Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight! That belongs to the lovely Stephanie Meyer...Also the lyrics in this chapter are from "I'll Stay" by Augustana...Enjoy!
Love is such a cruel game
And it won't let you ever be the same
Until you come down. Dream me down
And how does it feel, feeling down?
You're wasting your breath, just say the word
And I'll stay
Oh yeah
I said love's such a cruel game
And it won't let you ever be the same
And it won't let you just run away
Until you come down dream me down
Just turn around
Just say the word
Honey, no, say the word
Darling, no, just say the word
And I'll stay
I'll stay
I'll stay.
You could hardly hear her strum the last note over the roar of the crowd, but to her it didn't matter. The escape of the song lingered for a second longer. Finally, she pulled herself out and focused on the task at hand.
"Thank you!" she shouted to the screaming crowd, before blowing a kiss and making her exit.
"Nice jobs" and "Great shows" greeted her as she gracefully made her way backstage. She politely thanked and congratulated her band as always before closing the dressing room door, bypassing the beautiful arrangement of cheeses and fruits, and plopping down in her chair in front of the vanity. She stared at her reflection. Her long, wavy, brown hair was still perfectly in place and not a drop of sweat was on her, despite the fact that she just played a twenty-song set. Her amber eyes watched as her abnormally pale skin sparkled slightly from the lights around the mirror.
If she could cry she probably would. It was her own fault. That damn song got her every time she sang it. Just say the word. It was the conversation that they had had the night before she left. In the end he didn't say it and she had packed her bags and headed for New York City. But that was 10 years ago and dwelling on the past was just unhealthy. Especially if, like her, you had 50 years of memories to dwell over.
She reached for her water bottle, opened the lid and smelled the irony smell that protruded from the top. Grateful that she had remembered to save some after her last hunt, she downed the rest of the blood from the bottle and went to clean it out in the sink.
Suddenly she could smell a scent that was much more pleasing than the deer's blood she'd just consumed.
The stage manager knocked twice and opened the door.
"They're calling for an encore, Layla," he said before softly closing the door and leaving as quickly as he'd come.
Glancing once more at her reflection, she sighed muttering, "Then let's give it to them," before grabbing her guitar and heading back to the screaming crowd.