Author's Notes

Well, guys, we're halfway through this sucker. Some of you have been onto me about this particular plot bunny for the last several chapters, but really, if you've bothered to take a gander at my profile, then you should have been expecting it. Because I have things to explore.

Sorry about the delay in updates. Seems I'm busier now than when classes were going on. I've graduated community college, and now I'm trying to get all of my ducks in a row to go to university, and the amount of paperwork is ridiculous. But I also slaved over this chapter, and that also accounts for some of the delay.

By the way, you should all start keeping an eye on my fictionpress account. Why? Because I've started a new original project, and it's going to be amazing. Nothing's posted yet, but it will be. Seriously, keep an eye out.

Warnings: the final appearance of Sam (maybe; everything's game for the last few chapters, really), Tori lyric, Emilie Autumn lyrics

Octahedron

Chapter Four: With Twilight as my Guide (Part 3)

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

Everybody
Hangs like dead leaves.
Don't you hurt these
Branches, waiting.
I've been watching
You fall to me.
Don't desert me.
I'm not waiting.

How did this happen? Was on the couch, figuring out my day, and then I was at her door. How did I remember where she lived? Can't even remember her name. Yet, here we are, at a hookah bar, and it's not awkward. "You're going to think I'm horrible."

She shrugs. "Why do you care what I think?" Good point.

"I can't place your name." Takes it well, at least; with laughter, eye crinkles and all.

"It's Sam." Sam. Remember that.

"Emily."

"I know."

Pause. Slight head turn. Study her; the look in her eye, and the way she carries herself. "You were one of the original fans of London Riot, weren't you?"

More laughter. "You know, I was pissed when Holli left. She was good. Different."

Shrug. "I never knew her."

"Yeah, well, at least her replacement isn't bad." Silence. Feel the mood shift. "So, why are we really here, Emily?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Might as well be honest. "You don't seem surprised to be here."

"I am, but only a little. For whatever reason, I tend to be that thing people need. I don't know why. I don't try to."

"That must be horrible."

Dismissive hand wave. "No, it's not bad. It doesn't usually get in the way of my life, or anything. I had just assumed you had taken what you needed already." Okay, when put like that, I am horrible. "So what issue that you need to sort out brought us here?"

Fuck it. Not taking advantage of a stranger if she's asking, right? Maybe that's the whole point. We're already here. Tell her everything. Tell her about Naomi, and how we got to where we are. She nods. She asks questions. She waits for me to finish. "You are one piece of work, Emily Fitch."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, I mean…" Trailing off. She's not sure where to start. "How dare you hold this girl to your ideals?"

"How could I not? If love is the reflection of values, how could I love someone any other way? How can you love something you don't value?"

"Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But does she know what she's supposed to be upholding? Have you ever sat down and told her what you think, and who she is to you?"

"Doesn't that render the conversation meaningless?"

Think she's laughing at me, rather than with. "How is she supposed to make you happy if she doesn't know what you want?"

"That's just it. I don't want anything. Not really. I want her to live life for herself, and not have me as a driving force. If I tell her that, then I'm still the driving force. I don't want that."

"And you really don't think that's important for her to know? The way I see it, you've had this vision of Naomi for years, and now that she doesn't seem to be that person, you want to pull away. Have you ever bothered to find out who Naomi is according to Naomi?"

System malfunction. Brain's forgotten how to work. "So," she's changing the subject. Thank god. "What's up with this talent show on Friday?"

And just like that, I remember how to be human. "Yeah, well, Jazz says there's nothing else going on. Not until the end of the semester."

"Yeah, but still, you guys must be hard up for money if this is what you're resorting to. I mean, what do you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, surely, performing doesn't pay all of your bills."

"No, actually, it does. I think you underestimate how good we are, or how serious." Think I may actually be a little insulted.

I know that face. Everyone's got that face. That face says she's got something to say, but doesn't know how. Well, just say it. That's the whole point of this, right? "Fuck it." There. Must have reached the same conclusion I did. "You're full of shit." Wow. Okay. Ouch. "You hold Naomi to this idealistic self-sufficient standard, yet you can't even bother to get yourself a real job?"

Defense. First instinct. Ignore. Second instinct; logic. "There are other ways to be successful, you know. I've chosen a different path, that doesn't make it invalid. I get by."

"I don't think you even know what you think you just said." Excuse me? "Let me guess; you're crashing the couch of a good friend. Probably one of the band members. Sure, you probably help with rent and bills, but the fact remains that you're just getting by."

