Oh, you know I can’t stay away
What you’ve got
Is all I need
Open a vein
Make me bleed
Oh, baby, make me bleed
Your sweat is my poison
My salvation
Let it out, all out
Magic mystery
Bring me your pain
Wrecked at your altar
Aching to be yours
Take what you need
Make me bleed
Oh, baby, make me bleed
I bowed my head and repeated the last words over and over, ending with the broken whisper I’d fought for. I pulled out one of my in-ear monitors—then lifted my head again as another voice joined in, starting the song over as if I’d never sung at all.
Deacon scrambled to reset the track, and I stared at my brother, still standing in the doorway of the studio, cordless mic in hand. He stared back at me and sang the words I’d slaved over.
My words, sung by Simon Kagan.
The Simon Kagan.
It didn’t matter he was my brother. Right then, he was simply someone I’d idolized. No matter that I’d tried to pull him down to my level, to insinuate I was as good or better, the reality was that he was a god. And I was just a pretender to the throne.
I wasn’t fully conscious of opening my mouth again. When the bystander became a participant. It wasn’t about doing another take or outdoing Simon. I couldn’t think about that. All I cared about was the simple pleasure of singing, of relaxing my throat and letting the words in my head free. My voice lifted up and joined with Simon’s. Tangling together, each somehow still distinct. Yet harmonizing in a way that made my shoulders buzz and an unwelcome heat build behind my eyes.
Of all the dreams I’d harbored, this was the culmination of them.
One I’d never dared to voice, even to myself.
Getting to sing with my brother.
My brother.
I whispered the words at the end, repeating them as I had during the take before. Then I pulled out my other in-ear monitor and moved to the door on the opposite side of the booth, wrenching it open and crossing through the studio to get to the fresh air on the other side.
Out in the hallway, I bent at the waist and fought to breathe. To get my ragged emotions back in line. Christ, my throat was so tight I could barely swallow. If someone saw me—
My mobile buzzed in my pocket, and the tears did come then, hot and furious.
At myself, most of all.