song2story

[song2story]

in my blood

in this room, part four

word count: 2.5k

go to my masterlist to read previous parts!

-------

Chris knocks at the door and speaks through the wood, “Good morning, sleepyhead! Today’s the day! I’m getting married! And I need your ass to get out of bed and get ready. Don’t want to be late!”

He groans at Chris and pulls the covers over his head. “Two more minutes, man. It’s so early,” he mumble yells from the security of his spot in the guest bed.

“Nope, you’re already late to get up! Where’s that Canadian cheer, man?”

“Like me, it’s not ready yet,” he says rolling out of the bed, roughing up his hair.

“Okay, Shawn. It takes about an hour to drive from Lake Lure to Asheville, so you’ve got like 30 minutes. Please get ready fast.”

He can hear Chris’ feet slap down the hallway. He gets up and looks at himself in the full length mirror across the guest room. Grabbing his toothbrush and face wash, he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. He closes the door quietly behind him and begins his morning routine, thinking of the process of the wedding and all the things he had to remember before he and the boys leave for the church which is an hour away. As he brushes his teeth, he remembers the rehearsal from the night before. It hits him for the first time that he was partnered to walk her down the aisle.

His mind races with the memories of their past and how she treated him yesterday:

“You look good, Shawn,” she whispers into his ear, linking her arm through his.

“So do you, Mags,” he whispers. She still has on the purple scarf she found at the boutique a couple weeks earlier, even though it was warm inside the church.

She grasps his arm tighter, feeling his muscles between her fingers. “I’d rather be putting these strong arms of yours to a better use than walking down this aisle right now.”

His heart quickens and he tries to focus at walking down the aisle at the same speed. “Don’t talk to me like that. Especially here. You obviously haven’t changed your mind. I want something more than just sex, you know that.”

“But don’t deny that you’re thinking the same thing. I know how bad you want me.”

Their friends were whooping and hollering at them walking down the aisle together. ‘I think I know who’s getting married next!’  ‘Don’t forget to catch the bouquet at the reception, Mags!’  ‘Of course she’s the lucky one who gets to walk with him.’

He could feel all the eyes on them as they reached the altar and split. As he turned back towards the entrance of the church from his position, he looked at the people around him and found his belief to be true. Not a person in the chapel wasn’t looking at him. All these people, who don’t know him personally, around him, looking at him. Judging him based on his behavior with her. His breath quickens and he attempts to loosen his collar. No matter how much tension he creates between his fingers and the top of the shirt, he still feels like he can’t breathe.

He rinses his toothbrush off under the water and puts it on the countertop. He notices his rapid heart beat again. His breathing is out of control. He stands at the sink shirtless, but he still tries to pull at the invisible collar that he feels strangling him. The bathroom begins to feel smaller and smaller. The walls around him seem to cave in and squeeze him. His knees start to shake and he finds himself stumbling, hitting his back against the wall behind him. He lets his weight fall to the ground, breathing heavy and heart racing. The towel behind him slides off of the rack and into his lap. Hands shaking, he places it on the floor next to him and lays on top of it.

His whole body convulses as the thought of him walking down the aisle with her arm linked in his. The eyes. The whispers. The possible posts on social media after the ceremony. The media blowing the situation out of proportion. The possibility of her being linked to a past article written about him and dating speculations beginning. His body continues to shake until he is numb. Tears streaming down his face. No feeling of the pain from the shaking. No feeling of emotions. No tangibility to the experience yesterday. I should give up. Let myself lay here for eternity. But today’s not that day. There will never be a day where I let myself get past this point.

“Shawn, you ready?” DeVeon knocks at the door. “We gotta go, man.”

He takes the corner of the towel and tugs it out from under him. He clears his throat and tries to muster the confidence to get a few words out. “Yeah, one minute,” he chokes out.

“Okay. We’re doing a round of shots before we go. Hurry up!”

He perks up at the word “shots.” If there’s something he desperately needs right now, it’s a drink. He picks himself off the ground and takes a glimpse at himself in the mirror. His face is red. Tear tracks line his cheeks and the sides of his eyes. Embarrassed at his appearance, he forces himself to keep count of his breaths. His wobbly hands fix stray strands of hair. He turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face to cool down. He takes the hand towel on the counter and dries his face with it, making sure to press down hard so he has something to blame the redness of his face on. He practices saying hello in the mirror, making sure his words come out normally and clearly, not garbled up and crackly. Grabbing the undershirt from the other side of the counter, he slips it over his head taking a deep breath. “You got this,” he says to himself in the mirror.

