And that's how I found myself back in Calista's room, exactly 7 hours after the initial confrontation, where she ended up nearly shoving a mic into my mouth until I made her realize that the time was inappropriate to actually launch my potential career as a professional singer slash songwriter.
The second time, though, was far less awkward.
My hands were steadfast as they knocked on Calista's bedroom door, and Calista was far more welcoming of my intrusion than she had been yesterday. There were no menacing threats of kicking me out. No looking at me in suspicion or resentment or outright hostility.
Instead, she welcomed me with a cool expression, arms crossed. "You still wanna do it?" She said, pointing a thumb at the mic she left on from last night.
I nodded resolutely. It'd be my first time singing in this life, and I was curious to know whether there was any hidden potential or if I should just be happy that at least, I got this pretty face and these glorious set of balls for the next fifty years or so.
Calista gave me a look that seemed to convey doubt but decided to roll with it. "Fine. Let's see it." She walked over to the mixer and headphones, switching them on. Then she turned and handed me a pair of headphones. "Put these on." She settled into her chair, pulled the keyboard toward her, and cracked her knuckles once. The monitors flickered to life. "Pick a song."
"Right." I held the headphones. "A song."
"You've heard music before, presumably."
"Funny." I rolled my eyes. "I have an idea, yeah."
Calista typed away at her keyboard. A few clicks and the DAW was open on the main screen. I recognized it from the tutorials I'd binge-watched on Youtube in the wee hours of the morning when I couldn't sleep. Not that I knew exactly how to use it, but I could recognize it.
I slipped the headphones on.
"So, what are you going to sing?" She looked at me, while reaching for a cigarette pack from her desk drawer. With the kind of dexterity you'd expect from a chain-smoker, she opened the pack's lid, flicked a stick out and put it between her lips, all without breaking eye contact.
"What do you suggest?"
She shrugged with one shoulder, already pulling up a catalogue on the left monitor. "Start with something in your range. Something you already know." She scrolled. "Lior has a few that sit in the mid-register. Emmett's newer stuff is easier vocally, he tends not to push too hard. There's also—"
I was already frowning.
She caught it. "What."
"Nothing, keep going."
"Damien."
"I just..." I looked at the monitor. The male catalogue. Reminded me of the Considerate Catalogue. All of these damn trashy catalogues that didn't have anything masculine in it. "I don't want to start with any of those."
Calista turned in her chair slowly. "Why not."
Confusion. It was all over that pretty face. As if to say 'well, if you're not going to sing any of those, what are you going to sing?'
"Because they're fucking terrible." I said it, point-blank.
I was being a bit harsh. Maybe. But I was making a point here. Calista's expression went from confused to annoyed.
"You said you wanted to get into the industry."
"Yeah, but—"
"But nothing. This is what's popular. This is what people listen to. If you want to get signed, this is the kind of music you need to make. You're not going to break into the industry by being special."
She was probably right. Even in my own world, the mainstream stuff was exactly what you'd expect it to be, formulaic to the point of being interchangeable. A new face, maybe a different hairdo, but the same shit underneath.
"I don't want to be special, I just want to be real."
Calista blinked, her eyes narrowing further in suspicion. "Real..."
"Look. I've listened to some of the most popular songs from male singers." I gestured to the screen. "And while they're technically good, they're missing something. A... spine, I guess. A pair of balls. I just want to write something that doesn't sound like it was written in a therapy session, you know?"
She actually burst out laughing at that, so much so that the cig had nearly fallen from her lips, and she had to catch it in mid-air.
To see the colder than ice Calista break into laughter was like seeing the Mona Lisa suddenly wink. Probably hot, if you were into the Mona Lista, but still a little unsettling.
That was pure villainous laughter right there, sis. Damn
It took a good minute or so before she calmed down, and I was still bewitched by such lively facial expressions, as if a block of ice suddenly learned to carve a smile on itself. "That's... one way to put it." She said in between breaths. "But that's just the way it is, Damien."
"I guess..." I sighed.
"Alright." She took a drag, leaning back in the chair, her legs stretched out. "Alright. What do you want to sing then."
I pulled up yesterday's listening history on my phone. Handed it to her.
She looked at the screen.
Then looked at me.
"You want to sing this?" She said, her voice incredulous.
"Well, I mean, I like it. Here, the second one... called... If I Could?"
"That's a woman's song."
"I'm aware."
"It's written from a woman's perspective. The entire second verse is—"
"I read the lyrics last night."
Listened to it on loop; I quite liked it actually, enough that I ended up memorizing some of the lyrics.
"The bridge alone is going to—"
"Calista." I looked at her steadily. "Are you going to set it up or not?"
A silence.
"I swear, if you fuck this up..."
She pulled the track up. Stripped it back to the instrumental. Adjusted a few levels.
"Lyrics on the right monitor." She said. "Don't look at them too much. If you have to read every word you're performing a reading, not a song."
"Noted."
"Headphones on. When you're ready, just go. I'll stop you if something's wrong with the levels."
"What if something's wrong with me?"
"I'll stop you then too." She said it flatly, with zero indication of whether that was a joke.
I put the headphones on. The instrumental began in my ears—guitar, a steady beat, a hint of piano. The original singer's voice would've come in after a four-count, but the track was empty now.
