Page 121 of The Comedown

“Nah.” He smirks. “That’s all for me.”

“Then it stays on.”

His chuckle shakes his upper body. “The fuck? I can’t win here.”

“You’re not supposed to win. You’re going to lose.”

“Lose what?” he bites out, a suspicion settling over his features as his arms flex just enough for me to notice out of the corner of my eye.

“Power.”

His name crackles across the overhead speakers, calling for his immediate return to the stage, and I see it—the flash of panic that’s usually masked by a shot or a bump by now. He covers it just as quickly though.

“People don’t come to concerts just to hear songs,” I say, stepping closer to tower above him, one hand reaching out to stroke his cock. “It’s never been easier than it is today for listeners to stream music directly into their ears. They can hear our music anywhere, while doing anything, around anyone. They come to concerts for companionship. For connection. For hope. Music is a portal to help them find it. It doesn’t fucking matter if you relate to your lyrics; they do.” I point out to my side using my free hand, and his glazed eyes try to follow. “And when you shun those lyrics, or you shun the people that grasped on to them at their lowest moment, when they were searching for anything to make them feel better, you shun their hope, too. There are enough gatekeepers in this world, Julian. Don’t be one of them.”

“So I’m supposed to just suck it up basically? It doesn’t matter what I want?”

My hand freezes, tightening around his base.

“Not suck it up, but you do need to stop thinking only about yourself. It’s not all about you. We write the songs for ourselves, but we release them for others.”

I resume the up and down movement, with a swirl along my palm at his cock’s cut head.

“Not me. Mine should’ve never got released. I didn’t write those fucking songs for myself.”

“You won’t be locked in with that label forever. The songs you do write for yourself, keep them. Don’t throw them away. One day you’ll release them for others, exactly the way you want to. But if you shut out all your fans now, nobody will be there to hear them…” My eyes land on his auxiliary cord tattoo. “…at home, or in concert.”

“Yeah, I bet I’ll miss out on some money,” he says like he couldn’t care less.

Money is not Julian’s biggest motivator. I know that now. I thought it was because of the way he lives, or more accurately the way he pays for everyone around him to live. I know he still pays for all the expenses accrued on his bus even though he’s hardly ever on it anymore.

Music could be his why for doing this, but I understand how it’s not. At least right now. His current music doesn’t even feel like his own.

Thinking he has nothing to work toward, it’s easy for him to stop working, period.

And now that he’s gotten accustomed to quitting, it’s second nature to him. Whereas Bodee doesn’t work as hard because he doesn’t have to, Julian doesn’t work as hard because he doesn’t want to.

Neither of those should be an artist’s why though. Music can’t put dinner on the table, and money can’t fulfill you. While neither should be underestimated, you also shouldn’t depend on them as your sole reason for sharing art. You will bankrupt yourself in one way or another.

“Love at first sight,” I blurt, my gaze lifting from Julian’s hips thrusting up into my hand.

He stops, asking, “What?” like he’s coming out of a daze.

“This very second, two strangers are falling head over heels in love with a single look. Babies will be conceived tonight, here in some dark corner, or later when they get wherever they’re staying for the night. Right outside, lifelong friendships will be formed, dead-end relationships will finally get closure, healing will happen. Answers to troubling issues will be discovered under this roof. It’s not because of you or me. It’s because of music and the portal it creates to all the beautiful things in life that money can’t touch. We’re just lucky enough to get to provide that gateway to a superdome of people looking for it.” I frown. “Bodee lost sight of that, or never saw it to begin with. To him, concerts are all about money.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to perform like that for that many people over and over again?”

“You don’t. It’s impossible. You pick one, someone near the front that you can make eye contact with, and you perform for them like it’s their life you’re hoping to change that night. Everybody else in the arena, watching you on the screen, all the way up to the nosebleeds, will feel it.”

“Is that why you tour so much?”

“I, uh…” My hand, wrist, and arm go fuzzy, then my head. “That’s…”

Axel starts another song, and I blindly turn my face toward the door, listening to the footsteps racing past my door.

“Collette, what were you to Bodee?”

I return my stare to Julian, admitting, “Something he had power over. Something he could use to get even more.”