by A. P. Moraez
Ash was currently seating on Tom’s chair, having always been too awkward to dance up-beat songs. He contented himself to watching Logan and Travis shaking it in the middle of the room for everyone to see. Logan was holding the boy by both hands and would lift him and fly him in a circle once in a while, and oh how the boy laughed when he did that. Even Martha decided to ditch Tom once the old man got too tired and convinced Agnes to dance with her. And that image, the two woman that, in some way or another, were both the closest thing to a mom he’d always had, here, together, under the same room, happy and merry celebrating his engagement... it got to him. Got to him so much he had to turn his gaze away.
Billy was gazing out the window, seeming lost in thought. Ash got up and approached him, taking care not to bump on Diana and Henry, who were still dancing close to the boy.
“Hey,” Ash said, bringing a hand to Billy’s shoulder and giving him a little squeeze.
Billy jumped a little, but gave him a smile. “Hey.”
“How have you been?”
Billy shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Considering.”
Ash felt for the boy. Whatever it was that had been happening to them... it wasn’t easy to adjust. Sure, Ash’s markings had been quiet since that night, but they still acted out one time or another. There was a good side, like a few days ago when Ash had cut himself with a knife while he was cutting a sandwich into triangles for dinner. The healing powers the markings gave him had come in handy them. But there was also the bad side, like a few days prior to that, when his whole arms had heated up and frozen over during sex. Logan had never jumped off of that bed so quickly.
“Have you had any incidents? The new glasses still holding up?”
Billy nodded, eyes still out the window. “I feel like I have a solid grasp on it now. I don’t think I’ll be frying things out of the blue anymore. I just...” He finally turned around so they could look each other in the eye. “I just wanted to know what it is, you know? Where it came from. Why me.”
Ash snorted. “You and me both.”
The corners of Billy’s lips lifted and he sighed. “I suppose it’s not something dangerous or... or evil. We’d know by now, right?”
“I suppose so. We should be careful, though. We don’t understand it. Better not to let anyone know about it until we do. Anyone else, I mean,” Ash finished with a smirk.
They’d decided to reveal the truth about both Ash’s markings and Billy’s... whatever it is Billy had, to everybody, meaning the O’Farrells and Peter, Lauren, and Grace. Ash was tired of lies. He didn’t want to keep anything from them anymore. It’d scared the hell out of everybody, initially, especially what Billy could do. Ash’d never forget their faces when the boy took his glasses off and showed them his eyes shining in white. When he grabbed one of Martha’s iron spoons from the kitchen cabinet, their family all grouped around the table, and melted it in a matter of milliseconds in front of their eyes.
Billy snorted out a laugh. “Tom is loving it.”
“Is he?”
Billy nodded, then checked their sides, probably to check if Agnes was nearby. She was the only one there that didn’t know everything already. Ash was thinking he should probably keep that status for now. He didn’t wanna scare her away for another thirteen years. “I’ve been using it to cook every day,” Billy explained with a shrug. “It’s a way to contribute a little. To cut down on the coasts and stuff.”
Ash found himself throwing his head back in laugher and patting Billy on the back.
Before he could reply, though, the music died and everybody around them groaned their complaints.
“Can you pick another playlist there real quick?” Billy requested, jutting his chin out to indicate his phone that was lying over the TV rack. “I think I want some more pudding.”
“Sure.”
Ash smiled to the flushed faces around him as he got to the rack and picked the phone with his right hand.
It was a YouTube playlist. He was about to click on the next playlist when something to the side caught his eye. He’d seen that cartoon bee holding that medieval-looking shield before. But no... surely...
Before he could control himself, Ash clicked on the photo to Billy’s logged in account and had his suspicions confirmed. Because there, right under the infamous picture that had tormented him through so many sleepless hours a few months back, was the name: Beeguard.
Both his arms awoke as he crunched the phone in his hand.
“What’s up?” Billy’s voice sounded from across the room. “Couldn’t find it or something?”
