Chapter 4 - The Vulnerability of a Divorced Asshole
Please don't be long, 'cause I want your all
I don't have fun without your love
Life is too short, but I will live for you
Selfless, The Strokes
Song in chapter is by the strokes. I own nothing.
BPOV
It only takes five minutes for Jasper and Emmett to come back into the room with Edward in tow. Gone is the confusion on Edward's face, replaced instead by his standard look of apathy. I knew better than anyone that it was just a mask, but I didn't feel the need to press the issue. I'm here to get photos and to get out, then hopefully go home to drown the memories that will surely be stirred up by this altercation in a bottle of wine.
"Alright, let's see if we can make this work, boys. Masen, go ahead and stand next to Black. Jasper, Em, you can flank his other side." Edward looks sharply at me when I call him Masen, but quickly looks away again.
Hiding behind my camera, we try as hard as we can to get some good shots, and to someone more experienced with working with a backdrop they may look fine. But I wasn't about to publish work under my name that I absolutely loathed.
"Alright, fuck this," I finally exclaim, letting my camera hang around my neck and taking a step back to mess with my hair, angrily yanking it up into a bun. "What were you guys planning to do after this shoot?"
"You know the drill, boss," Em says with familiarity. "We were headed to get pizza down at Marco's."
He's right, that is their norm for whenever they perform at Barclays. I don't acknowledge that I know that, however.
"Can I tag along? I'd rather get photos of you guys eating pizza than in front of a backdrop."
They all agree, or at least, I think they all do. I don't look at Edward. I figure if he's unhappy with something, he'll say something. He's never had a problem with that in the past.
They also make sure to invite Mike along, and I think it's so that I feel comfortable. Michael is a good reminder that this is just a job - that although it feels familiar, this isn't my life anymore.
Mike and I follow behind the guys at a slower pace, hanging back so that I can take pictures of them as we walk a few blocks to Marco's. Already I'm feeling better now that we're surrounded by fresh air - or as fresh as New York can feel in August. In reality the air is closer to the smell of hot trash rather than the rain and firs I'm used to from my childhood growing up in Washington.
I catch a great shot of the guys looking at the same time before they crossed the street, undeniably in sync, as well as a shot of Emmett joking around with the guy that runs the Magazine Stand we passed. I can already see these pics fully edited in my mind - black and white, crisp, edgy. A wave of nostalgia passes over me as I recall what it was like to do shoots like this all the time. As much as I love photojournalism and the rush of danger that sometimes accompanies a great photo, I forgot how much I loved working with musicians.
Music was always ingrained in me. Growing up, my dad Charlie had an insane amount of vinyl, and if there wasn't a game on to watch, the record player was spinning. Whether it was rock music, alternative, jazz, soul, or - my least favorite - old twiny country, Charlie has an extensive collection that can only be built over the course of many many years. There were even days where Edward and I would visit for the holidays and just spend hours in front of the record player with some baileys in our hot chocolate, listening to the crackle of the needle on a record that hadn't yet made it into our collection.
When we divorced, I left behind my record collection, amongst many other things, choosing to rebuild rather than face the man I had left behind who was spiraling without a care in the world. There are some records that I had never been able to buy again - like my rare Japanese record club version of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon with the variant cover, or my precious copy of David Bowie's Heroes that skipped slightly on the title track, but after hearing it that way for so long, I loathed hearing the song without it.
Through middle school and high school, I had the vague hobby of playing guitar, but could never commit long enough to get very good at it. Jacob, however, had taken to drumming, and I loved going around with him to gigs, or just chilling on the couch in his garage while he jammed with his buddies. By college, we were at a show of some sort the majority of nights. It was exhausting, but I loved every minute of it.
I haven't been to a concert since my divorce, so tonight will be interesting, to say the least. I'd missed the gritty feel of a good show, the way sweat and excitement hung into the air.
We end up at the pizza joint, and the guys are a bit reserved as they order. It doesn't take long, as the coca cola they're drinking hits their bloodstream and the sugar high kicks in. They get a bit rambunctious, making jokes and constructing little towers out of packets of crushed red pepper. Edward is noticeably a bit distant with the group, but he still smiles along.
Not that I noticed.
