If you'd like something to listen to while you read, you can check out Cosima's mix at /mackenzieleigh/i-am-the-asshole.
Cosima can't remember the last time she played a show this bad. There are two false starts, one forgotten verse, and three flubs. At first, Felix and Sarah gaze at her with the same concern they had the weekend previous, after Mark had shown up and completely derailed her. Then, however, she'd been able to harness her disappointment into a sense of ardency. She'd disengaged emotionally, but her bandmates, the audience had been perfectly attuned to what she was playing. Her misery had culminated in something electrifying.
The crowd doesn't like her tonight though. The din of their conversation drowns her out, makes her feel inadequate when their attentions completely scatter. Sarah and Felix want to sympathize with her, but their frustration wins out. As far as they can tell, nothing is as wrong as it has been the past few days. She shouldn't be playing this badly – not after Delphine apologized to her – not when her distractions have left her.
After the second false start, during which she blatantly misreads her own handwritten setlist, she looks out at the crowd and says, "Sorry about that." It's the first time she's ever apologized to an audience. Her hands grip her guitar ferociously, simply to keep from quaking; but she realizes, in hindsight, no one had been paying enough attention to care.
"What is up with you," Sarah asks as they're walking through the wings. She and Felix flank Cosima, gazing at her with expectant aggravation.
"Guys, I'm really sorry."
Felix sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Apologies are for amateurs. Which you are not."
"Which means you leave the soap opera backstage," Sarah continues.
"Wait," Felix lowers his voice, "is this about Delphine again?" Cosima gives herself away when she refuses to meet either of their imploring gazes, instead staring at the floor. "Bloody hell, Cos. What did she do now?"
"Nothing," Cosima mutters. Sarah and Felix each grab her by the arm, grinding her to a halt.
"Bullshit—"
"I will beat her arse—"
"I'm serious," Cosima asserts, voice echoing slightly in the dim corridor. "She apologized."
Sarah and Felix are living proof that nurture often overcomes nature. They may not share any blood, but they strikingly share many of the same mannerisms. The identical looks of incredulity they fix Cosima with, arms crossing over their chests, are utterly uncanny.
"She swallowed her pride—how devastating," Felix drawls sarcastically.
"What's the problem then? Was it, like, one of those backhanded I'm-sorry-you're -the-asshole apologies?"
"No," Cosima murmurs, shrugging. "She definitely knows who the asshole is."
"So, why the shit-show?"
After a long pause, Cosima gazing into the eaves while her bandmates wait intently, she answers, "I have no idea."
Sarah throws her hands in the air while Felix groans. "Sweetheart," he begins, his tone somewhat patronizing, "you know I sympathize with the hetero drama—truly. But I think it might be time for you to chin-up—"
"And get your shit together," Sarah concludes, brows raised.
Not sparing her a glance, Felix shoves his sister, and places a hand on Cosima's shoulder. "An apology is no cause for a meltdown."
"I'm not melting down," Cosima exclaims, exasperated.
"Well—are you sure about that? Because the last time I saw you play so poorly, someone had died."
"Guys, I'm just, like—" Gritting her teeth, Cosima rips off her glasses and rubs furiously at her eyes. "I should be happy, I guess. I'm being dumb."
"About—"
"It doesn't matter." Cosima puts her glasses back on, taking a deep breath. "You're right—both of you. I get one stupid thought in my head and I let it dictate the entire show. I can't be like that."
"You're not, usually," Sarah says, her voice softening.
"I know. It's probably—I should probably get some sleep." She chuckles dryly. Neither Sarah nor Felix seems to believe her entirely, but they don't push the matter either. This night has been just as embarrassing for them as it has been for her.
"Good idea. We've got a long haul tonight. Sarah and I will take care of the driving."
They're truer to their word than Cosima is to hers. She curls up on the carpeted floor space set aside in the back of the van, on top of a makeshift bed of egg-crate foam and blankets, and plugs in her earbuds. On her iPod is an 80-song playlist for instances such as this, when her mind buzzes uncomfortably, body surrendering to lethargy. The music is soft enough that, on better nights, she can slip easily into slumber, the softly plucked guitars undulating in tandem with the natural rocking of the van. Tonight though, her worries keep her awake.
