I’ll Wait For You

Stuck for ideas, she thought about the members instead.

Arina Sastran, female singer. Darren Loveless, electric guitarist, male. Freya Eriksson, pianist, female. Oscar Ackles, bass guitarist, male. Isaac (Zak) Barnes, drummer.

Elinor had needed to recite the names privately to herself afterwards, to make sure she didn’t forget anything for the next time they interacted.

The band seemed happy with Kostya’s choice, and were interested in having some time out with Elinor on a later date, to convey their ideals. The later date being today, in the studio on a Thursday night, five days after being hired. Elinor didn’t find out too much about each individual, other than the plain, well-groomed appearances they held, and detecting that some appeared more reserved than others. Darren and Isaac preferred conveying nothing but basic information, whereas Arina, Freya and Zak welcomed Elinor more readily.

“We look forward to getting to know you better soon,” Arina had said, boring dark eyes into Elinor before the band had shuffled out of the studio, introductions done.

Their faces swam in Elinor’s mind. All of them handsome and pretty, perfect images for a music group seeking to promote themselves. The diversity of musical talent, promising and containing fantastic potential.

And, now, Elinor was supposed to fit into the dynamic, where this clearly tight-knit group expected, and she didn’t know how to do or achieve that convincingly, since she felt like an alien walking in a foreign land. She did not like that feeling, of displacement. She knew better than to talk about it.

Her phone alerted her to another text from Aidan, the one person whom she hadn’t bothered sharing her happiness with. There was no point; he would only find some subtle, mind twisting way to get back at her.

Aidan: Do you think we can meet at some point? Wife thinks I’m being harsh to you and wants us to try and sort things out face to face.

The message sent a fresh assault of anger in Elinor’s body, and she wondered if the bas*ard knew what he was doing, or just didn’t care. The message itself sounded simple. Meet up, try and sort things out. Mentioning the wife, however, suggested an extreme apathy on the matter. I’m only doing this because my wife told me to. Not because I care about you as a human or think that we should talk things out.

That was what his message implied. If he cared, if he truly cared, then he would have thought of it of his own free will, and not have mentioned someone else forcing him into doing something good, as if it went against his nature.

She texted back immediately: No.

His return message didn’t exactly fill her with joy, either.

Aidan: See, I told her you would answer like that. I said it wasn’t worth it, that you don’t care. But have it your way. Good luck.

The fu*king audacity of him. Elinor had to physically fight the urge to throw her phone at the wall, and only managed to resist through several minutes of deep breathing, bringing her emotions down from the danger point.

He wanted her to understand why he did what he did. Why couldn’t she see? Why couldn’t she be happy for him, why did she have to be so selfish, why did she have to hold him back; and if only she could get into his shoes, and then she’d know, and stop being such a bi*ch.

All arguments given by him. All excuses, and distorted versions of the truth, making it all about him, and completely neglecting her. Since she didn’t matter.

He understood nothing. The truth she had given Kostya Vasilev only revealed a part of the whole picture, since she didn’t like sending her mind down those lanes, looping those same thoughts, agonizing over things that made her feel ill from the effort, distressed and unwilling to do anything productive or worthwhile.

Obtaining a new job did nothing to fix the band-aid she had placed on her wound. It just improved her immediate material prospects.

Still, she entertained some fantasies that helped pull her through the tide of negative thoughts. Such as sometimes imagining if Kostya Vasilev found her attractive, and desired her under his cool facade. If those glinting blue eyes weren’t just for show, but unveiled the lust he endured inside for her. She highly doubted someone like her could even consider snaring someone like him, but she opened her brain to the realm of fantasy, where no one would see her dirty secrets.

It would probably be best not to admit to Kostya himself that he was saturating into her thoughts and entering some of her intimate fantasies.

Even with all this, and the slow shift in her mental state to include the capacity for motivation and pleasure in her new lifestyle – the piece of paper in front of her remained devoid of words.

I don’t want it to only be negative emotions that influence me to write.

She began humming to herself, stringing random words together, seeing if there were any patterns she liked.

I know sometimes… the world’s not fair

I want your love but you don’t care

You’re killing me, we could be free

Not drowning in this misery

I wish I didn’t have to lie

I also wish that you would die…

Some of the rhymes she randomly conjured, started fueling potential ideas in her brain. Others simply spoke of the hatred directed toward Aidan – not appropriate for a band song.

I’m circling the gravestones in my mind

Feet squelching through blood and bone

It’s all life seems to be sometimes

But it’s worse to suffer alone

These promises have fallen blind

The streets no longer feel like home

“Not too bad,” a voice spoke from behind her, making her flinch and bash her knee against the desk in alarm.

“Sh*t! Fu*k! And that hurt,” Elinor complained, as Kostya Vasilev swooped into the room, grinning. “How long were you standing there listening for?”

“Long enough to understand you have quite a talent for weaving words out of thin air, if the blank paper in front of you is any indication.”

“Spying is impolite,” Elinor said, trying to inject some dignity back, though her knee throbbed in protest as she hobbled to him.

“Not intentional spying. I am here to deliver you a few gifts of encouragement.” He began placing various snacks on the shelf by her desk – Pringles, chocolates, a bowl of fruit, another bowl of nuts, and cookies. “And a small word of advice, before the members of Stolen Heart make this place noisy for the next few hours. I know sometimes it can be hard to get things out onto paper. I also know that sometimes the worst feelings often make the best writing material.”

“Tell me about it,” Elinor said sourly, wishing this wasn’t the case. She did feel flattered that Kostya had taken time out of what must be an obviously busy schedule in family business to collect her some snacks for brain fuel.

“If you are ever stuck for ideas at any point, feel free to discuss with me, or even just to talk to me. Anything that is bothering you – it is not always good to keep those feelings inside. Use a therapist, family, friends… or me. I want you to achieve the best of your talent. Mental blockage kills things in this business. You have been warned.”