Ash lifted his eyes off the phone and something on his face probably made the boy stop mid-movement, spoonful of pudding half-way to his mouth.
“What?” Billy asked. His eyes darted to his phone in Ash’s hand, and Ash made sure to turn the screen so he could see.
“What happened? What happened, he says.”
“Ash, calm down,” Billy said, resting his plate on a chair nearby and lifting both his hands in the air. “I can explain.”
“So you’re him, uh? You’re the guy who did this to my life.”
“You should thank me!” Billy exclaimed, alarmed. “Look at the positives. You got famous. You got the man. You got the whole dream!” His voice squealed in the end, and Ash’d have found it hilarious weren’t him so pissed and astonished and shocked.
“And I also almost got killed.”
Billy’s eyes widened behind the shades and a little light started waving out the borders. “But the positives,” he tried, putting on the largest, most forced of smiles.
“Would somebody please explain?” Logan said, coming to Ash’s side.
Ash showed him the screen.
“Beeguard. The guy who filmed me without my consent and posted it on the internet.” He turned back to Billy. “Guess who it is.”
Logan’s jaw dropped. “But why the fake name? And Beeguard, at it.”
“It was just a joke,” Billy rushed to explain, voice small, as he took another step back toward the stairs. “See, my name starts with a B, and my last name is Ward. Ward, warden, guard. Get it?” he finished with a little laugh.
“Billy?” Ash snarled, resting the phone carefully down onto the tv rack.
“Yeah?” Billy squealed, already one step down the stairs.
“Run.”
Ash only managed to catch the boy outside, on the sidewalk. They rolled on the remaining snow — with him trying to throttle the pest and Billy himself half laughing, half begging for mercy — for a full five minutes before the others finally took pity and got Ash off of him.
The whole scene made some of the best pictures of the whole evening.
Epilogue
five months later…
“No, dude, seriously,” Peter said, both hands suddenly planted on Ash’s shoulders, “repeat after me: I’m powerful.”
Ash sighed. “I’m powerful.”
“I’m strong.”
“I’m… I’m strong.”
“I’m hot.”
“Peter!”
Peter lifted and eyebrow at him. “I’m h-o-t.”
Ash peeked over his shoulder. Logan and Cass were doing a terrible job of holding back their laughter, faces red and lips pressed into lines.
Ash rolled his eyes and acquiesced, “I’m hot.”
“And I can do this.”
In that exact moment, the joined voices of the more than twenty thousand people just waiting outside for the show that was about to start reached his ears, and Ash’s stomach twisted and turned, dropping to his toes.
“I can’t do this.”
“Nope,” Peter corrected, lifting his index finger and putting it just under Ash’s nose to catch his attention. “I said, I can do this.”
Ash squeezed his eyes shut and got out through gritted teeth, “I can do this.”
“Fuck yeah, dude! You can do this!”
“I can do this!”
“Hells yeah!” Peter boomed as he shook Ash
by his shoulders and then brought him into a firm, quick hug.
And then Cass was right there, white hair disappearing over the white t-shirt. They all were wearing one of those white t-shirts that Wicked Wish had designed for his first US tour. Now, on the night of the kick off show, they were all wearing it. And they’d asked for Ash to sign all of them before leaving the backstage area to get to their places at the VIP booths Wicked Wish had set up around Madison Square Garden’s immense stage.
That was the only comfort he got to help him see this through: all his family and friends had come — even Diana and Duke and Henry. Lauren, Grace and Agnes too — and they’d be right there with him the whole time. They had no idea how much he needed them. How progressively scared he got every time the ground beneath his feet seemed to trembled before the roars and chants from the massive crowd outside.
Cass leaned up on her toes, taking care not to press her pronounced belly too much against his side, and smooched him on the cheek. “You’re gonna knock it out of the park, Ash. Everyone knows it.”
“What if I don’t? What if I screw up?”