He opens the door and walks into the living room. “Hey!” he says cheerfully. “We’re doing shots?”

Chris pats him on the back and guides him to the island of the kitchen where the rest of the groomsmen are standing. “I know you’re not legal in America yet, but you are legal in Canada and you’re one of the boys. It’s a special day, bro.” Chris reaches through the crowd and passes him a glass.

“Is it strong?” he asks.

“Of course,” Chris replies. Chris taps the edge of the shot glass against his.

Chris’ brother, Declan, stands on top of a stool and shouts, “To Chris! May your marriage be long and the sex be outstanding.”

A collective “To Chris!” follows with the group slamming back their drinks. He shakes his head, letting the alcohol seep into his body.

“Let’s get this man married!” Declan calls out, the men all cheering their way out of Chris’ house and into the limo.

---

The wedding ceremony went smoothly. He distracted himself from the whispers and phones pointing at him by keeping his eyes trained on the altar in front of him. He tells himself to keep a slight smile on his face to deter odd stares from the audience.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. “You’re kinda stiff.”

He glances down at her, “Yeah. Just trying not to screw up.”

She smiles and nods at him.

He remembers to wait for her at the end of the altar for the recession. She slips her hand through his arm once more and they begin their walk down to the outside of the church. Once they reach the outside, they quickly pile in with the newlyweds in their limo. He helps her with her dress and holds her bouquet as she ducks into the small door frame.

Shutters of cameras across the street echo against the back of the building. Their snaps mix with the various shouts of his name from the fans wearing his merch. The paps began calling out questions for him to answer and he only hoped for her to get in the limo faster than she already was. Who’s the lucky lady you’re helping in the limo? Are you two dating? When is your next album coming out? Have you slept with her before? His heart begins to race again, but just as his collar gets tight, he sees her heel slip into the darkness of the limo. He ducks down and loads himself in, closing the door behind him. The wedding party is already passing flutes of champagne to each other.

He sits and unbuttons his black blazer. He takes a flute from one of the bridesmaids. “Sorry for the crowd outside.”

Tracy shakes her head and says, “No worries! It’s actually kind of fun! Maybe they got some pictures of my and Chris walking out!” She sets the glass down on the drink holder besides her. She looks over at her now-husband, who’s shouting across the limo to Max. Tracy leans over and whispers to you, “thank you so much for being part of our special day! I know you’re super busy and I know it means the world to Chris to have you here.”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Tracy grabs his hand and places a blush colored carnation petal from her bouquet in his open palm. “For safekeeping,” she whispers. “For when you find the right one.”

He smiles at her and tucks the petal in his pocket.

-----

The party arrives at the reception venue, a beautiful mountain side country club meeting house. Bare trees and budding February bushes surround the property. They remained outside for the picture segment of the reception, the girls shivering in their blush colored, spring-styled dresses.

“Want my jacket, Mags? You look pretty cold,” he asks.

“Please!”

He takes off his blazer and drapes it around her shoulders. A click of the camera shutter goes off. He looks up, taken aback.

“I like that!” the wedding photographer says. “Let’s have everyone do that. Cute group photo and then we’ll just have the bride and groom out here for the rest of the pictures.”

He lets out the breath he was holding in. The party gathers around with all the girls in the front with the men’s black blazers on. A few snaps later, the photographer dismisses the larger party.

As they walk back, she reaches into his coat pocket. “Your phone won’t stop buzzing, Shawn! Seem to be a busy man even on your day off.” She takes the phone outside of the inner coat pocket and shoves it into his hands.

He takes it abruptly and immediately begins scrolling through the notifications. At least three dozen from Twitter, hundreds of tags on Instagram posts and too many text messages and missed calls from his publicist. He opens up the messages from his publicist first:

Today, 2:26 pm

Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be at a wedding?!?

Look at this! (link to news article) Are you KIDDING ME?

Today, 2:27 pm

Call me ASAP

We need to get this under control!

You know what your job is and you know what my job is… why are you trying to make both of them harder?