It's exhausting to oscillate between blind conceit and egoistic fragility the way her mind tends to. As a musician, she's constantly torn between desires. Wanting magazines, critics, and peers to notice her, to give her due recognition while instinctively shying from the limelight. Craving validation while boasting self-assuredness. Effacing her own work while returning to it doggedly with a sense of unwavering pride, time and time again.
Nearly her entire life she has been a musician, has been fascinated by musicians. And for almost as long, she has been humbled by her belief that musicians, as a people, are some of the worst she has ever known. She's not an exception to the rule.
It's hard to understand how she feels about herself, sometimes. Even harder than it is to understand how others feel about her.
She wonders if she should be grateful that someone like Delphine Cormier – someone famous, and gorgeous, and talented – considers her a friend. That she thinks about Cosima enough to take offense when her intentions are muddied, when she sleeps with strangers. Maybe that gratitude should be enough to accept what has been said, to forgive without consequence. If that's true, it has nothing to do with how she feels.
Cosima doesn't like to be blamed for wrongs she hasn't committed any more than she likes her integrity to be questioned. She may be self-deprecating and vulnerable and prone to giving too much away, but she has a sense of conviction. She was raised as the type to fight on principle, to hold on to the truth even when it turns grim. To love herself.
That's exactly the problem with Delphine's apology, with her honest guilt. Despite her claims of caring, she's still capable of hurting. And Cosima can't help but feel like, in some small way, she's compromising herself by forgiving and forgetting the actions of someone who she can't be certain is equipped to love her the way she deserves.
Her eyes open, willing these thoughts to evaporate. There's a possibility that she's blowing everything out of proportion, that her crush on Delphine is confusing things. What the blonde had said to her had hurt; but how much of that was due to the fact that she liked her? Delphine, though sometimes ambiguous, has always smiled at her like she was wonderful. Sometimes, she even believed she was wonderful, too. Was she hurt because there was no smile for her that day, no illusion to cling to?
10 songs in and she's farther from sleep than she was when she first laid down. Hitting pause on the playlist, she puts her glasses back on and reaches for her backpack in the darkness.
"I hear movement," Sarah scolds from the passenger seat, not glancing back at her.
"I'm just pulling out my laptop quick," she says tiredly.
"No video games."
"Oh my god," Cosima groans, opening up her Mac. She rifles around in the bag and pulls out the blue jewel case next. "Don't treat me like a goddamn child."
"Just sleep," Sarah grunts, kicking her feet up on the dash. Cosima ignores her, plugging her earbuds into the laptop. Pulling up iTunes, she places the CD in the disk drive.
She's walking into the rear entrance of the arena, instrument cases in hand, when she catches Delphine smoking a cigarette behind the bus. The blonde has her phone pressed to her ear, back straightened in apparent tension. Even from a distance, Cosima can see that whatever conversation she's having can't be particularly pleasant. She slows to a halt, watching as the woman throws one of her hands frustratedly in the air.
"You're staring," Sarah reminds her, brushing brusquely past her shoulder as she carries in pieces of her kit. Cosima blushes, shifting the weight in her hands.
"Shut up," she mutters, trailing slowly into the entrance. Looking over her shoulder once more, she catches Delphine's eye as she turns, dragging harshly on her cigarette. The blonde stares blankly at her, brow furrowed. Embarrassed, Cosima waves, offering her a soft, crooked smile. It's hard to tell, but from several yards away, Delphine seems to smile in return.
"You're going to get yourself in trouble," Felix hisses suddenly in her ear as he comes up behind her, stealing her attention. Before she has the chance to reply, he's tugging her inside by the collar of her shirt.
Cosima searches for the blonde on her way back to retrieve the rest of her equipment, but doesn't see her. She's wriggling her final crate from the van when she feels a hand lightly touch her elbow.
"Would you like some help?"
She startles, whirling around to face a timidly smiling Delphine. "Hey—yeah, sure." She's been lugging equipment long enough that she can handle it on her own, but the crate is dislodged much easier with some assistance. "Thanks."
"Of course." They set the case on the asphalt, allowing it to sit between them. They both stare awkwardly at their feet for a moment before Delphine asks, "Did you, uhm, get a chance to—"
"Oh! Yeah," Cosima says, the blonde's face lighting at her enthusiasm. "I listened to it last night in the van." Three times, she omits. The second to put her to sleep, the third to wake her up this morning.