“You won’t,” Logan reassured at the same time he pressed his whole body behind Ash and pressed his lips to his left cheek. “You were born for this.”
Ash snorted. “Right. That until I see all those people and pass out in the middle of the arena and the next day wake up to see the disaster on every news outlet possible.”
Ash was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the scalding New York City summer weather.
They all laughed around him and he just wanted to punch them. Maybe not Cass. But just because she was pregnant. Just cause of that.
“Five minutes to go!” Carol, with her cap and clipboard and standard Wicked Wish uniform announced from the door.
“Goddammit,” Ash cursed under his breath, nerves consuming him. What was he thinking when he agreed to this? What was he thinking signing that contract and thinking he had what it took to tackle this famous singer thing?
“Alright,” Cass chirped, “we’re going.” She leaned up and pressed another kiss to Ash’s cheek, then squeezed his arm. “You go out there and show them, uh?”
He tried to smile. “Sure. Yep. Will show them.”
Peter punched him in the arm and gave him a wink and then they left, hand in hand.
Logan immediately circled him and grabbed both of Ash’s hands. “Seriously,” he began, “there’s no reason to be nervous.”
Ash couldn’t even bring himself to reply, he was so nervous, so he just squeezed Logan’s hands and looked at where they were touching, trying to find a measure of comfort.
“Here,” Logan whisper. “I brought I surprise.”
Ash lifted his gaze to see Logan fishing something out of his back pocket. It was two packets of candy.
“Remember this?” Logan asked, shaking the two little packets between them.
And then Ash finally recognized what the little pieces of candy inside were, and his stomach fluttered. Because they were jelly beans; lemon and strawberry ones, like... like those ones they’d had that day...
“That day back in our glade behind your house, you remember?” Logan asked, reverent, as he opened both little packets and dropped the lemon ones inside his left palm. “Remember we had this? That first time you played for me?”
Ash nodded, trying for all that was sacred to just keep the tears inside. It wouldn’t do for him to ruin the makeup those nice ladies from Wicked Wish had spent hours fussing over. But seriously, why couldn’t Logan just stop being the sweetest man to ever be born? Just why?
“How did you remember that? It was what? Twenty years ago?”
Logan gave a shrug. “I told you once: I remember everything about you.”
Logan took Ash’s right hand gently with his and dropped the fifteen or so red jelly beans in it. He’d already wolfed down half of his, and that pulled a smile out of Ash’s lips. For a few moments they just enjoyed being in each other’s arms and munching on the addictive pieces of candy.
“One minute left!” came the familiar call from the door.
Something must’ve crossed Ash’s face, for Logan pressed them closer together and kissed Ash deeply, until he could barely breathe.
“You go out there and smash it okay?” Logan said, voice low, against his lips. “And if you get scared, you just look to the side and we’ll be there. I’ll be there. Always. I’ll always be right there for you.”
Ash nodded, even as the roaring outside literally made the walls shake once the first notes to the introductory, instrumental piece the guys in the band had come up with for Daisies in the Wind reached his ears.
Logan made to turn around to run upstairs, but he ended up swirling around and grabbing Ash’s face with both hands and bringing their lips back together. They kissed, and that’s all Ash wanted to do forever: to lose himself in Logan and never have to go out there and face so many people. Life wasn’t always about what one wanted, though.
“I love you,” Logan half-whispered against his lips. “Remember that if you get too spooked out there, alright? Remember my love for you, and how it’ll never change.”
Ash nodded, almost losing the battle against the tears threatening to erupt. “Love you too,” was all he managed to say before Logan pressed their lips together one last time and vanished through the doors.
Ash filled his lungs with a deep, final breath before he marched forward.
Every step he took on the narrow, long corridor, matched the familiar rhythm of the drums, and when the spotlights zeroed in on him just a second after he set both feet on the stage and practically ran to his microphone, the immensity of the vibration that hit him — a combination of all those voices and the instruments — threatened to sweep him off his feet.
