The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Nineteen

February—Cannes

"If you even think about throwing up back here, I'm going to kick you to the curb," Chandler grumbles.

Maeva stops pacing to glare at him, "you will not."

Her knuckles pale around the microphone in her palm. He shrinks under her icy stare.

"You're right, I won't. But please," he says, "don't throw up, break anything, or screw the song, alright?"

She rolls her eyes at him. But all three of those things are becoming distinct possibilities. Each burst of the stage lights twists her anxiety higher up her gut. She can hear Corin's voice as he sings, the energy and emotions rolling off every word. Alex, Cameron, Nathaniel, and Quentin on their instruments barely reach her ears. The anxiety tightens a little more as she picks up on the bite of anger in his tone. She resumes her pacing. Chandler doesn't protest any more. He is all too familiar with backstage idiosyncrasies, and she has more to worry about than merely hitting notes.

"How much longer?" She nearly has to scream over a guitar solo.

"However long it takes them to get through two more songs," Chandler leafs through more paperwork, "if they start making jokes, who the hell knows?"

Maeva turns away from him and paces again, tossing the microphone back and forth between her hands. She distracts herself with warming up her throat—it doesn't work. The stage is quieter as the band talks to the crowd. Corin laughs, and it is nothing like the laughter she has ever heard or drawn. This is a harsh, lashing sound like a cartoon character. Manic laughter. When they start the next song though, every note he sings is electric.

She takes a deep breath and shakes out her hands. One more song. The logical part of her brain watches the flashing lights and preaches the ridiculousness of this. The ocean of emotion she has let loose hears his voice, and pushes her uncertainty back down. Her heeled boots clack as she paces.

When the lights go out to signal a break, Chandler grabs her elbow and herds her out of sight. Maeva leans on the wall and takes deep breaths. Cymbals crash as the roadies swap Quentin's out. He clacks a fresh pair of drumsticks together. Nathaniel asks for a new pick, and someone brings Corin a towel.

"Thank you. Say, can you grab me an energy drink too? Perfect," Corin talks so fast his words nearly run together.

Maeva wonders if the roadies notice, if they know. She cranes her neck and sees the roadie get caught by Chandler. He mumbles something under his breath to her. She nods and walks away, steps much more purposeful than before.

"Maeva?"

Her stomach rings as she whips around and sees Alex grinning in front of her. Her chest hammers.

"For fuck's sake, you scared the shit out of me!"

He just laughs, "sorry. Are you ready for this?"

The glitter in his dove eyes is visible even behind his aviators.

"Yes," She looks at her mic, "hell no. I don't know if I can do this Alex. You see him, what if it doesn't work?"

"It will. You're his Kryptonite, everything will be fine,"

"His what?"

"Oh, never mind."

"Suit yourself," her eyes fall to the high hem of her dress, dark against her legs, "do I look alright? Should I have worn something else?"