Gravity [BXB] [COMPLETED]

Not Enough

A/N

All lyrics in this book will be written by me. I don't believe in using the words of other artists.

-Anon

×××

Have you ever felt the weight of a thousand pounds of water pressing down on your chest? Have you felt it battering against your airways, trying its hardest to force the air out of your lungs? Have you ever felt your life slipping through your fingers like sand, powerless to staunch the flow?

Because that's what it felt like to be me.

"Collin! Collin! Any comment on your recent breakup with Miranda?" A reporter called as bright lights flashed in my face.

"Collin! What are your thoughts on the Royale Studios scandals?"

"Collin! Do you plan to release your new single by the end of the month?"

I followed closely behind my driver as he carved a path through the reporters, keeping a face of stony nuetrality as cameras flashed and clicked all around me. I didn't answer any of their questions. It was dangerous to do so without consulting with my manager first. The media tended to twist my words to fit their own agendas.

"Collin! Are you still in love with Miranda?" Another one called as my driver opened up the glass door to the studio and ushered me inside. When the door closed again, the sounds of desperate reporters became muffled. 

I found it funny how so many people thought my relationships with stick thin models and pampered pop sensations were real. They were all superficial. Nothing more than contracts made by my studio to gain publicity.

Sighing and running my fingers through my short black hair, I walked up to the petite blonde woman at the front desk and gave her an award winning smile. "Would you kindly direct me to my studio?"

She looked up from what she was doing and blushed profusely, "Of course, Mr. King. Studio Three."

"Thank you," I said before making my way down the side hall. Glancing up at one of the clocks on the wall, I realized I was about ten minutes late. My manager probably wasn't very happy.

Pushing open the door to Studio Three, I was met by the impatient tapping of a foot.

"You know we pay for this place by the hour, right Collin?" the man glared at me as I stepped into the recording booth. 

"I do, funny enough," I said as I slipped on a pair of headphones and adjusted my microphone to the proper height. "We just got caught in traffic near 31st Street."

"Mm," he didn't sound impressed as he closed the door and started talking to the sound engineers.

I watched as the producer adjusted the slides on his mixing board before looking up at me and pressing a button.

"Ready to start, Mr. King?" his voice came through my headphones.

I adjusted my headphones so they were a little more comfortable before giving him a thumbs up. He returned the gesture before pressing another button, summoning cringe worthy synthetic music to my ears.

What I wouldn't give for my guitar and a few hours of solitude.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and started to sing.

In all honesty, I really hated the song. It was written for me, not by me, and it just felt... fake.

"Girl, you make my heart beat,

Everytime you move your body.

Sway to the rhythm and take my hand.

Babe, I'll be your forever man."

The music stopped abruptly and I raised an expectant eyebrow as I looked through the glass.

My manager leaned forward and pressed the button so I could hear him.

"It's not enough to just sing it, Collin. I need emotion."

"But I don't have an emotional connection to this song."

"Then make one," he said, getting off the intercom and gesturing for the producer to start the music again.

"Girl, you make my heart beat,

Everytime you move your body.

Sway to the rhythm and take my hand-"

The music stopped again.

"More than that. A lot more."

"Girl, you make my heart beat,

Everytime you move your body-"

"It's not working," he said, his hand perched on his chin.

I narrowed my eyes at him while adjusting my headphones. "Isn't it the producer's job to criticise how I sound?"

At this, the producer leaned forward and said, "I agree with him. You need to put more emotion into it."

Folding my arms over my chest, I told them, "If you want me to have an emotional connection to a song, then you can't just hand me lyrics on a sheet of paper. I need to be involved."

"Well feel free to write something," my manager retorted, "but if you can't get me a song in the next two weeks, then you sure as hell better figure out how to put emotion into this one."

Taking off my headphones, I walked out of the booth and to the door.

"I will," I said as I walked out.

"Don't forget about your photoshoot at five!" he called after me.

"Yeah, yeah," I waved my hand over my head as I texted my driver.

I had work to do.