His heart begins to race again as he taps on the article. The page loads instantly: Shawn Mendes and his VALENTINE? What to know about his new fling! He rolls his eyes as he tries to keep his hands still. He scrolls down to the bottom of the page to only find more articles like the one above in the recommended section: Valentine’s Day Wedding for Shawn and Mystery Wife!,  10 Facts You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’ New Girlfriend, Magnolia Everett,  Shawn’s Love Life…,  Sneaky Shawn and…

He scrolls faster and faster through the headlines as his knees start to shake again. He quickly closes out of the article and pulls up Twitter. His timeline is filled with paparazzi pictures of them as they left the church. Hashtags with his name and the rumors of his marriage. His heartbeats faster by the second. He opens Instagram and searches through the posts he’s tagged in. All of them have some comment relating to this rumor or how good he looked.

By the time he reaches the doors of the reception, he’s pulling at his tie, trying to focus on his breath. She hands him the blazer back, so he can put it in the coat check room. His mind starts to wander down the rabbit hole of self conscious thoughts that always appear when a new rumor comes out about him. He shakily hands the man working behind the counter his coat and receives his number card.

Before entering the reception, he finds a chair to sit in by the foyer. He rests his head back, letting it droop over the top of the chair. He counted his breaths once again as he shakily lifted his phone to text his publicist back: Sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’m not gonna be by my phone a lot. Can we talk about this later?

A few deep breaths later, he reminds himself that it’s bad for him to be alone in this state of mind. He reminds himself to ask for help the next time he feels like this. After all, he doesn’t want to end up on the floor of this country club, everyone looking at him like a lunatic. He remembers that Chris and Tracy ordered an open bar for the reception, and like that, he walks briskly into the reception.

“Shawn! Take this!” the groomsmen are already passing him drinks. He can’t seem to finish them fast enough. Two beers and a glass of whiskey later, he’s on the dance floor, dancing terribly to the music playing over the speakers.

She comes over to him and runs her fingers up his spine. “Really tearing it up out here. I love how you move on the dancefloor.”

He quietly moans and turns to grab her waist, “You always think I look good, Mags. You always know how to get me there. I need somebody now.” He pushes her body close to his and begins dancing on her. She dances against him firmly, provoking his body to ignite with warmth and excitement.

She looks up at him with dilated pupils. She steps up on her tiptoes to whisper, “you wanna get out of here?” in his ear.

It doesn’t take much convincing, given both of their drunken states and late hour of the night. He nods his head and grabs her hand. Thankfully, Chris and Tracy were just leaving, so they wouldn’t miss anything exciting. He didn’t even think twice to look for cameras being pointed at him.

Chris hired a whole fleet of Ubers, so no one would have to worry about driving and driving. They hop in the first Uber they see outside and he slips the driver a twenty dollar bill.

“To the Omni, please.”

[song2story]

What About My Shot?

I wrote this after the Parkland/MSD High School shooting this past February. The phrase “I remember death so much it feels more like a memory” (from Hamilton) refused leave my mind. I took the spoken word from “The World Was Wide Enough” and adapted it to make it relevant to how students across America feel during this time of gun violence in our schools and our nation. Now, as a freshman in college, I feel ready to share my adaptation with the world, even if the world isn’t ready for it. Not only is it a PSA, but my pledge to work for gun safety across America for the rest of my life. Thank you to Lin Manuel-Miranda for giving the world, and me, words that represent us.

-----

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.

Is this where it gets me?

In my seat?

Several desks ahead of me?

I hear him shooting.

Do I run, or hide on the floor, or let it be?

There is no beat, no melody.

Riley, my best friend, my roomie,

Maybe the last person who sits next to me.

Because he will take away my shot, is this how they’ll remember me?

What if his bullet is my legacy?

Legacy. What is a legacy?

It’s planting seeds in a garden legislators refuse to see.

God wrote these words at the beginning of my life that I’d hope no one would have to read,

America, you great, bewildering sovereignty,

You’re deaf to me!

You won’t let us make a difference,

A place where bloodied students leave their fingerprints cuz’ we can’t

Rise up!

We’re running out of time

We’re running, but my time’s up! Wise up! Eyes up.

I catch a glimpse of the other side.

My band director plays with his kindergartener on the other side.

My brother’s on the other side

He’s with my mother on the other side

The Founding Fathers are frowning from the other side

Teach us how to say goodbye!

Rise up

Rise up

Rise up

But, Joseph! my dad, please take your time!

We’ll see you on the other side.

Raise your books for cover.

