15. Fails in Comparison

15

FAILS IN COMPARISON

MAZEN

My eyes land on her velvety-green orbs when I make my way to the center stage, where my microphone is waiting for me. From my stance on the stage and the distance to the VIP section we keep reserved for close family members and friends, I can feel her stare radiating into my bones, as if we're only centimeters apart rather than separated by hordes of boisterous fans and security guards.

Since I've accepted the fact that Sophia's here, on tour with us, working for us, I have abandoned my plan for revenge and come to terms with accepting her presence for what it is. A blessing. One I refuse to fuck up again. I've done the distancing thing with her. My heart and brain both longing for the woman while simultaneously loathing her very existence.

I won't lie and tell you that my palms aren't a little bit sweaty when I grab my mic, holding on to it with a death grip, using it to tether me to reality. The anxiety coursing through my veins isn't from the large crowd we pulled in or even the fact that this is our makeup concert, and we owe it to our fans to put on one hell of a show. I'm jittery because she's here.

Sophia's in my territory, my element.

After our shows, when she gets a chance to showcase her art—her purpose for being on tour with us—she lays out her expansive tattoo supplies with nothing but pride on her features. I've watched her do her thing for weeks. Creating something from nothing. Art that is permanently carved into our skin. This is different. Though I know she's listened to our music—after she finally admitted to it—us performing for a crowd that is oblivious that her essence is behind every goddamn lyric that bleeds from my heart is indescribable.

My muse tilts her head, as if to say, What are you waiting on, Wilde?

It's all the reassurance I need to slide back into character—the one the crowd has paid to see, not the one that only the beautiful, red-haired tattooist owns.

I open my mouth, ready to scream my usual intro into the mic. "Are you ready to rock?"

The crowd chanting is my answer.

Before I know it, time has flown by, and we've played almost the entire show, jamming right along with our fans. The song comes to an end, and the lights dim around us. The only sound remaining is that of Ollie strumming his electric guitar. Riff after riff, he enchants the crowd, distracting them long enough for our stage crew to bring out a black stool and place it front and center.

Knowing that Sophia was going to attend our show tonight—I need to remember to send Vanna a thank you basket for her part in making that happen—we collectively decided to end our show on a different note. Before we went onstage, I called a meeting and admitted to meeting Sophia before that night in her studio. Oliver said his Spidey-sense was never wrong, that he had a suspicion. Cannon seemed indifferent. I shook it off as him being shocked by the news.

Get in line, bud.

Murphy gave me a side-eye that promised he'd be drilling me for more details after our show.

In less than a few heartbeats, my shoulders felt lighter.

Coming clean to my band was task one. Task two is capitalizing on Sophia's presence here tonight.

This show might very well be the only one Sophia attends. By changing our show's end routine, it helps make my public relationship with her as cut and dry as it can be for those in attendance. Everyone is recording on their phones, which means their videos will most likely be loaded onto different forms of social media before our set is even over.

Lindsey's words echo in my head as I take my place on the stool. "Show the world that Soph is yours, and dare anyone to fuck with her again."

Sending a message to the fans and media about her attack by my crazed stalker is one thing. What we—Ollie, Cannon, and I—plan to do is communicate directly to Julian Caddell. Letting him know that he won't ever get close enough to Sophia to hurt her again. We'll make sure of it.

"Ten years ago"—I pause, my eyes drifting over the horde of people before I hone in on Sophia— "I was an average guy."

Cannon hits his cymbal with his stick, creating a clang pitch behind me.

"I had fewer tattoos then too—I can tell you that for sure. Anyway, I met a woman who had never even heard me sing before. We talked; we bonded. "

When I wiggle my eyebrows, the row of women in front of me catch my meaning of bonded , and I swear I can visibly see them pant, jealousy over this woman—my Rosella — I'm speaking about written on their faces.

"Music has always been my solace. For as long as I can remember, it set me free, gave me an outlet, and more than once, I thought I'd die if I wasn't able to create anymore. The morning after I met this woman, I left her sleeping in her hotel room. I met up with these fuckers." I motion behind and beside me with the wave of my hand. "And we left to go on our first tour. We were opening for Sum 41 and on cloud fucking nine. The thing is, I knowingly walked away from the only person in the world who saw me for me, and I'll never do it again."

Fear of admitting this truth—my truth—to not only Sophia, but the thousands of people watching me with curious glints in their eyes has my throat threatening to close. Knowing that I'm not only speaking for myself, but also for Oliver and Cannon, who sadly can't publicly voice their adoration for Sophia like I can, gives me the courage to continue.

With my heart on the line, I say, "Music fails in comparison to you, Sophia Lozier. Everything does. I'll happily lay down my microphone at your feet if you ever doubt what you mean to me." To all of us.

Not missing a beat, we slide right back into our next song. I open my mouth to sing, this time when my eyes dance over the crowd and collide with Sophia's, I see her wipe at the corner of her eye right before her sister hugs her close to her side.

I hope she can read between the lines when I offer her one last glance in her direction, begging her to believe my confession— I meant every word. Even if the spectacle was built on antagonizing Caddell. We all meant it— before I start to sing.

I'm going clinically insane

Screaming out your name

Ripping at my hair

Clawing out my brain

Your memory haunts me with every mention of our fame

The song comes to an end as the band and I bask in our collective admiration and infatuation toward Sophia. If Caddell is watching from afar, we aim to cut him at his knees. My admission to Sophia was as genuine as one can get. It served two purposes though, and I hope the bastard knows that we're not playing when it comes to keeping our girl safe.

This entire stadium, filled to the brink with thousands of spectators, now knows it too.

Love isn't a weakness. It's the purest form of strength. I've never once not had Murphy's, Cannon's, or Oliver's back, and starting right now, the same goes for Sophia.

"You fuckers ate this up at our last show. There's no way we could end tonight without it. Make some fucking noise if you want it," Ollie yells into his mic, demanding the crowd's attention and earning several whistles.

"This song was inspired by this little guy." I hold up my tattooed hand, showcasing the jellyfish that Sophia did weeks ago. "My girl tattooed it for me. I don't think she knew at the time that she stung me like a jellyfish or the impact she'd have on me." Pausing, I slide off my shirt, wipe the sweat off my face and neck, and toss it to the side of the stage.

Baring myself in more ways than one, I address the crowd one last time before diving into our final song of the night. "It's been rad to jam with you tonight. Thank you for your understanding in postponing our previous show. We're so fucking blessed to have fans like you who understand that nothing matters but family. You guys earned this one, and you can thank Sophia for inspiring it. This is for you, Rosella. It's all for you, baby."

You stung me like a jellyfish ohh ohh

Your hands are toxic tentacles ohh ohh

I welcome their sting

I welcome their burn

I welcome the way your touch makes me yearn

Out of all of the monsters in the big bad sea, I'm begging you, baby, to keep stinging me