𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒

6

GRACIE

I hold her close because I feel like if I let her go, I'll never get this close again. She doesn't want me to date Emily, but I don't understand why. She's clearly still mad at me. "Why?" I whisper.

When Emerson doesn't reply, I consider that maybe she fell asleep. "Because I don't want you to hold her the way you're holding me, and I never want you to look at somebody else the way you looked at me that night."

"I will never look at you differently, Em. Doesn't matter if it's day or night. These," I take my shaking hand and run it slowly on the fabric of her jeans that cover the scars on her thighs. "Don't define you. I saw a really vulnerable side of you that night, but you're still that carefree girl I saw on the dance floor. I can promise you one thing, Emerson. You weren't the reason I ran, and neither were your scars. I pinky promise." I extend my pinky finger, which she warms up with her own.

"Then why?" She whimpered. I rub up and down her bare arm in hopes to warm her up. "Aren't you tired?" I switch the subjects. I don't think explaining that to her after a panic attack would be the best idea. "Tired of you changing the subject, yeah."

"Do you wanna do anything right now? It's still sort-of early." It is nine-forty, the clouds in the sky still a dark shade of gray. "I don't know what you like to do..." Emerson whispers, slightly embarrassed.

"Can I play you a song that I wrote?" Her eyes shine like fireworks. "You wrote a song? Oh, Gracie! I'd love to hear it!" Okay maybe she's not that bad... "You don't have a piano here by any chance, do you?"

"I have a music room just in case Taylor ever spends a night, but there's always times that I like to play songs. I helped her write Betty and Exile so... yeah!" Unexpectedly, Emerson takes my hand and drags me upstairs into her music room. I'm not surprised when I see vinyls, cds, record players, and hundreds of instruments. She's the daughter of the Music Industry, of course she'd have all of these.

"How'd you even come up with Betty?" I ask. "I had a friend that went through August's point of view. She had just left my apartment when the idea popped up in my head. I think I heard something about it becoming a movie or something. I don't usually pay attention during meetings." She shrugs before sliding onto the bench.

I didn't notice the camera in the room, sitting right on top of the piano. "Come." She pats the spot beside her and I sit next to her, focusing on the notes of my song. I play a few cords to get ready, Emerson's curious eyes never leaving my hands.

"What's it called?" She asks. "I don't know. I came up with just a few lyrics and I want you to listen, maybe even come up with others so we can finish the song." I turn my head to analyze her face, hoping for a reaction. She smiles. I made her smile!

"Are you asking me to write your first song with you, Gracie Abrams?"

"It's not my first song..." I whisper. "Do you wanna release it? I'm sure we can get you with somebody. My mom knows a lot of people." She chuckles. I finally get the rhythm right, the piano keys coming together to make a soft sound.

"So this is what I have right now," I clear my throat, getting my vocals ready to sing in front of Em.

"Every-time we touch it's like the last time...
Holding onto something when it's not right...
Tell me to my face that you are all mine—"

I continue to play the piano but I don't sing. That's all I have currently. "Is that the Pre-Chorus?" She begins to write in her tiny notebook, my lyrics going into a blank page. She titles the page 'Gracie Abrams'. "Uhm, yeah. I haven't thought of the first verse yet." I confess.

"No problem. I'm sure we can come up with something. What's this song about?" She looks me in the eyes, and I can't help but get lost in her hazel eyes. "Gracie, you can daze into my eyes all you want later, but we need to focus, love." She giggles, her accent kicking in. I duck my head as I laugh. "Yes ma'am."

"Okay, so I was thinking this song could be about a relationship becoming boring and losing its momentum as it grows." I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Okay, perfect." She writes down what I can assume in the first verse, then passes me the notebook.

'Talk to me more' Is written in her messy, yet fancy handwriting. "It's your song, but I wanna help you out with the first lyric. Think really hard. How could you finish this song?" Her voice is soft, and I'm really grateful. She doesn't wanna stress me out, but she does want to encourage me.

It's like a switch is flipped when I snatch the pen out of her grip and begin to scribble words onto the page. I go back to erase some words and replace them with others. When I finally feel my fingers go numb, I'm halfway done with the second verse. I place the notebook in front of me on the piano, my eyes shifting from the keys to the page.

Music begins to play in the room as I struggle to find something for the first verse. "Okay, what about this?" Emerson moves my hands off the piano before beginning to play herself. Holy shit, she really does know how to play good. "Talk to me more, you're a little bored, I'm a little bit tired," She sings.

She does everything perfectly. She can sing, she can play the piano, and she knows how to make a girl fall. "We don't fight though. You've been acting so cold, I don't know what you wanted." She looks over at me with a  proud grin, silently congratulating me for coming up with beautiful lyrics.

She shifts her fingers over to another set of keys to play the Pre-Chorus. "Everytime we touch it's like the last time, holding onto something when it's not right. Tell me to my face that you were all mine, you don't know what I'm feeling." Again, she looks so proud. Could this maybe be her way of giving me another chance? Or is this just her way of bonding with me for the contract?

She pulls her hands away from the keys. "I think you're doing amazing with what you've got, Gracie. I'm so proud of you." My heart swells at her words and I pull her into a hug. "Woah—" She chuckles. "Shhh... no words. Hold me without any talking." I whisper in hopes she will listen.

And she does. Emerson sits there in front of her piano with me in her arms, maybe in a sense that we could go back to where we started and fix everything. Or that we could forget all the ways that we're broken inside. "I'm sorry." I say, just in case she didn't hear me the first time or I forgot to say it. I'm almost a hundred percent sure I didn't. "I'm sorry too."