QLFC. Captain of the Wimbourne Wasps. Round 6 - Write about a light character lusting after something/someone.
Chosen character: Myron Wagtail - lead singer of The Weird Sisters.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' thought Myron, as he softly banged his head on the desk for the hundredth time that morning. Just yesterday he'd received an owl asking him to come to the Wizarding music studio and do an audition. The time for that audition had come and gone now. Again, like all of the other times before, he'd stayed at home because of his mum.
"Myron, are you okay?" asked his mum as she padded into his bedroom with a pile of laundry in her arms. She looked tired, and it served to remind him of why he had not gone to the audition.
Letting out a sigh, and straightening up, Myron pulled a fake smile onto his face. He mustn't let her know what he was thinking. She may be stopping him from following his dream, but he still loved her; she was still his mum. "I'm fine, Mum, just tired. I didn't sleep very well last night."
"Maybe you should have a nap now then. It's still early enough," she said in concern. It was a bit ironic. He had remained home because he was concerned for her.
He looked at her, really looked at her. It was even worse than he'd realised. It was startling just how careworn she was starting to look. She was going grey prematurely, lines marked her soft, loving face, crow's-feet sat at the corner of her eyes, and she was awfully thin. Myron felt his breath hitch in his chest, maybe it was time to stop being a complete and utter prat about wanting the limelight—to want to be famous. He should let go of his desires and stick to one decision, the one he was making over and over. But he knew he was fooling himself. He couldn't give it up. The desire for it consumed his every thought, lust tainted every inch of his being, preventing him from thinking about anything else. He needed to perform, to sing and receive the adulation of the crowd. It was what he lived for. Nothing else could bring him such ecstasy. Yet his mum needed him. She needed him at home. Merlin knew she deserved it, after all, she'd been both mother and father to him all these years. It was not her fault that she had become ill. After everything, the least he could do was look after her, right?
He had to come to a decision. He couldn't go on being this divided.
"Myron, love?"
"I'm sorry. I zoned out for a moment," he said, swallowing thickly.
"What would you like for lunch, dear?" asked his mum, repeating her question.
"Whatever you like, Mum," answered Myron, much the same as usual. "Do you want me to help?"
He would help either way; her answer would only determine if he would do it in secret or not.
"I can handle it, dear. It's okay," said his mum, as she leant down to give her son a kiss on top of his head.
Once she'd gone, Myron sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. More secrecy it was.
Myron was feeling all tingly and hot; his stomach was filled with butterflies, and his heart was beating to the sound of the drums. He'd never felt more alive. It was better than anything else, better than sex. He could keep going forever and beyond, and this was only an audition. He could barely imagine how it would be to perform in front of an actual crowd. They would chant his name as he played for them. He would fill their ears with thrumming music and lyrics that spoke with heated passion. He would seduce them with his words, enthrall them with his lyrics. They would succumb to him. Amortentia wouldn't be able to hold a candle to him.
He closed his eyes, savoring the wave of ecstasy that washed through him. Merlin, he didn't even feel such a rush when he had sex. This was what he was meant to do; this was his passion. He was sure of it. How else could he describe these feelings?
He'd never been greatly academic; he'd left Hogwarts with only a handful of OWL's not even passing his NEWT's. Singing and songwriting was all he knew how to do. As far as he was concerned, he was good at both. But, even as he indulged in the high of music, something bothered him. In a quick flash, he saw his mum working to keep the house from falling apart, her face sweaty and pale from the exhaustion.
'Don't think about her now, you bloody moron!' Myron told himself. 'You're living your dream. You're breathing it, feeling it, rolling with it. Don't let her hold you back again.'
It was no use, though; Pandora's box had been opened. He could see her more clearly. He saw his mother's pained face, the way she had to struggle to keep from fainting. She needed him. The voice in his head screamed at him to go to her—obeying that instinct, Myron apparated back home, leaving a room full of critics to wonder what the hell his problem was.