"There's no shame in that. I'm not relying on anybody, that's the point."

"And in ten years, when the 'starving musician' act isn't cute anymore? I mean, you do know you're not going to last more than a few years, right?" Logic gives way to honesty. She may be underestimating us, but am I overestimating us? We're good. Not that good. "At least Naomi's doing something with her life. She's got a real job, and according to you, will be back in school, soon, which is something you wan, by the way. What are you doing?" I don't know. Used to know. Why don't I know? "From what you've told me, it seems like Naomi hasn't changed at all."

Yeah, well, you don't even know here, do you? Still. What if she's got a point? Is there something else going on here? Something I didn't see? "You know, everyone around me wants to talk about it, and give me opinions, and try to make things better. But this is the first time this idea has been presented to me."

"Well, that's because I'm not your friend. I'm not trying to make things better. I'm just being honest."

What am I supposed to do with that? Take the hose and inhale. Nothing but stale air. "Well, that's done." Suppose this meeting is, too. Accept the fifteen bucks she hands you for what she smoked as she gets up. "Should we recognize social niceties?"

Watch her consider; shake her head. "I don't see a need to; we probably won't see each other again."

Probably not. "Fair enough." And then she's gone. Not sure what I was expecting.

Feel strangely better, though.

Something about this whole thing reminds me very much of college. I mean, this is supposed to be university, and therefore way cooler, but this whole thing reeks of Roundview. Bet the cool kids aren't even here. No way we're going to win this thing. Not mainstream enough. Not by far.

Something's tugging at my brain. Something's here. Like something that's mine, but lost and forgotten about. Scan your surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just in your head. Shake it out, and get ready for the stage. Such as it is.

Been so long since I've been on a stage that small that I almost forget how. Probably best to just stay behind the stand and pretend I'm straight. Usually does the trick. Gonna have to tone it down some, though, for the venue. No wonder Jazz wants us to stick to our more… accessible songs.

Pick a table in the back corner, and enjoy the shows. Note the packs of people that are clearly here in support of their friends. How does this thing work? The audience votes? Yeah, we're fucked. Catch sight of Sam across the room. Does she go here? Surely she knows I'm here, but if she sees me, she makes no indication of it.

Glass clink. Jazz. Bearing alcohol. Before a show? "What the fuck?" Obvious response to my expression. "There's something in the air tonight. It's electric."

Sure, if you want to call it that. Still, no point in wasting good liquor. Knock down the shot; whatever it is. Cough it down. Wait for it to settle. There is something in the air, though. Can't shake the feeling that there's something here I should be paying attention to.

Scan the program. Watch the first band finish and the second step onto stage. Girl and her piano. Probably part of the music department. She's good. We could use a keyboard.

We're seventh to go on, which I find amusing. Also means I can zone out for a while. Catch Jess across the room, absorbed in conversation. NO doubt trying to garner attention before we go on. Can't make out who she's talking to, though.

"We should do 'Underjoyed,'" I say as the show goes on. "It'd be perfect for this crowd." Watch her look around; take not of the growing boredom of the patrons. ADD's killing this generation.

"I don't know. Another Jack Off Jill cover?"

"Why not? You think anyone here's going to know, or care? Honestly, if I play it right, they'll love it."

Shrug. "Okay, we can open with that, but you'd better overplay it." That's just what I was thinking. "I still want to finish with 'Southern Belle', though." I understand this thought. It's poppy enough, and the smart kids will find the irony. But I have a better idea.

"'Opheliac' would go better with 'Underjoyed.'" Wait for it. Wait for it… Don't oversell it; she'll come to the same conclusion.

"Fine." Gee, don't try to hide your disdain on my account. Know I'm pushing, style-wise, but the few shots have gotten to me, and my body is humming. I can do anything tonight. I can get away with murder.

And then I'm on stage, deadpanning my way through the first chorus of 'Underjoyed.' Gotten a few grins, but I'm just getting warmed up. Here we go, second verse. Lots of energy. Get obnoxious with it, so that by the time 'Opheliac' starts, I've got them.

This is hard, but you can do it. Keep the energy, but manipulate it. Bring it down inside yourself, and let it ember. Let Ange's bass drive you. Keep the voice down; hear it quiver with the power you won't give it. Wait for the bridge to start building. Tighten your throat, and focus on the back of your mouth. Neither a growl or a scream comes out of you for the chorus, but some weird combination of the two.