[song2story]

Do Saturday Nights by Khalid!!! omg I'd love that!

of course! here you go! thank you for your request :)

[song2story]

saturday nights

requested by an anonymous user (masterlist)!

word count: 1,063

TW: mild smoking

-----

You sit on the hood of his sedan, the warm metal beneath you heating the backs of your legs. You sigh, thinking about the argument you had just escaped. Your mom yelling at your dad about where he was last night. And the night before. And the night before. Your dad telling your mom that he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Your mom accusing your dad of cheating, bringing up the iMessages on her computer she’d seen earlier that morning. Your dad sobbing into his hands at the kitchen table when your mom says that she can’t take living like this anymore.

“Hey,” you snap out of your instant replay of events and look over at him. He holds a blunt between his index and middle finger. “Wanna drag?”

You nod your head and take the blunt from him. Khalid picked you up as soon as you called. You share everything with him: your clothes, your notes and your home life. Khalid has followed the events leading up to this moment between your parents. He knows about how you found the messages back in January, how you saw your dad kiss the other woman with more passion than you’d ever seen. God only knows what else happened behind closed doors.

You cough as you hold your throat, “Holy shit! What flavor is this?”

“Blueberry,” he says as he takes the blunt back. He takes a long hit and coughs, too. “These always make my throat hurt.”

“Then get another kind!” you laugh. “Unless these are your favorite.”

“You called, I got the goods, you needed help! These were the only kind they had left at the QT,” he hands it back to you.

You scooch over to make room for him on the hood. You both lay back, resting against the front window of the car. You stare up at the stars as tears well in your eyes. “This is not how a Saturday night is supposed to go. I just never thought it would get to this point. This isn’t how I wanted this semester to end,” you say, twisting the blunt between your fingers. You sniff and wipe your eyes before he has a chance to see. “Thanks for picking me up. I wouldn’t be able to drive that big ass truck back home in this state.”

“Hey, no worries, sis.” Khalid rubs your shoulder. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him rest his head on top of yours. “Let’s talk about something else. Get your mind off of this subject. How’s your job going? Do you still hate it?”

You chuckle and rest the blunt on the hood of his car. “You know Becca’s a real bitch, ‘wipe off that table!,’ ‘don’t complain about being double-sat!,’ ‘get this section finished faster!,’ like I can’t make the customers eat and finish their conversations as fast as you want me to. I might just start stripping on the side. I’d make more money in a night at the club than I would from these lousy rich people tips.”

“What’s the worst tip you’ve ever gotten?”

“I had a $2,100 dinner table for a holiday work party. They all paid separately, so the tip wasn’t added on the bill at the end. I got a whopping - wait for it - $27. For a tip! There were 30 people there!”

Khalid laughs and slaps his hand on the hood. “$27?!? That’s unreal!”

“I know.”

“You should find a new job. Not waitressing, not stripping, though I’d love to see that…”

Your mood begins to lift as you laugh. You and him both know you’re a terrible dancer in general. Seeing you up on stage would be a whole other level of a shitshow. You shake your head, “On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t strip.”

There’s a slight pause as you trace the outline of the Little Dipper in the sky.

Khalid looks over at you. “How much do your parents know about this?”

“Not at all,” you whisper. “They wouldn’t care that much now, especially with my mom’s new discovery of my dad cheating on her.” You turn your head to look Khalid in the eyes.

“Let me see your phone,” he says.

“Why?” you quiz him.

“You’ll see. Just give it to me.”

It doesn’t take a lot for you to comply with his wishes. Why not? He’s not going to do anything stupid. You watch as he scrolls through your contacts and presses the name of the restaurant you work for.

He picks the phone up to his ear. “Yes, hi, is Becca there?... I’d like to speak with her… Okay, I’ll hold.”

You look at him with bewilderment and you start to shake your head.

“Hi, is this Becca?” Khalid starts talking again. You whisper for him to stop over and over, but he holds his finger up to his lips and shushes you. “Hey, Becca. I have someone here who wants to say something to you.” He hands you the phone and mouths “Say ‘I quit.’”

“What? Are you crazy?” you whisper back to him.

“Do it, quick!” he whispers. You hear Becca faintly asking if anyone was on the line. “Trust me.”

“Becca, it’s me,” you speak into the phone.

“Oh, great,” her tone shifts immediately. “What do you want?”

“I quit.”

