when they call my name | ✔ [𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮]

chapter fourteen

alexandria black

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It's nearly five in the afternoon by the time he's done with his rehearsal. The way he moved around the stage, effortlessly commanding the room with his voice and presence, could bring anyone to their knees. The way his hands gripped the mic, his body swaying with every note, it was like watching a man who had mastered the art of captivating every soul in the room - leaving nothing behind but desire and awe.

Oh, how am I supposed to stay away from him now? After witnessing that?

How, after seeing him so alive, so full of passion, am I supposed to move on with my life and remember him solely as a man I once shared intimate moments? His performance is etched into my mind like a photograph I can't quite shake off, and every time I try to look away, it feels like my own body betrays me, pulling me back into him.

Because he is meant to ruin you, a voice I know to be Antares rings, deep and unsettling, like a warning I can't ignore.

I let the words go, not worried about it now. I only let it bother me because Chrisitan said Antares is meant to find me, which I doubt he ever will at this rate. If he wanted me that badly, he would have come to me already instead of hiding out in the shadows like a coward.

His words linger, but I push them aside and focus on the more immediate, more pressing things in my life. If Antares is meant to find me, he'll come. And maybe, just maybe, I've already given up on that notion.

It reminds me of my mother. How she's locked up inside that hospital, confined by her own choices and mistakes...like an animal trapped in a cage. The weight of her absence presses against me, suffocating me in the silence. The hospital calls, the checks, the insurance paperwork - just a constant reminder that I have inherited her mistakes, the ones that seem impossible to outrun.

The following Friday night was the night of his big show. The energy in the air feels different, crackling with anticipation. I overheard Christian on the phone earlier, talking about how this tour - his North American tour - is a fresh start. A new chapter for him, one that's yet to be confronted between us.

He hasn't said a word about it to me directly, but I know the question lingers in his mind. Does he assume I'm going with him? How could he assume that, when we haven't even talked about what's between us, let along what my place is in his life?

College emails are flooding my inbox about fall classes starting soon, and I have yet to figure out what my game plan is. Without Eddie, without his steady support, how I going to pay for the apartment, cover the bar's expenses, and somehow make it all work without crumbling under the pressure?

The uncertainty is starting to take its toll, and I can feel it in every corner of my life.

In my bedroom, I'm scrambling through my closet for something to wear to Christian's show. I've got enough sundresses to last me an entire summer, but nothing that screams girlfriend of a rock star.

As I shift a few hangers, I find it - Chloe's white mini-dress. It's too tight, too revealing, and yet, for reasons I can't explain, I feel drawn to it.

I should text her. I should apologize for everything. Chloe was my best friend, and I owe her more than the distance I've put between us.

I'm about to pull the dress over my shoulders, though it feels like the fabric was designed for someone else. It hugs my body in ways I don't like - showing every curve, every imperfection. The V-neck is deep, almost scandalous, and the tightness around my chest makes it feel like I'm wearing a push-up bra, something I haven't done in ages. How this dress ended up in my closet, I don't remember.