I took a breath.
Closed my eyes.
Shit, my heart was beating so fast.
I took another deep breath.
'Okay. Here we go.'
On the one.
I opened my mouth, and a clear voice emerged.
If I could turn back time to the day when I first met you...
Calista's expression was unreadable, and I didn't turn to look at her anyway.
I was doing the song in a lower register than the original, which made sense considering the difference in our natural vocal ranges. The original singer had a clear, bright soprano that soared through the chorus; I was aiming for something more grounded, more... male, for the lack of a better word.
...I'd tell myself to take it slow, to not fall so fast...
My voice held steady, even though my heart was beating like a drum. There was a certain thrill to this, a rush I hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
I reached the pre-chorus.
But I didn't know... that you'd be the one... to make me feel like I'm home...
And then the chorus.
I let go a little.
If I could, if I could, I'd hold you close and never let go…
Grab my things, follow you home.
Promised you, a future, where we won't be alone.
If I could, if I could, I'd rewrite every song that's ever been done...
But I can't, so I'll just love you, as if you're the only one.
I opened my eyes.
Calista was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite place. It wasn't disbelief, or amusement, or even annoyance. It was something more... intense.
I kept going.
The second verse. The bridge. The second chorus.
The more I sang, the more I gained confidence. The more I got lost in it. The more I enjoyed it.
By the time I hit the final lines, I wasn't even reading the lyrics anymore. They were there, in my head, and my voice was doing what it wanted to do. High up, down low, even threw a playful vibrato in there.
The last note held longer than I'd planned, until I was about to run out of breath, and not once did my voice waver or strain under the continuous stress. It felt like I could've lasted longer, too.
My eyes fluttered open.
Then it was over.
The track faded.
I took the headphones off.
The noise canceling was surprisingly good, so I hadn't heard anything from outside, and the silence now felt a little jarring.
"Well..." I said, setting the headphones down. "How was it?"
It couldn't have been that bad, could it? It was hard to judge your own voice, but it didn't sound like I had embarrassed myself. In fact, I'd felt pretty good.
I looked at Calista, expecting some kind of feedback.
She was just staring at me.
"Calista?"
"... huh?"
My sister blinked, as if coming out of a trance. She looked... dazed, almost. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Was it that bad?"
"What? No." She shook her head. "It was..."
She trailed off. Reached for her cigarettes. Lit one with shaky hands.
"It was fine."
Fine?
That was a little anticlimactic. I'd expected more from her, honestly. Maybe she was just being conservative. Maybe I needed to hear it back to judge for myself.
"Can I listen to it?" I asked.
She nodded, tapping a few keys. The playback started.
My voice filled the room, through the high-quality speakers. I listened, trying to be objective.
It was... good. No, better than good. The tonal quality was clear, the pitch was mostly steady, the emotion was there. There were maybe one or two tiny moments that weren't perfectly even, but for a first try I had to pat myself on the back. It sounded pleasant to hear; it wasn't the kind of voice that grated on the ear the moment it came out of someone.
And now I knew I could actually sing in this body.
I looked at Calista, expecting to see some confirmation of my assessment.
She was staring at the screen, but not at the waveforms or the levels. Her eyes were unfocused, her cigarette forgotten between her fingers, the ash growing longer and longer.
"Calista." I snapped my fingers in front of her face.
She jumped.
"What?!" She nearly dropped the cigarette, quickly tapping the ash into the tray. "Fuck, what."
"You were... somewhere else."
"I was listening." She muttered defensively, avoiding my eyes.
"To what, the ceiling?"
"No, I—"
She stopped, took a deep breath, and finally looked at me directly, wrinkling her nose in what you’d expect would be distaste. I certainly was wrinkling mine due to the smoke.
"You can sing."
She said it like it was an accusation.
"... Yeah, well, I'm surprised too."
"No, I mean..." She gestured at the screen, at the playback that was now looping back to the beginning. "You can sing."
"I know, you don't have to sound so surprised." I rolled my eyes.
"It's just..." She rubbed her forehead, looking genuinely perplexed. "Where did this come from?"
Why did she have to sound so scandalized?
I leaned in a little closer to see what she was looking at the monitor, then a sharp intake of breath and the rattling of her chair's wheels brought me back to attention.
I blinked.
Calista had nearly jumped out of her seat, staring at me as if I'd suddenly grown a second head.
"What the—personal space, Damien!"
She was breathing fast, nose curling in disgust or something, or maybe anger. Her frosty cheeks were thawing under the burgeoning rosy color of Iris’ hair.
I raised my hands in a surrendering gesture. "Sorry, sorry. I was just looking at the screen."
"The screen—" She huffed, turning her head away. "Next time, just point."
"Okay." I said. "Next time I'll point. No need to get upset."
"I'm not upset." She retorted too quickly, then shook her head as she slammed the cigarette in the ashtray, extinguishing it with a bit more force than necessary. "Anyway, your song..."
"Yeah?"
"Give me some time to think about it."
"Think about what?"
I frowned.
She gave me a look that was equal parts exasperation and annoyance. "I need to decide what I'm going to do with you."
"With me?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a stray cat you found on the street, Calista. I'm your brother."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Get out of my room for now."
A/N: To be rev