Mr. Twang: A Fake Relationship Romance

“Why don’t you at least be my date for the Country Music Awards?” He took the rose and let his hand drop. “We’re both going alone otherwise, right?”

“I know I am.” I nodded and sighed.

“Who knows, maybe the buzz will help us both.” He grinned and winked at me.

Oh god, not another lie.

“No.” I shook my head back and forth. “I can’t.”

I ran from his dressing room and started to cry when I closed my door. There was no way I could do that again. Even if I liked Zack and thought he was a nice guy, I wasn’t going to step out there and pretend there was something between us. That would just put me on the same road that tore me apart to begin with. I would rather stand alone than stand with someone I didn’t care about. In the back of my mind, distrust swirled and pushed more tears down my cheek. Zack might have been joking around, but I still couldn’t help but question if he was trying to use me the same way Sawyer and Brendan did. I couldn’t be a prop for someone else’s career. I couldn’t use them to further my own. Even if Zack was being honest about his interest in me, the thoughts would never let me fully trust him after what happened with Brendan.

Misery is my real penance. My trust in the world is shattered more than my heart could ever be.

18

Brendan

Accompanying Song:

“Voodoo” by Godsmack

The ghosts from my relationship with Lauren haunted every day of my life. The media left me alone after I returned to Chicago. I had a full beard, my hair was longer, and I no longer resembled the man they so eloquently dubbed Mr. Twang. My fake accent was gone completely, lost like the woman I cared so much about that I ached through every second of my miserable life. I lived in the cold darkness of the night hours. Being alone in my hotel was threatening more that my sanity—I was afraid I would end up taking my life. The initial sales from my album were enough to keep me going for a while, even if the royalties had mostly stopped. A few came in from time to time when radio stations played Barstools at Midnight. Even if the world hated me, a few people still requested the song.

Here I am again, a lost soul at the end of the bar with whiskey on my breath and a song in my heart that I can’t even sing.

I always hated country music, but after leaving Nashville, I wrote a few songs of my own that were basically sad country tunes with rock overtones. It was the only way to get the words out of my head sometimes. They were drunken messes, but they were the truest words I had ever put on paper or strummed my guitar to. Well, there was one song that was true—Blur. It was the ultimate personification of truth, even if my duet partner didn’t believe it anymore. I nursed my whiskey and watched the happy people around me. A scene like the one I was witnessing was the thing that made me believe in the message behind Barstools at Midnight, even if I didn’t write it. I killed the glass and got another one as the television above me switched from the sports program that had been playing since I got to the bar to some sort of celebrity news program.

Carson Jones. You son of a bitch.

The man that ruined my relationship with Lauren when he played my forgotten words had some sort of feature on the show, keeping people up to date with the latest in country music. I stared at the screen when my face flashed. The Country Music Awards were coming up and I was up for Scumbag of the Year. Apparently, it was a new category they invented especially for me. I deserved it, even if it made me boil with rage. I also saw Lauren’s face for the

first time since leaving Nashville. They played a clip from her latest song, a heart-wrenching melody called Shattered Again.

She still has the voice of an angel, even after I ripped the wings off her back.

I would have done anything to turn back the clock and be the man she thought I was. The end of our relationship was worse than the one that blew apart my band in Chicago. I didn’t know true heartbreak until I saw the distrust in Lauren’s eyes. I had worked so hard to make our relationship real, and in an instant, I drove a wrecking ball through her heart. It circled back around and slammed into my chest as well. A part of me died on that sidewalk in Nashville. It left a hollow hole that could never be filled again. The whiskey wasn’t strong enough to dull my pain after I saw Lauren’s face on the screen and heard the voice behind her music. I pushed my glass towards the bartender, paid my tab, and headed back to my hotel room.

“I wonder what those assholes would think if I showed up and accepted that reward. I certainly deserve it.” I crashed into my bed and pulled my pillow underneath my head.

Two months later

The night I heard Lauren’s voice while drowning my sorrows in whiskey was the last time I tried to silence my thoughts with booze. I woke up the next morning and decided to express my emotions in a different way—music. I went to a local recording studio that allowed musicians to rent it by the hour. It was a far cry from the professional setup Sawyer had in Nashville, but it had everything I needed. I hit record, sat down behind the microphone, and started playing my guitar as I sang. The words I had put on paper sprang to life on my lips. I wasn’t using a fake accent or pretending to be anything that I wasn’t. It was my voice, my words, and all of my heartache wrapped up in a sad rock and roll melody.

This is just me. This is who I am. These songs will never be heard, but they are the only way for me to take a step forward instead of retreating in the opposite direction every single day.

After a couple of months, my bank account had taken a hit for every hour I spent in the studio, but I felt mild tranquility. I had turned every regret into a song. I sang about Lauren’s smile, her angelic voice, the way she made me feel, and how much of a foolish man I was. Each song seemed to lift a little bit more of the weight on my shoulders. It no longer threatened to crush me every time I took a step. It felt good to actually sing what I wanted to sing without worrying about the perception every word would create. I didn’t care anymore. I just needed to express my thoughts in a way that would let me hold my head up straight for more than a few hours every day.

“You’re him—aren’t you?” A voice stopped me my tracks and I turned to see a young woman staring at me as I stepped out of the recording studio.

“I’m sorry?” I tilted my head to the side.

“You’re that guy. You’re Mr. Twang.” She took a step forward and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, that’s you behind the beard. I thought I recognized your voice, even if it doesn’t have that Nashville twang anymore.”

“You were listening to me?” I tightened my jaw and swallowed hard. “I thought you were just waiting to use the studio.”

“I was—well, not really.” She exhaled and shook her head. “Fully confession—my name is Nancy Day. I’m head of talent acquisitions at Minotaur Records. I’ve been hearing stories about this guy who comes to the studio every day and records music. People said he was amazing, so I decided to stop by and listen.”

“Fuck.” I shook my head angrily. “This was supposed to be private. I didn’t want anyone listening to me.”