Same thing. Let's go. Get through the second chorus, here comes the fun part. Remove the microphone, and kick the stand out of the way. Stand on the very edge of the stage, confront the audience. "Studies show: intelligent girls are more depressed because they know what the world is like. Don't think for a beat it makes it better when you sit her down and tell her everything's going to be alright. She knows in society she's either a devil or an angel; no in between. She speaks in the third person so she can forget that she's me."

Table to the right of me erupts in applause, but I don't have time to acknowledge it. Jess has a solo, and it would be nice if I shifted the focus there.

Point emphatically at her. Move to the beat. Go steal a drink of water before it's time to quote Shakespeare. "Doubt thou, the stars are fire. Doubt thou, the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt… I love."

Final chorus. Do it big. Let it build to the promise you made when the song started. "You know the games I play, and the words I say when I want my own way. You know the lies I tell when you've gone through hell, and I say I can't stay. You know how hard it can be to keep believing in me when everything and everyone becomes my enemy. And when there's nothing more you can do, I'm gonna blame it on you. It's not the way I wanna be, I only hope that in the end you will see…" Sharp cut off. Silence. Black out. Roar of applause. Let's get the fuck off this stage.

And promptly shoved out of a side door for a ritual after performance fag. Jazz is ranting. She always is. And I'm not listening to her. As usual. Hands on my shoulders. Great, now I have to listen. "What the fuck was that, Emily? I've never seen you so good."

Shrug. "I think I was just being honest." Sure, we'll go with that. I actually don't know where it came from, but that sounds like a good enough answer.

Don't look at me like that, Jazz; like you've seen some secret I've been guarding, and you're both proud and sympathetic of me. Not everything means something. But it looks like she's changed her mind, because she just tells me to keep it up. "Honestly, I thought we were going to hinge of Jess' popularity, but that performance would have put us on top even if this was our first gig." Okay, Jazz. Whatever.

Last act's finishing up by the time we get back inside. Some student steps onstage to tell us that he'll tell us who won in about fifteen minutes, and that participants should use the time to clear out their equipment. Considering most of it was provided, there's not much to do but throw Jess' guitar, and Jazz's bass into a vehicle.

Where'd that pianist go? Much rather talk to her. Better take Jazz, though. She won't be too happy about my attempted recruit, but at least it'll be better if I do it in front of her.

Ah. There she is. Come on, Jazz, let's go. Approach quickly. Big smile. Genuine. "Hey, you were great up there."

Aha. Caught you by surprise. "Thanks. So were you. That last song was… Wow."

Flattery will get you everywhere, but this isn't the time. "What was your name again? Laurie…"

"Tori."

Quick glance to Jazz. Back at the pianist. "No, it isn't."

"I'm sorry?"

Jazz steps in. "Oh, come on. Girl and her piano? Girl and her piano named Tori?"

There's the realization. "But my name actually is Tori, so…"

"So? Do you think that's her real name? Or that mine is really Jazz?"

Wait a minute. What? "That's not your real name?"

You shouldn't be the one with the surprised look, here, Jazz. That's me, so knock it off. "You really didn't know that?"

Head shake. I'm sorry, why would I? You were introduced to me as Jazz. Everybody calls you Jazz. Why would I assume it was a stage name? "So, what's your real name, then?"

"Sybil," she says with a shrug.

Huh.

Was going to try to recruit the pianist (I refuse to call her Tori), but I caught the look Jazz shot me as we were talking about the girl's name. She's not interested, and pushing forward would just piss her off. Good thing that guy's back on stage. Now I don't have to continue this awkward, and now pointless, conversation. Catch her edging away now that our attention's elsewhere.

My brain laughs.

Such great performances. Empty build up. Pointless fanfare. Guy's not from the theater department, clearly. We win, and no one is surprised. Watch Jazz move to the stage to accept our prize money. Very cut and dry. Not even a thank you. Simply on and off. Not that anyone seems to care.

Suddenly I'm surrounded by people telling me how great I was, and more than a few come ons. Lost sight of all the other band members. There must be four condensed mobs of people in this little campus café. Bet mine's not even the largest. The tugging at the back of my brain is back, but it's easily drowned out.

Guess that's why I don't see it. It comes from out of the blue. One minute I'm politely turning down numerous beds to sleep in, and then I'm reeling from the slap. Hand on my face; I don't have time to recover before arms are around me.

I fight, pushing against shoulders that won't move. But only for a second, before I cling to the body in front of me. Tears I didn't know I had come spilling forth and I just bury my face in the shoulder in front of me. You see, I know the arms around me, and I know the body supporting my weight. I know them, because they are mine.

Katie's here.