Tetris in Red

15: Tetris in His Shadows

15: Tetris in His Shadows

Alec

I have no idea what Tetris expects from me after our little heated exchange.

But the whole situation doesn't bode well with me.

She's been in my shadow the last few days—following me whenever she sees me and managing to insert herself in conversations she has no business in. I don't like it. Not one bit. She may not know it yet, but she has already won in whatever she thinks is going on here. And I have no intention of letting her know about it.

The moment she dropped the bomb on our unknowing feet, I dispersed along with it. The old sensation of belongingness, and the exhilarating experience of being a Rockstar, owning the stage like the music owned me, had long evaporated into thin air. From then on, so many questions I never dared to acknowledge, and the unwelcomed feeling I pushed at the back of my mind all these years, have been the star of my dreams and the face of every people I meet every day.

I'm back to being the Alec John MacSweeny who's struggling to make it big in LA. Granted, I've not lost everything yet, but I feel like an accused suspect in a court, trying to prove that I'm the owner of this life with no factual evidence.

I get out of the elevator and walk to the dining hall in the hotel we have been staying in, completely aware of the murmurs and stares from the other guests. The guys are already seated at the corner as I near, their voices loud, drawing unpleasant looks from the few people having their breakfast this morning.

My eyes catch a familiar redhead going into the bathroom.

Without thinking, I dash past tables, ignoring the calls from the guys. Turning left in a quiet hallway, I manage to grab her arm. Tetris snaps her head toward me, green depths rimmed with dark moss, cuts to me with riveted focus. I don't know what has gotten to me but the need to talk to her, and erase this void feeling she caused, wins.

"Tacenda," I mutter, not really sure where this is going. Tetris furrows her delicate eyebrows at me. I wait for her to say something, but she only stares. "Words that are better left unsaid."

She removes her arm from my grip, I inch closer. "Alec—"

My hands fall flat on both sides of her head as she backs against the wall, ignoring the coldness seeping through my palms. I drop my head as our breathing collapse in a rhythm. "The album doesn't have any song yet, but that's the idea."

"What about the first song—?"

"The tweet," I say. "The tweet doesn't really mean anything. It's something Holland posted. He's handling our social media accounts."

I feel it before I see it. The quiet fury that emanates from her pores as it registers. Her lips purse as I lift my head. She's not looking at me, but her breathing shifts into rapid exhales as if calming herself. My hand cups her jaw to gain back her attention, electricity so unfamiliar begins to sing by the simple touch, but I still manage to speak, "I want to write all the songs. Help me."

"Help... w-what?"

"I want to make this right. I want to help you right the wrongness you feel." My hand drops from her cheek as it went to my neck, my eyes seek everywhere but hers. I don't want her to find anything in them. "I want to help myself right the wrongness I feel with this situation. Help me write our songs. Help me bring visions to your canvas."

"Alec," she says it so softly I think I'm going to break. "I don't know what to say."

A humorless chuckle escapes my lips. I sigh, "You don't really have to say anything for now. But I want you to think about it."

"What will Holland say?"

I clench my jaw. "I'll deal with him."

Rhys

It's a concert day.

The ground vibrates with the vigorous sound emanating from the stadium. It resonates within me as if my body is filled with the same energy.

Alec and the guys are preparing backstage, doing their regular rituals or whatever it is they do before performing. Me? I am writing.

It's been years since I wrote something good. Actually, it's been years since I wrote something. My hand flies like a machine.

Words that are better left unsaid...

Words that were harbored for years...

Words that should be said...

They occupy the pages, written in red ink and hatred, and sadness, and heartaches. They are all there. Not forever lost in my thoughts anymore. It's like a fret train that's suddenly unleashed after a long time—granted, in a noisy, rowdy place, like how I accidentally left my notebook in that bar.

But I hope that this time, the words will be passed for the right reasons.

A long silence suddenly penetrates the haze I'm in. I lift my head to see darkness engulfing the crowd. It's time. I place my new notebook in my handbag and walk to the side of the stage reserved for staff. Eunoia sets up blindly on the darkness as the crowd waits with bated breath.

Then the lights are turned on, the opening music booms and Toro's cymbals filled our ears. Alec greets the crowd as they chant his name. But something is wrong. I don't know if it's the way the muscles on his shoulders noticeably tensed or the crack in his voice as he speaks, or the emptiness in his gray eyes. But I see it.

I watch him on the monitor. He licks his lips as he jumps on the balls of his feet when the first notes of their song blast through the speakers. But when it's finally time to sing, the words didn't come through. Alec stays silent as the rest of the band keeps playing. Everyone in the staff section is left confused.

Then a choked sob echoes through the corners of the entire stadium.

Silence breaks through the air.

And Alec drops to his knees.