“Thanks for letting us know. Have a good life.” She hangs up the phone abruptly.

You look at Khalid, who’s smiling. “Now what? My parents are probably gonna get a divorce, I have no job, now what?”

“Come on tour with me.” Your breath hitches in your throat. “We start next month. I’ll get you a job as part of the stage crew and we can travel all over the world together. I’ll take care of you, just like how I do with my team. It’s what friends are for.”

“I don’t even know what to say, man.” Your mind is racing with thoughts of your future in your head. Nothing looked to be slowing you down anymore.

“Well, I hope you say yes. We’ll have such a great time on the road together! But I’ll let you think about it.”

You looked back up at the stars and mentally thanked them for looking over you in this moment. “I don’t need to think about it,” you looked at him. “I’m all in.”

[song2story]

queen

in this room, part three

word count: 917

go to my masterlist to read previous parts!

----

He runs quickly off-stage and is greeted by assistants with warm towels and water bottles and gear. As he walks back through the dark hallway to his dressing room, the assistants work meticulously; unplugging his mic pack, removing his guitar from across his body, holding his water bottle and towel after he finishes with it.

His tour manager comes up to him, radiating energy, “Nice job tonight, Shawn! I have some people in your dressing room who said they knew you. They brought a friend… some girl. I don’t remember her name, but they’re waiting for you.” The tour manager reaches for the doorknob and opens it. A couple of people stand up, smiling at him as he walks through the door.

“Shawnie boy, come ‘ere!” one of the guys came up to him and messed with his hair.

His mood is instantly lifted. He moves back slightly, laughing, “Chris! What the fuck is up?” They go in for a quick embrace. The other guys, Max, DeVeon and Trent, come up and say hi to him.

Chris turns around and grabs a girl off the couch: “Shawn, this is my friend! She’s been tagging along for all day and we offered for her to come here! We thought you’d like to meet.”

He looks the girl in the eyes.

“This is Magnolia! We call her Mags for short,” Chris pushes them together.

“Nice to meet you, Shawn,” she says, smirking. She reaches out her hand to shake his.

His blood boils, but he shouldn’t be surprised. No matter who they’re around when they see each other again, she says the same thing. Forced to play along with it, he bridges the gap and clasps her hand in his. “Nice to meet you, too… Maddie?”

“Mags,” her tone annoyed.

That’s what she gets for acting like she’s always above me. He walks over to an armchair with a grin plastered on his face. “How do you know Chris and the boys?” he quizzes her.

She wedges herself between Chris and Max on the small couch next to his armchair. “I met Chris freshman year of college at WCU and he ended up being a four-for-one deal. We’ve been friends ever since.” She smiles and looks at him. “We’re really close,” she giggles as she wraps her arm around Chris.

“I would think you two were dating if Chris wasn’t engaged already,” he replies somewhat passive aggressively.

“We dated for a month back in college, but we figured we’d make better friends. Look at us now!” Chris smiles and laughs. “She’s probably one of the sweetest people I know… besides my fiancee and you, Shawn!”

“Enough about me,” he says. “How are you guys? How’s wedding planning coming? Who’s the best man?”

“Man, you know my brother’s gonna be the best man,” Chris says.

“And I’m one of the bridesmaids!” she pipes in.

He glares at her, mad that she is trying to one-up him in his own dressing room after his headlining show.

“Mags and Tracy get along so well, and she knows how important it is to have Mags there, so Tracy agreed to put her in the wedding party! How fun is that!” Chris exclaims.

“So much fun,” he says, swigging from his water bottle. He loves Chris, but the idea of spending a whole wedding weekend with her made him shiver. He knows he can’t put up a front like this if she is going to act like this through the rehearsal all the way to the reception. Being a groomsman was the last item on his stress list, but it just managed to get bumped all the way up to the top.

A security guard comes swiftly opens the door, “Shawn, it’s time to load up. You have a flight to catch.”

“Sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys. It’s always great to see you. I’ll see you in two weeks for the rehearsal,” he says, giving all of them hugs. Chris and his posse walk out of the dressing room as Shawn gathers his last minute items. “Magnolia,” he calls out before the door shuts, “can I see you for a second?”

Chris oohs and pushes her through the door. When he hears the click of the door shutting, he turns around to face her.

“I told you I’d see you tonight,” she whispers.

