Just Don't Panic

Chapter 9: Becks

When Panic didn't pop out when time was called, I nearly lost my shit. Not only was I worried what Pain would do to me if I lost his sister the first day I was here, but I was truly scared for her safety. What if she really had suffocated in the pile of marshmallows? When she called out to me and stated laughing, I swear my heart stopped. I was not only relieved, but she looked so damn beautiful so carefree and happy. I didn't even care she got a picture of me looking so ridiculous. In that moment all I wanted to do was keep that smile on her face forever. Then I mentally shook myself and locked that emotion down. I cannot afford to get anymore tangled in the web that is Panic Morningstar if I want to escape this week with my life.

I carried Panic out of that fresh hell and down to an empty lot that I noticed on the way to the museum. I keep my eyes trained on her so she doesn't make another escape attempt while I lace up my boots. Then she shocks me again by asking "Well, what do you want to do now?"

What do I want to do? Is she serious? I am just here to follow her around, I didn't think she would care about what I want. Hell, I can't even remember when the last time someone asked me what I wanted was. I have always been told what to do, or at the very most been given a choice between two or three options, never this open-ended request before.

Out of all of the things at my disposal here in Vegas the only thing I can think right now is how much I want to see her smile again. Then I think of last night and how she had been in the middle of singing some club song when Pain pulled her off the table. I wonder if she likes to sing.

"Know any good karaoke bars around here?" Was my eventual reply.

The smile she shoots me is no match for the unfiltered joy she showed me in Candytopia, but it is a smile nonetheless. She then answers my earlier query and says "I am the karaoke queen. Of course, I know where to go."

The drive to a small bar in the residential side of Las Vegas was filled with companionable silence. I can feel the anticipation rolling off her in waves, but I can tell she is also nervous. This is a different side of Panic that I haven't see before. Usually she is brimming with confidence and bravado.

When we pull up to a older building with cedar siding and a western vibe to it I have a hard time reconciling it with the designer clad spit fire next to me. Its clear when we walk in though that she is a regular here. She greets many of the regulars around the room, and when the men behind the bar catch site of Panic, they all shout "Hey Nic! Get on up there and show them how it's done!"

I survey the room and notice an abundance of old Las Vegas memorabilia hanging in old picture frames by old crooked nails and wire around the room. There is an old juke box along the farthest wall next to the stage. The stage is more of a raised platform about six inches off the ground with dark brown duck-tape running along the edge as a make shift trim. Florescent lights illuminate the stage where a microphone sits on a single pole stand. There is a stool and acoustic guitar propped up against the back portion of the stage, but Panic doesn't make a move for the tools.

Maranda Lambert's "Fastest Girl In Town" starts playing as she loses her apprehension in the beat of the intro. She seems to forget that she was nervous about showing me this part of her as she slides into the confidence she finds when she's on stage. This girl was made to be the center of attention. She gets so into the music it made me almost rethink my hate for country music. She engages the small familiar crowd with her movements across their 15' stage. In that moment, I realize I am seeing a side of Panic that her family doesn't.

She maybe a handful, but she is not the lazy problem child her brothers seem to think she is. She truly has a passion, it's just one disguised as mischief. When Pain saw her on the stage of inferno, he didn't see a woman doing what she loves; all Pain noticed was his sister fooling around.

Sitting in a stool at the bar, I listen to her sing. The lyrics resonated with me, making me laugh with their appropriateness. If I've learned anything over the past 24 hours, it would be that my frisky little troublemaker really is the fastest girl in town.