violet skies / michael clifford

come to my gig

3. go to the gig, jessa

If I weren't such an anxious mess, I would have said something else than the simple 'hi' I managed to type with my nervous fingertips. Just the fact that he even texted me has my palms all sweaty and my face throbbing hot and red.

Some people are more confident behind a screen. I usually am one of those. But when it comes to good-looking guitar-playing band members, I'm just as socially inept as I am face to face.

michael: how's the knee?

jessa: bruised 🙈 thanks for taking me home btw

michael: anytime princess

I would let my fingers compose something more interesting or maybe even flirtier. But I'm not brave, nor am I able to flirt. I don't want to seem too keen, although the notifications popping up with his name makes my stomach stir with butterflies every time.

michael: do you like bmth?

jessa: i do, i do 😊

michael: we're covering one of their songs

jessa: nice, which one?

michael: you'll see if you come to the gig 😁

At dinner, I keep my phone under the table, secretly texting him, making sure dad doesn't realise. I'm good at being secretive, it's a talent the anxiety helped me develop.

"How was school?"

"Good," I say, spinning my fork around in the plate of pasta in front of me.

"We've booked the final dress fitting for next weekend."

I sigh, trying hard not to roll my eyes. "I'll be there."

There are a few moments of silence.

"Can I wear converse with my dress?" I ask, hoping Sara will have changed her mind.

"Absolutely not."

And there goes my chance of being able to walk. Even if I broke both my ankles, this woman wouldn't hesitate to press my feet into a pair of heels. Maybe she's trying to kill me. I'm a walking disaster in vans on flat surfaces. How I'm going to survive hours on heels without anyone to hold on to is beyond me.

Michael calls me princess, but it really didn't fit me. Even a sloth would look gracious next to me. If Cinderella were as clumsy as me, at least she had a prince to hold on to. And she still lost her shoe at the end of the night.

I look down at my phone, lying in my lap. Mikey has sent another message.

michael: i have a free ticket for you

jessa: for me?

michael: for you, if you want it that is

michael: you might even get to meet the band, i mean the guitarist is pretty cool you know eyebrow piercing and all

jessa: wow

michael: yeah

michael: how does that sound?

jessa: i'll think about it

Usually, I would have had more than the three panic attacks I've had since I saw the purple haired boy the first time. I realise I haven't taken my pills, either. Not since I got that first text off him, asking if my knee was okay. The texts alone work as a drug, seemingly better than my actual ones.

I won't tell him this, though. He'll probably think I'm some kind of clingy psycho. I'm definitely not. It's just that when my body starts itching, head spinning and voices yelling at me, there is a text message from him in my phone. He is a distraction. A good distraction, making it all go away.

But the next buzz isn't a message. It was a call.

"Hello?" I say, voice hushed as I shut my bedroom door behind me.

I haven't heard Michael's voice since the time I first met him, and can barely remember what he really sounds like. I have a vague memory of a raspy, attractive voice that made me tingle from my toes all the way out in my fingertips.

If I hadn't slid down to sit on the floor I might have collapsed.

"Hey, sweets," he says, and I instantly feel less nervous. There is something calming about the way he speaks. He pauses for a moment, "are you still there?"

"Yeah."

"Good." I can hear him breathe out, and he even manages to make that sound attractive. Is he a smoker? "Did you have a think about coming to see our gig?"

"I did."

"And? Can you make it?" he asks, his tone more demanding now, as if this is very important to him. I've never been important to anyone, really. "We're on at eight thirty, please say yes?"

"I would, but don't know if my dad would let me," I reply.

It's not just my dad holding me back, but my fear of crowded places; fear of feeling claustrophobic and having to leave in the middle of a song. But I can't say that to him. Would he think I was stupid? Would he feel ashamed of giving a ticket to the girl panicking in the middle of the room, desperately trying to get out? I don't want to let him down.

"Sneak out."

That voice can make even the stupidest idea sound great.

"Okay," I agree, and without realising it, I'm stuck in a promise I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep.

"I can't wait to see you again," he says. "It's our first real gig and considering how much we suck, you'll be the only person in the crowd that won't hate us."

I laugh. "I don't believe that."

"It's true. Our only fan is Luke's mum," he says, "so will you be there?"

"Yeah, see you then."

After hanging up, I put the phone on silent and the display facing down. I don't want to see any more texts until I've decided what to do. I'm not sure what will happen next, but know I'm not ready for whatever was to come. I might get to actually see the purple haired boy again.

-

i know i know it's not my best

but it's about to get interesting so pls bear with me

~lauren