"Myron? What are you doing home so early? Oh no, did things go badly?" asked his mum worriedly, a hand flying to cover her mouth.
He stared at her. She was fine. She was okay. She was not falling over herself trying to clean the house or something.
"I... couldn't... do... it... Mum," stuttered Myron.
In that moment he hated her. He hated himself. Was this all his dream meant to him? Was he willing to drop it at the mere thought of his mum? Was he willing to deny himself something that meant the world to him? And why? Why had she had to fall ill now? Why couldn't she be well? Didn't she see that she was ruining his life?
He loved her. He loved her more than anyone else in the world, but right now, he hated her.
"Oh, love, why ever not? You're such a talented singer, and your songs are so good."
"You're biased," chuckled Myron through his tears.
He had to keep pretending that everything was normal. He didn't want her to know just how much he was sacrificing for her. His longing to be back before the critics tore at him. He lusted for it. He felt like a jealous lover thinking that now someone else would get the chance. Someone else was taking what should rightfully be his. He'd blown it.
"That may be the case; however, I am also your harshest critic. If I thought you were doing something wrong, I'd tell you. I didn't spend all those years on the musical Muggle circuit for nothing, dear," said his soft-spoken mum.
Myron looked up at her in surprise. This was new information. This was a shock. The whirlpool of feelings that had been raging within him came to a standstill, leaving blankness.
"You were a singer?" asked Myron, eyes wide.
"Who do you think you get it from, love," she said, chuckling slightly.
He went and sat down next to her on the sofa. "I had no idea, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you thinking that I was trying to carry on living my dream through you. It was something that you had to come to on your own, love. I saw the potential and the talent before you were even ten years old," she said gently.
"But, Mum, if you were a singer, why did you give it up? How could you give it up?"
It seemed ludicrous to him. The simple thought of leaving music behind was tearing him up inside, how could she have willingly left it?
"I found a second love, a love that was stronger than the one I had for music. I met your father and I had you. Giving up music, while not easy, was the right choice for me. It doesn't mean it's the right one for you. Whatever you chose, you will have to push through despite the knock backs and knockdowns. You can't let indecision and fear rule and dictate your life. If there's something you really want, you have to grab it with both hands. 'Cos God knows, life isn't going to give it to you, son. Now, I suggest you follow your passion. I did and I would hate myself if I was the one to stand in your way. I know that's why you're not already famous, why you're not played on the wireless every day. I can handle myself. I'm your mother; it's my job to make sacrifices for you. You are in no way obliged to do the same for me. I want you to follow your dream for me, but mostly for yourself. I love you so much, Myron, and so will the world."
Myron straightened his spine, breathing for a moment. He hadn't known. This was… this was everything he could have hoped for. She understood, and he had her blessing. He smiled at his mother and drew her into a tight hug.
"Thank you," he said. "You're right, Mum, you're absolutely right. I need to grab the Unicorn by the horn and just do this. This is what I've wanted for more years than I can count," said Myron determinedly.
She gave him a gentle pat on the back as she withdrew from his arms. "That's the spirit, dear. Don't let anything hold you back."
He wouldn't. Not anymore.
Three hours later, and Myron came shuffling in through the backdoor. He looked miserable and dejected.
"Oh my baby, did it not go well? Weren't they willing to give you another chance? If they told you no, I'll go in there and give them a piece of my mind. They-"
Myron raised his head and looked at his mum. It was then she saw it, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, a smile that slipped across his face almost splitting it in two.
"Myron?"
"I did it, Mum. I really did it! Once I got in there and started singing, it was as if the whole world fell away, and I felt so free. I've been given a two year contract to start with, and the job of lead singer in a newly formed band called 'The Weird Sisters.' How cool is that, Mum?"
"Oh, my baby boy, I am so proud of you."
"Thank you, Mum. Thank you for everything. When I get my advance tomorrow, I'm treating you to wherever you want to go out to. I love you, Mum."
"I love you too, son."
And the rest, as we know, is history.