I look at Emily’s face: guilt and worry wrinkle her forehead, tears veil her hazel eyes, and the mere sight makes my blood boil in my veins. I can’t forget what she did. Still too vivid in my mind is the image of the hands of that disgusting man on her perfect body.
I gaze at Aaron, the impeccable brother my father keeps on a leash.
His eyes stare at my hands—my knuckles, scraped and swollen, still hurt. There is concern on his face about what might happen, and he is right to be worried. I am a bomb ready to explode; as of tonight, everything I knew and cared about has slipped away with no chance of returning.
“You’re fired,” my voice resounds in the room like a funeral announcement.
Their wide eyes snap in my direction and their incredulous expressions are a punch to the gut. They don’t expect something like this from me. I’m the one who solves problems in a rational way, not gripped by the fury of the moment. But tonight, I lost a part of myself on that boat. I lost the only foothold that kept me anchored to a semblance of sanity.
“Sorry, what?” Her voice comes out hoarse, as if she’s struggling to tear the words out of her throat.
“I said you’re fired. Effective immediately.” My voice is cold and reflects everything I feel right now: pain, anger, resentment, a sense of betrayal. “As of tomorrow, I don’t want to see you in the office again.”
Emily straightens her back, her nostrils widening with the fury she is holding in. Her passion and determination reappear, driving away the worry of a few moments ago. “You know what? You can’t fire me. I quit. I no longer want to work with a stubborn asshole who has no intention of getting help.” She hisses with anger. “You want to behave like an idiot? Well, go ahead, but don’t call me when you’re overwhelmed by this mess you’re piling on yourself.”
Though her words hurt, they stir up the anger that flows through my veins like a poison. I watch her grab her bag and take long strides out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The silence that follows is almost surreal. There is no going back. This evening, in this room, a line has been drawn that can no longer be erased.
“Are you really sure of what you’re doing?” Aaron’s harsh voice pulls my eyes away from the closed door.
The bruise around his eye is already taking on a purplish hue that will be there for days. I observe his intense gaze, his jaw contracted in a grip that I can’t tell is from anger or disappointment. It’s always like this with him. I’m the little brother who screws up, packs his bags, and runs away to New York over a fight with his father. I will never live up to him, I will never achieve his success, his notoriety, and I will never enjoy my father’s favor. Once again, here he is, in front of me, judging my actions.
“I’m more than certain. Or do you have something to say about that too?”
Aaron nails me on the spot with an icy look. How is it possible that his mere presence can be so intimidating? Even with hands tucked into the pockets of his elegant trousers and his hair unkempt after an intense night, he manages to be intimidating. He studies me for a long time, observing my every little expression.
“No, do what you want. It’s your life. I’ve never told you how to live it. You’re old enough to bear the consequences of your choices.” He approaches the door where Emily just walked out.
With a single sentence, the grip tightening my stomach becomes even tighter. Aaron is like that. He never tells you what to do, but he makes you doubt all your decisions just by the tone of his voice. For a moment, the certainty of what I said to Emily wavers, making me question if I really can manage all the repercussions of my words.
I watch him as he lingers for a moment at the door.
“I’m not your enemy, Evan. I’ve never been. When you accept this, you will understand that you have an ally.” He lets the words slip from his lips without even turning around, without giving me time to answer before watching him disappear, leaving me alone with my anger, my doubts, and the world collapsing in on me.
One month earlier
The air inside the conference room is tense. The faces of Luke, Martin, and Taylor sitting before me on the sofa are gloomy and furious. The only one trying to smile and be positive is Lilly, huddled in the armchair next to the rest of the Red Velvet Curtains.
“It’s been almost three years since we won the competition. The album has been ready for two, and we’re still delaying the release date for the umpteenth time!” Martin snaps furiously.
He has every reason to be angry. The record company has sent word that the release scheduled for the end of the summer has been postponed, again. They were supposed to start promoting it with concerts in July, music’s busiest time of year; instead, they were put on pause yet again, for I don’t even know what absurd reason anymore.
“I promised to get to the bottom of this and I will, Martin. Trust me. The message just reached me a couple of hours ago.”
Emily, sitting next to me, writes furiously in her notepad. “I jotted down some ideas to promote the band regardless—different from what you’ve done in the past,” she suggests, looking up with a tense smile.
The situation with this band keeps us awake at night. Since the Jailbirds left the old record company, the executives have started a cold war against the Red Velvet Curtains, slowly choking the life out of their career. They don’t mind losing a band that can achieve world fame—they have so many artists under contract, it makes no difference to them. Rather, it’s a revenge move after losing the Jailbirds, and the fact that I represent both bands plus the competing record company we have set up.
“We’ve been promoting with nothing to show for it for three years!” Taylor erupts, raising his voice. “Our fans think we’re idiots. We keep putting it off, over and over. Do you really think your stupid ideas help?”
I’ve never heard Taylor like this before. He’s usually the shy one who hides behind a pair of glasses to avoid being the center of attention.
“Taylor!” Luke scolds him with a firm voice and a stern look.
“I understand your frustration, but I don’t tolerate disrespect.” I nail him with a glacial look and see the embarrassment creeping into his face as he curls up between the couch pillows.
“Sorry,” he whispers to Emily, who waves her hand to reassure him.
“You don’t understand our frustration or you would have already done something,” Martin snaps. “You have the Jailbirds to manage, you’re on your own now, and you don’t care about our band anymore.”