Runaway

Chapitre 13

Richie was sat on the platform where the drums were, observing Jon, some meters away, at the piano.

He was writing some words on a sheet and tapping some notes from time to time. He was smiling. Richie sighed, and suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. David sat next to him and opened a can. He showed Jon: "It's been a long time he hasn't had so many ideas. He writes all the time, I think our second album will be completed within three months." He shrugged. "And I have an idea about the source of so much inspiration."

He was pretty proud of his sentence, and turned to watch his friend following the lack of reaction. "Are-"

The guitarist got up. "Guys." David frowned. "Guys!" Jon turned to the insistent tone of his friend. Richie passed his hand through his air. His heart was already heavy, but what he was about to do added. "We need to talk."

-

You turned and entered the lonely street. You breathed deeply and put the guitar back on your shoulder.

You proceeded to the small garage; your aunt was already there, preparing stuff. You looked outside one last time; the sunset gave the sky a light pink colour.

"y/n! Look."

Your aunt made you enter and started blabbering about technical stuff.

You were half-listening to her.

She tied the watch around her wrist and laughed about how the guy at the shop she bought her stuff in was weird, or how she avoided eating too much to not get sick, because apparently the other day...

Why? Why was she so happy while you were a complete mess?

It was unfair from you, but it pissed you off. You held the strap of the guitar case tightly. She approached you and you felt her tone getting a bit more serious; she was certainly telling you information about the travel.

She put her hands on your shoulders and you came out of your thoughts.

You had to tell her how you felt.

You opened your mouth to-

"And that's why I tell you goodbye."

You stopped.

What?

She caressed your cheek and took something from her back pocket. You were reactionless; she had to take your hand and put it in yours. "Look. In the letter. I wrote 'Let's go home', right? And I think you found yours." She pointed at the machine in your hand, that was nearly identical to her watch. "It's a transmitter. There is a keyboard on the screen, so you can-"

You jumped in her arms. Tears were rolling down your cheeks. You wanted to say something. You had a thousand things to say... Yet nothing came out. She looked at you, knowing. She took your hands: "Now go. I believe you've got something to catch back."

-

Jon swiped the audience with his gaze. In about fifteen minutes, they will perform their new song in front of all of these people, but he wasn't stressing. Anxiety was not the feeling he felt at that moment. He turned to the right. The last time he did that before playing, it was... Never mind. Richie was tuning his guitar, then raised his head, feeling his best friend's gaze on him. His smiled, with a hint of sadness, knowing.

A little further, David was repeating his parts on a keyboard. It was a new song, Jon wrote it some days ago, they only repeated it twice this afternoon, but he really insisted on playing it, and didn't change his mind. No one resisted.

-

You were running. The evenings of mid-September were beginning to get cold, but the blood in your veins was boiling.