“Why do you do that everytime I see you with someone that’s not me?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“You know what: ‘nice to meet you,’ ‘I’m doing this!’ ‘I have no clue who you are!’ It’s bullshit! Who crowned you and made you the queen of the world?”

“They don’t know I know you. It’s one thing to tell your friends that you know one of their friends, but it’s another to tell them you’re fucking him on the side.”

He turns, collecting the small bags of toiletries he had laid on the desk earlier that night. He starts to shake even more. “Okay, it’s fine. You can go. I have a flight to catch. Good night, Mags.”

She exits, laughing with the boys as she walks down the hallway.

The security guard reenters the room, “It’s time to go.”

His hands shake and teeth chatter as he slips on his jacket and wool gloves. The security guard notices his state of panic and asks, “You okay, man?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s fine.” He rubs his covered hands over his face. “Let’s go.”

[song2story]

mutual

in this room, part two

word count: 754

go to my masterlist to read previous parts!

-----

She walks across the street quickly, but not quickly enough for him to not notice her. He’s been thinking about her all day. The way she left him high and dry earlier that  morning isn’t something that he was bound to forget soon. He put his head down follows quickly behind her, feet unintentionally splashing in the leftover puddles of rain last night. She enters the small boutique, shutting the door behind her. He follows in cautiously, looking around for anyone who might notice him. With the coast being clear, he unzips his jacket, wipes his feet on the mat and makes his way over to where she was standing. She touches the fuzzy, purple scarf resting on the neck of the mannequin, rubbing her fingers gently on the thick wool.

“Mags,” he whispers behind her. She continues to remove the scarf from the mannequin and place it around her neck. “Mags,” he whispers again. She walks over to a small mirror in the corner of the shop and he stands behind her. “Mags,” he whispers as his fingers graze her elbow. She looks up in the mirror and sees his presence standing close to her.

“Shawn,” she whispers as she grasps the scarf, her back still facing him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She snaps out of her trance and continues to fluff the scarf.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be gone this morning.” He breathes out heavily through his nose and reaches around her front to even out the scarf, brushing his fingers against hers. “This is the fourth time you’ve done this, Magnolia.”

“Sorry. I just had other things to do.” Magnolia turns around and looks him in the eye. She drags her fingers up the zipper of his coat and rested them on the faux fur of the hood. “I left a note.”

He rolls his eyes, his mind racing. “The note doesn’t matter when you told me that you wanted all of me. Was it just for last night, or did you mean longer? I don’t even know what you’re after anymore.”

“Look, Shawn, I was drunk, you were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. We were both looking for a good time and you just happen to be in town,” she turns towards the mirror, her eyes neglecting his, “like you said, this isn’t our first time.”

Frustrated, he runs his hands through his hair. “You can’t keep doing this to me. Something has to give eventually and I don’t want it to.” He watches her slip the scarf back over her head and roll it into a ball. He places his hands on her hips and turns her to face him. Magnolia places the scarf in his hands and walks to the jewelry section. He follows her, fixing the wadded material of the scarf.

“Mags, I need something consistent,” his voice begins to raise. “I love my job, but it’s the opposite of that. I wake up in a new place almost every morning. I go to a different stage with different fans and different security guards. I have a way to enter everywhere I go and I have an opposite way to leave. I want you so bad, but we can’t keep doing this when I’m here in Charlotte. I can’t have you in my room calling me ‘love’ at two in the morning. You need to tell me what you’re looking for, honey, because if you want this to be something more than a few one night stands you need to tell me.”

She smooths out the hem of her shirt while glancing over the delicate pieces of gold and silver dangling off their smooth chains. “I hate that I can’t just be with you. You’re a good guy, but your lifestyle just won’t work for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to look at this jewelry in peace without you breathing down my back.”

He puts the scarf back on the mannequin and makes his way to the door. A large crowd of girls has already surrounded the entrance and the doors were staying closed, thanks to the workers and his security team.

“You wanna go out the back way?” one of the security guards asks.

“No, I want to see my fans. Get this off my mind.”

“Yes, sir,” the security guard responds. The guards push the crowd back as the store employees unlock and open the door.

“See you tonight, hun” she calls, looking up at him from the mirror.

