Tetris in Red

09: Tetris in the Dark

09: Tetris in the Dark

Alec

Seven days.

It's been seven days since she threw us off-kilter. No one knows what to do with this new information. Holland kept his distance. The guys hadn't been in their usual self. And me? I'm furious.

When I met Holland all those years ago, he blinded me with all his promises that he'd make us famous, that we'd be a legend and everyone would have a poster of our band in their rooms or a song we sang in their minds. He was behind many names that made its mark in the world.

At that time, Eunoia would fight tooth and nail to find a freaking gig in any clubs or bars, even in the sleazy ones, to bring food on the table. Hell, I was a twenty-year-old bloke who's living in a beat-up car for Christ's sake. And Holland, well, he's one of the greatest agents known in the music industry.

He gave us an offer when he saw us playing one night and asked for our original songs. We played each one for him when we met the next day. But unfortunately, he said our songs wouldn't cut it and needed lots of polishing. The idiot bastards we were, we listened.

He was a legend in our eyes and we only cared about one thing: Holland Mayhem gave us an offer.

He made us meet with other songwriters, had professionals assist us and gave us a list of songs that we would want to include in our debut album. Yes, we asked who wrote them, but he said we shouldn't worry because those songs were already paid.

But now? Now, I don't know.

I mean, why else would Tetris Posziel attack me that night and come back six years later for royalties? She should've received them years ago.

This shit is boggling me. And I can't get any answers. I mean, I can't just knock at their apartment and say, "Hey, what the hell was that?" At least without the whole incident being in the headlines.

A roadie suddenly pops his head at our door and say, "Show starts in thirty minutes."

I groan. We are in Europe for the next few weeks, so I don't really have a choice but wait it out.

I look at myself in the mirror and wait for the energy to pump in my veins. But it never does. Not when I was preparing an hour ago. And not when I am rocking my feet back and forth and about to perform. Lies can do that, unfortunately. Lies will rot everything you worked for, albeit slowly. That feeling hasn't diminished yet—the feeling that I'm on top of the world, the member of a most successful band, that I'm untouchable. But it also suddenly feels like we should work more; write more mind-blowing songs to actually claim that this life belonged to us.

"Ready?" Cyprus says on my right.

"Of course."

"Then what's the problem?"

A sigh flies out of my lips. "Just not into it. I'll be fine when I walk in there."

Missori claps my shoulder as the opening band wraps up. "We get it, man. But the fans needed us right now. Let's focus on giving them one hell of a show."

My head nods but every part of my body protested.

The opening band walks down the stairs and it's finally our turn. My nerves are in a mess. I run out towards the stage, giving the impression that I'm pumped with unspent energy and can't wait to perform.

The concert tickets are sold out and we were told that there are still a huge number of fans trying to get in, even it's standing only. I can't disappoint them. Not when they are chanting my name like a beautiful prayer.

I turn at the thousand of silhouettes staring back at me.

"Good evening, London!" I yelled into the microphone. The crowd cheers in response, making my energy kick up a notch. A genuine grin threatens to split my face in two as I feel the whole stadium vibrating with excitement under my feet. I live for this. No one should make me feel otherwise. "Wow. It's been years since I flew back here. I think I'm regretting it now. How are you guys doing tonight?"

I direct my microphone toward the crowd and put my hand to my ears. The crowd's answer blends into one ear-splitting song and it made my heart rate skyrocket with anticipation for the night's show. "All right?" More cheers. "Are you guys ready to hit it?"

When the crowd shouts so loudly I thought the whole stadium is about to collapse, I motion for Toro to get his drums ready. "Then let's fucking hit it!"

Rhys

I didn't hear any word from them for the past seven days.

The media circus died down and I can walk freely down the narrow street without camera flashes blinding me. I'm back to my normal life. Well, mostly. Strangers approached me like they knew me all their life and proceeded to ask about Alec. I've also been receiving some stinky eye and people gossiping about me like I wasn't there. It sucks. And it even more sucks when you can't bring yourself to search your name on the Internet because you're afraid of what you will find.

It doesn't really bother me like I thought it would. It just feels weird. Like I should always watch my back, and yes, watch my face if I don't want pictures of me looking like I just got out of a sewer online.

"Damn it," I curse as I change the font for the umpteenth time. I was editing a poster for an upcoming indie film and I have downloaded a hundred fonts. But still, nothing works. I'm having an artist's block and the deadline is tonight.

I sigh and save the file before closing my laptop. I throw my head back and close my eyes. Guess I should rest for a while. Rushing isn't working for me anymore. I inhale and exhale, trying to refresh my mind.

Rosie taught me to meditate. At first, I thought it was stupid. Practicing how to slowly breathe for hours on end? Who does that? She said it was good for the mind especially when all I do was brainstorming for new designs. I sat with her one time and loved it ever since. It relaxes my mind and at the same time makes me remember.

A series of knocking on my door breaks my reverie. I stand up. The pain in my ankle has subsided but it's still swollen as a frigging pimple. But at least I can put weight on it now. Especially when I had to climb up a stair from the underground garage, and climb another fifteen to get to my apartment.

"Coming!" I call out as the insistent knocking continues. The knocks only grow louder and a lot furious. I throw the door open with a glare, but my glare dissolves into shock as I realize who is on the other side. "Holland?"

Holland stands on my rag that says: Nice to know you're alive. Now go away. His dark hair that's usually tied in a man bun frames his face and falling on his shoulders. He also has dark circles under his eyes. What's he doing here?

His breathing is quick and his forehead is breaking out in sweat as he speaks, "Jesus. How do you manage to live here with no elevator?"

"You get used to it," I say, still holding the door.

"That's hell," he exclaims, pointing on the stairs, before turning his attention back to me. "Anyway, I have a deal for you."