"I'm glad. Did you enjoy it?" Delphine chews on her lip, hands slipping nervously into her pockets. A slow grin spreads across Cosima's face.
When she was a teenager, music had seemed the only proper way to communicate with others. Books, too, though not nearly as often. It was difficult to write a song for someone without it seeming like it was about her in some way; but making CDs was a different story. As a teen, she'd spent countless evenings obsessing over the perfect compilations for expressing her thoughts. Rarely had the recipients of these gifts seemed to understand the gravity of what she was trying to convey.
Delphine looks at her now as if the future of their relationship hangs in the balance. Maybe it does, in a way. Cosima can relate to that.
"It was awesome," she beams, picking up one end up the crate and gesturing to Delphine to grab the other. The woman obliges, eagerly glancing at her as they walk towards the arena. "For one thing, there were a bunch of songs I'd never heard before on there, which is cool. Like, I get really excited when I find a new artist I like."
"I was afraid I wouldn't be able to surprise you."
Cosima smirks. "I'm not some underground elitist, you know. Don't tell anybody at Pitchfork that though. They'd have me excommunicated."
Chuckling, Delphine assures her, "Your secret's safe with me. I don't think the Pitchfork people are very fond of us, anyway."
"They're snobs." As they walk into the arena, Cal and Sarah are walking towards the exit. Without waiting for an invitation, Cal rushes forward to take the crate from them.
"Thanks, Cal." He gives them a mock salute, smiling lopsidedly.
"That the last of it," Sarah asks, eyeing her and Delphine skeptically.
"Two cases. That's it."
"I can take care of those," Cal offers. Sarah merely rolls her eyes, shoving him lightly.
"I can handle it myself, yeah? That being said, I'm feeling lazy."
"Just what I was expecting." He chuckles, dodging another swat from Sarah as he rushes towards the arena proper to unpack Cosima's equipment.
"Don't think I won't kick you in the arse," she yells, following him. Turning, she walks backwards with her eyes trained on Cosima. "You good," she asks, her gaze flicking towards Delphine.
Cosima blushes, understanding Sarah's true implication. "Go, Sarah," she tells her, plainly exasperated. Begrudgingly, Sarah shrugs and chases after Cal. As soon as they're both out of sight, she turns abruptly to Delphine, making a hasty return to their original topic of conversation. "So—my favorite part—about the mix—"
"Yes," Delphine interjects eagerly, her relief clear. "Sorry."
Cosima waves her off. "I just felt like… I was surprised. Because the music on that CD is all so different from the kind of stuff In Vitro plays." She smirks, noting cheekily, "The contrast is pretty interesting, in and of itself."
Delphine raises her eyebrows. "I sense some sort of insinuation there."
"No," Cosima raises her hands defensively, still grinning. "Just curiosity."
"Curiosity, hmm?" The brunette shrugs coyly, while Delphine measures her with a softly narrowed gaze. "Well, there are plenty of hours left in the afternoon. I suppose I can sate your curiosity—under one condition."
Cosima feels betrayed by the skipping of her heart. Their playfulness knocks her off kilter, and for a moment, her stomach squirms at the ease with which they're falling back into it. They shouldn't be so lighthearted after the words they exchanged on Saturday, the venom that had tipped their slights. Despite her melancholy the night prior, she knows there was some truth to her worrying—she shouldn't forgive so easily.
Her comfort is traitorous though, illogical. Laughing with Delphine is natural. It's the bitterness, the resentment that has felt forced. Regardless of her better judgment, her body begs for the comfort that only forgiveness can provide.
It's with total certainty of her own defeat that she replies, "Just one?"
Without hesitation, Delphine nods. "You have to let me buy you a beer."
"Would you ladies like a refill?"
"Yes," Cosima confidently answers, flashing the bartender a toothy grin at the same time that Delphine shakes her head, declining.
He glances between them with a quirked eyebrow. "Just the one then?"
"Two," she nods.
"Cosima—"
"She's really not nearly as responsible as she likes to pretend," Cosima whispers conspiratorially to the man, smirking innocently at Delphine out of the corner of her eye.