But they didn’t, and Ash sang. He sang about hurt and pain, friendship and love, and how he didn’t believe in love. And through all of it, as his fingers danced against his old friend, he found himself a fool, because nothing could be further from the truth. Not after everything he’d had to endure — to face — just to be here in front of this sea of people that, in the dark, resembled a mini galaxy, of sparkling eyes and blinding cellphone cameras. Because now he believed in love, and in family, and in friendship. Hell, after everything that’d just went down a few months ago, he now believed even in magic, if that was what was now etched along both his arms; if it was that that’d changed Billy’s hair color and given him control over the light.
When the final note reverberated around the ridiculous-sized arena, Ash took the microphone in hand and screamed, “How we doing tonight, New York!”
They roared and clapped and screamed, and Ash had never smiled so big.
It didn’t last, though, because his old friend, anxiety, was making a legit mess out of him. He’d practiced the words for months now, because they were the truth. Because they were right. It didn’t make it any easier being vulnerable, though. He’d never been too good at the vulnerable thing.
Ash adjusted the microphone and spoke, “You know, just a few months back I was a nobody. Just a cook who happened to play the guitar.” The crowd cheered and laughed. “But now I’m here. Thank you for that.” He winked at them, and the result was deafening. Ash waited a few moments for them to calm down, before he continued, “But this moment, this day, it’s not about money. It’s not about fame. Music has always been my escape, the way I cope. And it’s awesome now that I get to share it with so many incredible people, but it’s still special to me. It will always be one of the few ways I can express myself.”
They went wild, screams so loud it scared him. But he remembered Logan’s words, and his heart warmed, and he found courage.
“My songs are all a part of myself, but the one that gave the name to my first album is more than a part of myself. It is myself.” Ash let out a deep exhale, and when the crowd saw the first tear fall, they became absolutely mad with it. Ash just swiped it off and forced himself to finish with his little
speech. “It’s from beginning to end all about my journey, from a difficult childhood, to losing my best friend, to losing myself,” his words choked on that last word, and he had to take a second to breathe. But then he cleared his throat and continued, “It goes all the way to very recent times where I... where I found love again. Where I learned that there is power in truth, and in friendship, and in family.”
Ash let his gaze flow to the side of the stage, where all his family was watching, protected from the crowd’s view. Tom, Martha, Agnes, the best parents he could’ve ever asked for. Cass, Peter, Jeff, Soph and his little Trav, who he absolutely couldn’t live without. Lauren, Grace, Diana, Duke, and Henry, who he’d gone through hell with and, since then, had become friends with, even if Diana still played a little bit of the part of the icy-bitch sometimes. And then Billy, who he felt fate had somehow tied him to, even though both of them were still trying to find out the exact reason and culprit. When his eyes finally fell on Logan, with his white, signed t-shirt and his megawatt smile and eyes so vivid and sparkly it got his knees weak, Ash flashed a smile to all of them and instinctively brought his ring-finger to his mouth and kissed it.
Ash turned back to the crowd who’d gone eerily quiet and let his eyes roam around, letting himself process all of it. The immensity of this moment, where all his decisions and all the people he’d met had led him, even though not all of it had been good. “This song, as all songs, is a story. But this is more than that. It means a lot to me, because it’s about me.” He closed his eyes and let himself feel and let his fingers dance through the first notes, then he opened his eyes to the roaring crowd that had immediately recognized the song which’d been dominating all charts through the last four months since his first album was released, and he said, “This is my story. This is Sapphire Scars.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.P. Moraez is a Brazilian writer with fervent interest in Myer Briggs, cockatiels and cinnamon apple tea and as inexplainable attachment to Scotland (even though he never stepped foot outside of his native country). When the high-school counsellor told him he should be a writer, he fought tooth and nail against the mere idea of it. Close to a decade later, he lost. People started staring at him talking to himself out on the streets, so he finally decided to stop arguing with the legions inside his head and proceeded to put it all down on paper.
