Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter One Hundred and Forty One

Aurora

As I made the journey from my house to the studio, I was glad that I had told Sam I would meet him there. I was so nervous about it, his anxiety about the whole thing when he asked had set off a chain reaction and I was reeling. I had to pause in my walk several times to regain my breath after I started hyperventilating. I just had this sinking feeling in my stomach that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried.

I felt my breath hitch as my eyes landed on the subject of my inner turmoil, leaning against the wall of the studio whilst scrolling through his phone. His hair was messy as though he had run his hand through it a hundred times and there were dark circles around his eyes that told me he hadn't slept well in days. I cleared my throat quietly as I approached him, watching as he jolted in fright before shoving his phone into his back pocket.

"Areet, darlin'?" he smiled softly, blinking his baby blue eyes at me.

"Hiya," I mumbled. "Yer didn't have to wait oot here for me, y'kna?"

"Ah, it was getting proper warm in there, so," he shrugged. "Yer ready?"

"Mhmm," I hummed in reply, desperately trying to hide my nerves as I knew it would only exacerbate his own anxiety. I followed hot on his heels as he ventured deep into the building, coming to an abrupt stop when he reached the main studio, causing me to bump into him.

"Whoa, watch yourself, Scarl," he told me gently as he whirled around to steady me.

"Cheers," I mumbled, holding onto him tightly. My face grew warm when I realised I had been holding onto him for too long, having lost myself in his pools of blue and quickly pulled away. "So, er, these songs?"

"Reet," he nodded, turning away to fiddle with some of the equipment whilst I settled myself on the piano stool opposite. "I don't want to know any of your opinions 'til the end, reet? Or I'll just shit myself and not play the rest. But er, this one's called Get You Down... it's about yer like, uh, yeah..."

The air was thick as the sound of a guitar melody flooded the room. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth as the lyrics hit my ears, the butterflies erupting in my stomach, although I wasn't quite yet sure if it was in a good way or bad way.

"I try again, I study the pattern, I see the triggers but I can't shake 'em loose. And all of my anger, you take on the chin. And I get you down. I get you down. I get you down.

"I never fought back, just stood there humiliated, from the schoolyard to home, on the streets that we roam. And now I get you down. I catch myself in a mirror, see a pathetic little boy, who's come to get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down.

"I watch you sleep with eyes of contempt, those eyes were meant for myself but tonight, tonight I'm gonna get you down. I catch myself in a mirror, see a pathetic little boy, who's come to get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down. Get you down."

Memories flashed before my eyes at the reminder the lyrics gave me, my brain conjuring up the replays of our past arguments stemmed from all sorts - jealousy, stress, drinking. A thick lump had lodged itself in the back of my throat, holding back my words as the next song began playing. I desperately tried to swallow it down but it was in vain, Sam's burning gaze in addition to the piercing lyrics that reverberated around the confined room.

"Every bully that had maimed you, bled you dry. And the blinkered say that boys will be boys and they're just kids being sly. And they wonder why some die. Every image of perfection starts a goldmine. They gave you bulimia, those marketing masterminds. Happens all the time. All the time. And it breaks you up, over time. And it breaks you up, over time."