"All right," he says, shrugging her off with a chuckle as he begins tapping them each a third lager.
"I'm already a little buzzed," Delphine announces, her tone reproachful. "And we both have shows to play later."
"Later. That's—" Cosima leans over to glance down at the watch on the blonde's wrist, resting on top of the bar. She scoffs. "—hours from now. Even more for you. We'll be fine. In fact," the bartender slides their glasses towards them, and Cosima side-eyes him mischievously, "maybe we should throw in a shot for good measure."
"No," Delphine swats her arm, chuckling as she nervously shakes her head at the curious bartender.
"What?" Cosima takes a sip of her beer, smirking into the glass. "If I get too goofy you can always buy me dinner. To sober me up."
Delphine rolls her eyes. "I think lunch did the trick just fine." In spite of her protests, she takes a pull from her own drink, licking the foam from her lips in a way that Cosima finds utterly distracting. Delphine glances at her sidelong, smirking. "Keep it up and I'll start to think you mean to take advantage of me."
"Me?" Cosima chuckles. Maybe it's her own buzz talking, but before she can stop herself she says, "People like me are incapable of taking advantage of people like you."
Delphine's brow furrows in curiosity. "Exactly what kind of people are we?"
Cosima debates her own answer for a few moments, taking another slow sip of her beer as she does so. She knows what she meant by that. She could lie, passably, but after their argument on Saturday – the thinly-veiled duplicities – she feels simply too tired for excuses.
Setting her glass back on the bar, she waves her hand demonstratively at the blonde. "You—a talented French musician whose fame is equaled only by her beauty." Delphine actually snorts, though her face noticeably colors. "Me—"
"Whatever self-deprecating thing you're about to say—don't."
"I was going to conclude with 'damn cute,' you know."
"Preceded only by a litany of self-effacement, I'm sure." Cosima shrugs, laughing nervously. Delphine's frown is earnest enough to make her feel discomfited. "At first, I really wondered if the self-deprecation was all an act—a gimmick, or something."
"It seems to work for others." Cosima toys with the napkin her last drink had been sitting on.
"All that modesty though—it's totally in conflict with the kind of self-assuredness you have on stage."
Now it's Cosima's turn to scoff, rubbing the heel of her palm into her forehead. "You mean like last night?"
"Last night was a fluke, and you know it," Delphine tells her, voice softer. Out of the corner of her eye, Cosima can see the blonde ducking her head in an attempt to meet her eyes. The guitarist was still hoping that Delphine hadn't even been in the building last night during her performance. "I mean—what happened? What was different about last night?"
"I don't know." Again—another lie. It feels transparent as it leaves her mouth. "Well, I do. I had a lot on my mind."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Cosima tells her, tone definitive, but still warm. She rests her cheek in her hand, smiling softly at Delphine.
The blonde stares at her, challenging, concerned for a moment before she smiles back, countenance even softer. "Self-possession is what I would call it—the way you perform. It's unlike… well. I just can't imagine another musician getting up on stage and doing what you do, the way you do it."
"I'm not exactly an innovator—"
"That's my opinion, Cosima. You can't argue it."
"Fine." Cosima sighs, taking another, longer sip of her drink. "The thing is…" She wastes too many seconds deliberating how to vocalize what she's thinking.
"What?"
"I'm just not really myself on stage." Setting down her glass, she tilts her head to the side. "Or, I am. Either way, I have two different versions of myself to live with, and neither of them knows how to keep shut up."
"You think I don't know what that like," Delphine asks.
"No," Cosima turns to meet her gaze. "I think you do. That's why—" She chuckles mordantly. "—even after the weekend you and I had, I'm sitting here buying you drinks."
Delphine stares down at the bar, suddenly quiet. As a distraction, she says, "If you think I'm letting you pay for these you've got another thing coming, Amadeus." She's just trying to bait her, Cosima knows.
Ignoring her comment entirely, she ducks her head, as well, and softly says, "Don't change the subject." Delphine guiltily looks up at her. "Maybe I'll never really be successful—not the way In Vitro is—because I don't know how to reconcile the things I want, the person I want to be. You know, like, I've got this weird kind of intellectual disjunction, and neither side is submissive. I'm constantly fighting myself over things. It's ridiculous."
