Disharmony

Beautiful Disaster

                  

She looked tired.

That was the recurring thought running through her brain as she sat statue like in the makeup chair. Lizzie, her makeup artist, was currently painting the life back into her cheeks. Two weeks of virtually sleepless nights had left her looking worse for the wear.

It was all Xavier's fault.

Well, actually, it was her fault, but it was easier to blame Xavier.

They hadn't interacted much since that night on the beach, save a few tense group meetings where she'd skillfully avoided eye contact and left as soon as possible. Other than that, she'd kept a safe distance because she was too horrified to speak.

She held in a wince as she recalled that night; the one where she'd so thoughtlessly kissed Xavier. He had reacted exactly how she should have expected: he'd pushed her away, leaving her rejected and appalled.

In retrospect, she realized her actions had been unfair to him as well. Sure, she found Xavier attractive: she wasn't blind. But in the midst of their snappy conversations and sarcastic banter, they'd developed a sort of pseudo friendship. She enjoyed spending time with him, even if he was the last person she'd ever admit it to, and although he still mystified her, she'd been quite satisfied with the state of their relationship as well.

But in a state of blind vulnerability, she'd gone and ruined that.

The worst part was that she'd felt absolutely nothing.

There was no build up to the kiss; no sizzling tension or electricity buzzing beneath the surface. He was just there. And he was being nice. He had comforted her, invited her into his warmth and she'd taken as a sign of more than platonic affection.

Lifting the corners of her lips to thank Lizzie, she realized even that wasn't the entire truth. She hadn't spent a moment thinking about Xavier's intentions. She just wanted to feel connected to someone and Xavier was convenient.

Sighing, she curled her fingers around the arms of her chair to keep from rubbing her face in frustration and smearing her makeup. Breathing deeply, she stared up at the television screen in the corner, which was currently displaying Xavier's set.

To his credit, he was doing a phenomenal job of trying to understand her thought process. He had knocked on her door many times, but as soon as she saw it was him through the peephole, she would pretend she wasn't there. In the days off between cities, she would take her private jet to her Malibu beach house. Even so, it seemed flying to the other end of the country to avoid Xavier didn't keep him from entering her thoughts.

More than anything, she was just embarrassed, a feeling that she hadn't been accustomed to in the recent years. She knew avoiding Xavier was childish, but she wasn't ready to explain why she'd felt the need to launch her body atop his – mostly because she had no idea of the reason herself.

She watched as he hummed the last notes of the song he'd written about the first girl he'd ever loved. It was sad and sweet and apologetic and she wondered if Xavier was always the one to apologize in relationships. Despite the fact that she was the one in the wrong, he had been the one to show up on her doorstep first.

He adjusted his guitar strap, shifting his weight between his legs as he smiled out at the crowd.

"Hello," he grinned, his voice echoing throughout the stadium. "How are you lovely people tonight?"

The crowd cheered in response.

"That's good to hear," he continued, "Is it alright with you guys if I try something different tonight? I want to play you something I've been working on."