Just like I didn't notice the way he kept glancing at me, as if unconsciously. After I get some shots of the guys tucking into their giant pizza, Emmett proceeds to flick a red pepper packet at me.
"Come on, boss, take a break and grab a slice! You want pepperoni or cheese?"
"Cheese," Edward and I respond at the same time, and his cheeks instantly darken. He clearly didn't mean to answer for me.
Emmett ignores what just happened, but the others don't. Jasper looks at me, Black glares at Edward, and James looks thoroughly unimpressed by the whole situation. Mike looks nervously between me and the band, waiting to see what comes next.
I simply grab the offered slice and take a bite.
And try to ignore all the memories.
Once we get back to the stadium, the band is whisked off to get ready for their show. Mike and I are led to side stage to watch the opening act. It's a newer band from Brooklyn, and I made a note to add their songs to my Spotify library. Before I even know it, I'm down in the media pit, and the crowd is deafening as the boys all come out on stage.
I can't help but hold my breath, the moment weirdly emotional. I haven't seen the band live since before the divorce, and for many years, I completely blocked out their music. I finally heard one of their songs in a bar, and it wasn't as wrecking as I thought it would be. But I still had refused to listen to anything written after the divorce, for fear of what I would hear. Now, I would be front and center for a live performance, which is when Edward is notoriously raw and vulnerable.
They open with one of their older songs that gets the crowd hyped up. It's so easy to capture the guys in their element like this - safely behind their instrument of choice, doing what they love the most. Black's hair was whipping around as he slammed his sticks down, a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Jasper looked less tense than normal, James less douchey, Em more serious.
It's fun to listen to some of these songs that I haven't heard in so long, but the second that they launch into an unfamiliar tune, I tense up, bracing for the unexpected. Guitars strummed out their melody before Edward sauntered back to the mic, face determined.
Can the dark side light my way out? Yeah, yeah
Lay your hand across my face,yeah,yeah
Time we lost,that's all my fault
Please don't belong, 'cause I want you now
I don't have love without you around
Life is too short, but I will live for you
I watched as he rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was feeling uncomfortable. He looked to Jazz before turning back to the mic, eyes closed and head tilted. Feeling the rawness of this moment, whatever it was, I brought my camera up to my eye, as if the lense would provide a barrier between me and whatever he was going to sing.
How did this fit in your story? Yeah-eah
Why'd you let them judge your body? Yeah-eah
I'll be waitin' there outside, yeah
Edward pulled back, looking up, and the pain I saw on his face physically hurt me to see. I snapped the shot, his head tilted back, the red lights washing over his face, his strong eyebrows drawn together and jaw sharp with shadows and clenched teeth.
Please don't be long, 'cause I want your all
I don't have fun without your love
Life is too short, but I will live for you
You're mucking off, but I will live for you, my selfless love
His eyes found my lense, and he looked straight through it to me, to the fractured part of my soul that he once knew so well. I held my breath, holding his gaze, even if he couldn't see.
Bite my tongue, I wait my turn
I waited for a century
Waste my breath, no lessons learned
I turn and face the enemy
I'm not scared, just don't care
I'm not listenin', you hear?
He's never there, I don't care
I can't tell you what and where
Yeah
The song built up, until it faded to just the guitar part, and ended on a wistful chord, and I could hear his sigh into the mic just before the crowd roared. Slowly, I lowered my camera, looking up at the stage where he looked everywhere but at me now that the song had finished.
I looked around me, seeing the crowd's reaction to the performance. There was more emotion there then I'd seen the whole show with their older cuts. I looked back again to the band. Jasper was closest to me, and he met my gaze, giving me a sad smile. That was the final straw for me.
I turned and left the arena, the notes of a melancholy song following behind me, where Edward's vocals ended on a desperate, pained yell.
I don't care, I remind myself.
I don't care anymore.
A/N: Sorry it's been so long. I have an 8 month old and a whole company to run. It's been wild, and insanely busy. I would like to give a huge shoutout to whomever nominated me for the TwiFicFandom Awards! It's weird to consider myself a veteran author, but I guess I've been around a few years now. Thank you to all of you still sticking around for my sporadically updated stories. You're the bread to my butter. It you want to go vote for me, round 1 is live now! .com. 3 you all forever.