, last to leave. It was always her.
The guitarist dragged her hand down her face, more frustrated than he had ever seen her. It was saying a lot, that seeming to be one of her most common states of being.
She took a deep breath before speaking. He could only assume it was to stop herself from screaming. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner? Way sooner, from how long it took you to think I can only assume it’s been above five she’s been at.”
“I can count higher than that.”
She spoke to him like she was speaking with a child. “I’m sure you can. When was it that you two met? You and- what was her name?”
“Camellia.”
“Camellia! Just wonderful, now, how long ago was this?”
He had fallen silent for a long time.
“Summer?” He said it like a question she’d know the answer to. “Summer, yeah.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose (he wondered if it would ever get indents, from how often she did so it had to if it could). “It is fall. Autumn. Months since this started. Okay. We’re just going to cancel tonight’s show. I don’t care anymore. Refunds, whatever, we’re getting out of here as soon as possible and we’re going to try to lose her. This is ridiculous.”
“We can’t cancel. Let’s-…” He paused and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this performance, then rearrange times for the next ones. Skip far away, make our path weird, I don’t know, I just- We’ll lose her. I promise you of that, we’ll lose her, and we’ll go home, and she won’t bother us.”
“You don’t know that. You haven’t seen this happen; you don’t know anything,” she snapped.
He reached over and picked up the letter. “Then what do you say we do about this? Never go home? We’re doing that performance. We’re finishing the tour. We’re wrapping it up, and we’re heading home, and I don’t know, if it’s still a problem, we get the cops involved, I don’t care.” He stood up, shoving it into her hands and grabbing his coat. “Get the others, don’t tell them what’s going on unless we must. There’s no need for extra stress.”
Her voice was quieter than it had been all trip thus far. “…Right. Yeah, we’ll try that.”
The singer couldn’t look at the audience for long as he performed. He knew her unchanging smile was in the crowd. His words were shakier than usual, less of his soul going into it. He didn’t have much he could give. He stared at his feet and their slight tapping, his weak attempt at his usual energy and calm. He was unsure what else to do, it was difficult when he finally felt every individual eye on him and the knowledge that two were that unsettling light blue. He couldn’t forget the stare, truly.
Everything had turned to porcelain, to him. Everything had a permanent smile, everything stared intently, everything held too tight. Everything asked every question it shouldn’t, charming and beautiful.
He didn’t bow. He didn’t blow a kiss. He placed the mic in the stand for the closing band, and he was the first from his group to leave the party. The guitarist didn’t fall far behind him. They left to the furthest venue they had just the next morning.
“When was the last time you rested?”
Every noise had blended into the hum of the vehicle moving. It was the beginnings of winter outside, he clutched his thin, old blanket around himself despite the lack of difference it really made. Maybe it was just to make himself feel smaller. His eyes hadn’t zoned in for hours, he couldn’t remember what a sturdy, unmoving ground felt like. He had to work to actually get an answer out. “I’d consider this resting.”
She sighed. “You’ve been stressed out of your mind. You need proper sleep.”
He tried to lighten the mood. “Killjoy.”
She laughed more than he expected, which wasn’t much, but still a win to him. Her smile didn’t last long, but for once he didn’t feel the need to comment, She wasn’t a killjoy, she wasn’t pessimistic, she just-… Knew the world, she knew how it worked.
She lightly shoved his shoulder with her fist. “You still need rest, don’t think that distracted me enough.”
He nodded.
He didn’t know when he had drifted off, but he woke up in the hotel. Whether he was carried or guided while half asleep, he wasn’t sure. The knocking at the door fully woke him up, but she answered it before he could. He didn’t hear what was happening, didn’t see it too well through the constant eye-rubbing either.
She looked over at him, one hand still out the door.
She stared at him for a long time before speaking. “Did you tell her your name?”
He blinked, confused. “…No..?”
“Don’t sound uncertain. Did you tell her your name or not?”
“No! Why would I do that? We- we agreed to not tell people that, you know, it’s been a bit of a thing.” The whole situation seemed to shake the sleepiness from him rather quickly. “She doesn’t know any of our names, why do you ask?”
“This was addressed to you. By name.” She tossed a letter to him, followed by an entire bouquet of flowers. It mainly had tarragon, which wasn’t even a flower, but bright purple heliotrope was scattered amongst it, alongside pink and red zinnias, and-…
Bright pink camellias.
He frantically opened the letter.
Dear Carius Crete-
He tore the letter.
“Go get rest,” he told her. “We’re going home in the morning.”
They both felt their hearts beating in their chests.
“Are you sure we want to quit now? It-… It was our dream.”
“My dream, you made it clear you didn’t want to be here. And you were right, you know, you were always right, and I was just-… We’re leaving in the morning. I don’t care anymore. It was never my dream to have- to have this.” He stared at the bouquet. Every branch, every flower, every individual petal was perfect. It was perfect and porcelain and unmoving and he wanted to scream.
She slowly began to nod. “…Yeah. Yeah, okay. I got it.”
It had been hours. He sat on his hotel bed. He couldn’t get any sleep. He had gotten far too much before and was now painfully aware that she knew where he was. He was painfully aware that, no matter where he went, she’d know. She was everywhere, after all, he saw her in every smile from a stranger, every bit of praise from a fan. He didn’t know if he could ever sleep again.
There was movement somewhere in one of the hotel rooms. It was dark. It was an opportunity. He knew she had gotten into the hotel, following as she had been. He knew she would keep following as long as she can.
He told himself that everything would be okay again, it would all be alright as long as she wasn’t there to follow. He’d have his life back if she wasn’t lingering. He was so sure of himself.
He didn’t remember the actual action. He didn’t remember exactly how he had done it, or how long it took, he only remembered the aftermath.
Carius Crete sat on the floor of the hotel, and he wasn’t sure of himself, for once in his life. He held the blood-soaked, choppy black hair. Dark brown, now soulless eyes drifted to the side.
It was an accident, he thinks. Nobody saw, it didn’t happen, it couldn’t have.
He felt the porcelain eyes watching him, as he always had, and as he knew he always would.