[song2story]

MASTERLIST

Shawn Mendes

in this room (series)

were were you in the morning?

mutual

queen

Khalid

saturday nights

Hamilton

what about my shot? (spoken word)

[song2story]

where were you in the morning?

in this room, part one

word count: 917

this is my first song to story narrative! send requests of songs that I can turn into a story for y’all ilysm

-----

His dreams mimic what he could remember from last night: warmth, togetherness, comfort, lust. Images of her replayed in his sleep, from the way she swayed cautiously in the bar to her coaxing him to take her home, her soft lips against his neck. She promised plans for the morning to have breakfast and small talk. It was easy for him to agree. Though he made sure to snap the blinds closed before his escapade a few hours earlier, some slivers of sunlight managed to slip through its cracks. The heat of the sunlight soaks into his eyelids. He slowly stirs in bed, stretching his arms, hands resting on the top of the hotel’s cold, wooden headrest. He brings them down lazily to his chest and rolls over to his side.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he mumbles, reaching one hand out to touch her hair. He reaches further and further across the pillow, only feeling the touch of the pillowcase covering it. He rubs his eyes, hoping his vision is just cloudy from his sound sleep, and looks to where she was sleeping last night. His heart sank when he realized she had left.

Her side of the bed was messy; the sheets left in a wad, makeup smeared on the pillowcase, a glass of water sitting untouched on her table with a tattered piece of paper wedged underneath it. He props himself up, reaching even further to snatch the paper.

The note was written on a torn piece of the room’s complementary stationary:

Shawn,

Thanks for the memories!  Good luck tonight!

-M

He flips the note, hoping to find a phone number or a social media handle, but there was nothing. He sighs and places the note back on the nightstand. He rolls onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. He reaches over for his phone on his nightstand. All his screen reads is “10:29 am, Sunday, January 27.” He drops his phone on top of himself and looks back up to the ceiling, his eyes darting back and forth.

“Room service for Mr. Mendes!” a man knocks at the door.

“Coming!” He grabs the robe sitting on the reading chair across the room and slips in on over his bare body. He forgot that he’d texted his assistant last night to order breakfast for him and the girl he had over last night. He shivers as he opens the door, the crisp air of the hallway meeting his skin.

“Good morning, sir!” the bellhop says, pushing the large, silver cart in. “Where do you want me to put this?”

He points over to the sitting area, “Somewhere over there. Wherever there’s room.” The bellhop locks the cart in place by the slim coffee table. “Sorry, I just woke up man. Still out of it.”

“No worries, Mr. Mendes! It’s my pleasure.” The bellhop begins to walk out of the room.

“Wait!” The bellhop pauses mid-step and faces him. He grabs his wallet, takes out a twenty and hands it to the bellhop. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

“This is very generous. Thank you, Mr. Mendes! Have a good day and good luck tonight at your performance!” the bellhop said as he disappeared behind the closed door.

It’s just me now. He walks over to the cart and removes the lids from the platters. Blueberry waffles, scrambled eggs, fresh cut fruit, orange juice and water line the top of the cart, the smells filling the air. He grabs an empty plate and begins serving himself.

Flashbacks of the night before cloud his head. How she smiled at him across the dancefloor. How she held her coat over her head while it rained from the distance between the club and the car.  How she invited his hand to sit on her thigh in the car ride to the hotel. How she ran her fingers down his back once the door was closed. How she…

He sat at the coffee table, staring at his food. He looked up to the other reading chair parallel from him. She could be here right now. I know she had a good time. I’m so foolish. He dropped the syrup-covered fork in his hand onto his plate, resting his head all the way back on the top of his chair. Why did she leave? Why doesn’t she want to be here? Why didn’t she leave her number? How did she just walk away?  He wraps up his unfinished breakfast and places it back on the cart.

He makes his way over to the large window, opening the blinds. Looking out, he can see the crowd of fans huddling together across the street. Did they see her? Do they know?  He walks back to the cart, turns off the wheel lock and pushes it towards the door. He slips his room key from the front table into the pocket of his robe as he continues to roll the cart out the door and down the hallway. He knocks on a door a few rooms down. It opens quickly.

“Good morning, Shawn! I see you got your wake up call,” his tour manager snickers.

He isn’t amused, “here’s my leftovers if you’re hungry. Don’t want all this food to go to waste.”

“Oh,” the tour manager drags it out and laughs again, “leave any for the misses?”

“She wasn’t hungry.”

“Okay… get ready soon, kid, we’re leaving in 30.”

“Of course. See you soon.” The tour manager closes his door. Where did she go?