Page 93 of Condemned By Pain
I keep playing the unknown tract of sorrow for an unfathomable length of time. When I finish, an eerie silence settles over the audience.
I open my eyes slowly. The mask is wet with tears. My fingers are numb from playing nonstop.
I turn toward the audience. Silence.So I finally fucked up. On stage.
But the thought doesn’t get to settle, because in the next moment, everyone rises, clapping so loudly it makes my ears ring. And they keep clapping.
When they finally stop, I rise slowly from the bench and bow my gratitude. Then I walk to backstage.
“Holy shit, Ella. What was that?” Eda pulls me toward my suite.
“That wasn’t in the album you were supposed to play. It’s not in any album.”
She closes the door behind us.
“When the hell did you create this? And why don’t I have a copy?”
She’s practically vibrating as she drops onto the couch.
“I created it just now. Onstage.”
I sink onto the couch across from her.
Her mouth falls open.
“You’re lying,” she says in slow motion
I chuckle, pulling off my mask.
Eda is the only person in the music industry allowed to see my face.
I grab a box of cotton wipes and clean my face.
She’s still staring at me in shock.
“Babe. You just made history.” She’s still in disbelief.
“You got a standing ovation for fourteen minutes. Fourteen fucking minutes. That’s a huge fucking deal.” Her eyes are wide.
I smile.
She groans. “Don’t give me that reaction. You should be dancing all night.”
She holds her head. “I can’t believe you created it just now. A forty-minute track. On the spot.”
She leans back, reclaiming her elegance. “When it started, I got nervous. It was new, but it was still you. Then, after ten minutes, it was like you got possessed. The shifts were so aggressive. Everyone backstage just stopped—whatever they were doing, they stopped. Tell me how this happened. The media won’t let me breathe for the next five weeks.”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm.
“Don’t laugh. Give me the explanation. Thousands of people need to hear this.”
“It was inspired by a tragic love story. A couple who love each other but can’t be together. The first ten minutes were about the girl—lying to herself that they’ll find a way. The other thirty are about him. The man, drowning in heartache, because the woman he loves can never truly be his.”
She watches me with assessing eyes, then leans forward. “This girl—it’s you, isn’t it?”
She nods. “Yes. It’s you. That pain was too real to be imaginary.”
I look down at my hands. Say nothing. She gets up from the couch, comes to me, and hugs me.
