Relevance

I scanned the room, eyeing all the possible exits. From where I was standing, between Georgia’s perplexed gaze and her mother’s smiling face, I’d have to make a run for the door, or the window—whichever happened to be more appropriate for my demise.

In a million years, I would’ve never imagined the truth to come out like this. Therefore, I had never planned an excuse to swipe things under the rug so I could buy some time.

For a woman of tiny stature, she sure did have a big presence. Georgia’s mother, whose name remained unknown to me, seemed to be half my height. She had short hair that sat comfortably behind her ears. Georgia’s eyes weren’t her mother’s since she had the darkest set of brown eyes I’d ever seen.

“A book?” Georgia spoke after her eyebrows shot up, her face remaining solemn.

“Uh,” I paused, allowing my brain to think of a way out of the mess I constructed myself, “yeah.” No way out. “I wrote a poetry book a while back.” That doesn’t mean I’m in a famous band or anything, I thought.

“And what a wonderful one at that!” Her mother continued to ignite the fire.

I nervously chuckled, running a hand through my hair as an attempt to keep my eyes away from Georgia. I didn’t want to read her expression at this point. I didn’t want to wonder whether she was putting the pieces together by now.

Her mother shifted her attention to Georgia. “Dear, I’m only here for that toothbrush and I’ll be out as quickly as I came in!”

“Oh, yeah!” Georgia disappeared somewhere, leaving me alone with the bomber in the living room.

When I looked at her, she was watching me and I gave her a half smile, hoping she’d stop. Needless to say she didn’t.

“I’ve always wondered how life is as a rockstar, is it any good?”

Could she speak any louder? Each word she spoke made me apprehensive, jumpy at any noise, thinking I’d be Georgia returning to catch up on this conversation.

“It’s alright.” My voice was a little louder than a whisper and I hoped she’d take my tone as a hint, cutting short the talk.

She eyed me from head to toe, as if reading my biography through body language. “She doesn’t know?”

I considered lying, but the repercussions could be deadly. Either way, I knew I wasn’t going to walk out of the door with the truth—it’d remain behind regardless.

Georgia’s footsteps echoed closer from the hallway. Her mother took my silence as the answer.

“Tell her,” she whispered with a cautious eye. Her knowledge make me anxious. When Georgia approached and handed to her a small toothbrush, she kissed Georgia goodbye and offered me a smile as a farewell. “Hope to see you again, John.”

I hope so, too, I thought.

After locking the door behind her, Georgia spun around with a face that suggested she was aware of the tension I carried on my shoulders.

“So,” I shrugged to play it down, “I’ve got a book.”

“So,” she repeated, walking in closer, the coffee table acting as a barrier between us, “You’ve got a book.”

She wanted an explanation, I could see it in her eyes. And I tried my best to focus on them instead of her mouth.

I let a deep breath in, “Yeah! Writing songs is great, but one day I thought about arranging those words differently, and a poetry book was born.”

“Anything else you’d like to expose before I learn it from my brother or a stranger on the street?” Georgia crossed her arms and barely blinked whilst staring at me.

I ran a hand through my face, sitting down on the couch, not ready for this moment. My mind raced, my skin perspired, my heart gave out. Jared had said it, her freaking mother had said it… I just had to say it now.

“Okay.” I stared at my hands, unable to face her eyes when the anger would shift her expression. Let’s rip off the band-aid. “I didn’t propose that bet to help you out in your romantic endeavours.”

She crossed her arms on her chest, I could sense her movement—her shift of emotions.

“I did it because you said something that ignited this little creative part in my brain that got me out of a writing slump.” I expected her to lash out at me by now, but she remained silent and still.

“And then I wrote some songs, and before I knew it,” I felt pathetic just by listening to my own voice, “I had a whole album.”

Her silence drove me insane and I couldn’t resist lifting my gaze to meet hers. I could see the taste of betrayal on her lips, and how each time she swallowed down the blurriness of her eyes, it ran down her throat like poison.

She let out a breathy laughter. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she whispered. While bitting her bottom lip, she covered her face with a hand as though to control herself.

I jumped up, wanting to hold her close, to whisper how sorry I was against her ear, to reverse time and not be such a fool. “I’m so—“

“Please get out.” She hurriedly walked to the door, unlocking it wide open, waiting for me to pass through it and disappear into a black hole.

As I walked past her, she refused to look at me and found the floor more worthy of her attention. I thought about turning around and begging for forgiveness, telling her I’d do anything to change things, that I hadn’t meant it, that it had all been a grand mistake.

But all of those things involved pouring my feelings out, and this was not the time for that. At this moment, never seemed like the perfect time to do that.

The second I stepped out of her apartment, she threw the door shut so fiercely that it startled me.

I didn’t even get a chance to look at her face one last time. I didn’t have a closing moment—a laughter shared, a happy note before it all crashed down. The last thing I’d ever remember of her would be her state of confusion, disbelief, hurt and anger on repeat.

And I’d relive that moment whenever I sang any of those goddamn songs.