She glances at Delphine and smiles. "I'll get a taste of it, I'm sure. One of these days, I'll write this really accessible, digestible album—drop right into the mainstream like it's no big thing, soak up the accolades and all that." She tips her head back, looking up at the ceiling. The way she's talking, she thinks she really ought to be more intoxicated than she is. "But I'll bet you anything then I'll just turn right back around and write some ridiculous, narcissistic experimental thing and turn them all off as quickly as I turned them on. You know? Just ruin myself. Like, compulsively." She downs the dregs of her beer and sets the glass down, her napkin on top of it. "It won't deter me though. I'll just start back up again from scratch."
"And struggle?" Delphine sounds almost indignant as she asks it. Cosima can only nod. "But if you really think that, why don't you just… do something to change it?"
After a moment, she replies, "I don't want to." She gazes at Delphine, leaning in closer. "I don't think there's a way for me to say this without it sounding kind of… arrogant, but, I could be where you are, Delphine. I know how to get there. I just couldn't stay there."
In spite of her sincerity, of the softness with which she speaks, Cosima knows that her bitterness is showing through. Not for Delphine, but for herself. Why not, she thinks. The illusion of her wonder—that she was any sort of thing to be admired—has already broken.
"That is arrogant, you know."
"I do."
Delphine frowns. "I've worked very hard to get where I am."
"I know that, too."
"You think you do, Cosima, but I'm not sure that you understand." Delphine swallows the remaining half of her beer in one gulp, setting it down. "I know exactly what it's like to feel as if you're being torn in two different directions at once, like you have these opposing aspects of yourself to contend with. I didn't want that for myself though. I chose a side, and I stuck with it."
"But that couldn't have been so easy."
"It wasn't. I've worked hard to stay committed."
After a pause, brow furrowed, Cosima gently asks, "Is that why you listen to anything but your own music?"
"I don't own In Vitro," she answers vaguely. "Only partially."
"Then how do you get to be proud of it?" After a pause, staring straight ahead at the shelves of liquor bottles lining the walls, Delphine shrugs. Cosima turns on her stool to face her fully, chin resting in her palm. "What about the song you were playing the other day, when I walked in on you? Are you proud of that?"
"I'm proud that I wrote it," she answers without hesitation. "I'm not proud that no one will ever hear it."
"Why not?"
"Can you imagine a song like that on an In Vitro album?"
Cosima laughs. "You play just fine on your own, you know. You could always record something solo, hit the road. Slum it, like me."
"Slum it?"
She shrugs. "The struggle."
Delphine fixes her with an odd look then—questioning, anxious. "Is it really so romantic?"
"It's working just fine for me," she says happily, though her optimism doesn't entirely seem to assuage Delphine.
"Really?"
"Well," Cosima tilts her head once again, and smiles lightly. "I'm here, aren't I?"
It's not until they've left the bar and are sitting quietly in the back of a taxi on their way to the arena that Cosima remembers the phone conversation she'd witnessed earlier. It seems entirely irrelevant at this point, and likely, not at all her business; but she's still feeling a pleasant buzz from the beer—uninhibited by the invasive conversation they'd held so flippantly in the bar.
"You know, I wanted to ask you—" She begins, facing Delphine. The blonde turns from the window and waits expectantly for her to continue. "Earlier today, before you met me at the van—I saw you while you were on the phone."
"Oh," Delphine says, her expression wide and unreadable.
"It didn't seem like you were having a very pleasant conversation."
After a pause, meeting Cosima's gaze directly, the blonde tells her, "I was talking to Mark."
"Oh." Cosima's hands clutch each other tightly in her lap, though she doesn't break Delphine's stare. "Everything okay?"
Delphine turns back to the window, speaking into the glass. "I think we're on a break."
Cosima heart pounds suddenly in her chest, completely bewildered. There are at least a dozen questions she wants to ask, but the only word she can form is an emphatic, "Oh." After a moment, she attempts to blink away her shock. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Cosima watches the blonde's reflection carefully in the glass—her mouth faintly turning up in a sad smile. "No."
AN: Well, a thing happened. We'll see what kind of progression occurs from here. I'm behind on reviews again, but thank you all so much for reading!