“We’ve been waiting so long…”
You close your eyes as you cringe inwardly. Maybe, you think, if you don’t see anything, it’ll sound a bit better. Taking a well counted breath, like you’ve learnt to do for years now, you open your mouth, but keep your eyes closed.
“Just can’t hold it back no mo-ore.”
Turning your head away from the mic, you let out the frustrated sigh that you couldn’t keep in. Accidently, you catch your cousin’s sight as you reopen your eyes.
Kevin shoots you a weary look, but smiles supportively nevertheless, ever the diplomat. Great. Just what you needed. Just two more lines, you tell yourself, two more lines in which you hope you can pass over the burden to AJ, without feeling too humiliated about your performance.
“Cree-eeping up and down now…”
You feel the break in your voice before it actually happens. Maybe that’s because it’s always the same part, the same line, the same frikkin’ word. You can now pinpoint the exact moment where sound will be eliminated completely and you can only do as much as whisper.
Whispering does not go well with singing.
You remember Nick telling you that a few months ago, like you did not know that already. He’d clenched his jaw but kept his mouth closed when you told him that no one has ever actually whispered a song and got away with it, so you don’t dare do it on purpose.
He’s impatient, so very much. That’s probably because he still has faith in what you once stood for. He still believes in the solid, but smooth melodies you could once carry without much of an effort. You hate his guts for that. And for the fact that he was the one that chose ‘We’ve Got It Going On’ in the final setlist.
“It’s time for me to let it sho-oww.”
You try to not see the few frowns that appear on the faces of the women in the pit. Although most of them are too excited to actually listen to what is sung –and you thank the heavens for that- a few do come for the music, and don’t particularly like what they hear. You don’t blame them, instead you smile your ever present smile, goofily jumping around to wipe the concerned expressions from their faces.
There. That’s better.
Waving and smiling, you listen intently to AJ’s voice as he seamlessly follows your part of the song with his own. You can hear that his voice has changed a lot from the original too. It’s deeper and more nasal, which is to be expected from a man that is almost twenty years older than he was when they first recorded the thing.
It’s natural, and nobody gives AJ shit about something natural. Except maybe his ever-thinning hairline.
When you can’t even talk full sentences anymore, that’s not natural. And people give you shit. A lot of it.
And you took it, some of it. And you ignore the rest.
Your wife tells you not to think about it too much, which actually makes you think about it too much.
What’s a singer got to do when he can do nothing more than whisper, at certain times?
What’s a singer got to do when he embarrasses himself, over and over again?
What’s a singer got to do when he not only brings himself down, but drags an entire group of other singers down with him?
What’s a singer got to do when he doesn’t know how to do anything else?
Before you realize it, AJ finishes his part, which is your cue to start the chorus’ lead. One more thing to hate about the song. Normally, chorus’s gave you a bit of a breather, a chance to actually sing, without screwing up. Not noticeably anyway. You would mostly but the weight on the shoulders of the other four, while following the melody a bit softer than they did.
They were highly okay with it, as they seemed to enjoy the group’s harmony over any of the individual voices too. They sometimes lovingly called it the group’s sixth voice. An ensemble, pure and perfect and something only they could share. Not complete, and not nearly the same when not all five voices joined in. It is something you’ve heard a thousand times before, but it still leaves you in awe.
But not in this song. This song is the perfect example how something so fragile can be fucked up by one single person. Not for the first time you realize that it sounds nothing like the original, and it makes your heart just a little bit heavier. You feel the blinding spotlight shining down on you as you try your best to keep a somewhat coordinated sound coming from your throat, without too many slips into the higher register. You wish they would just shut the spotlight down, and keep you shrouded in total darkness. But you keep going through the motions, you keep doing what you’ve always done, because what else is there?
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know, you smile at the thought. The Disney film seems highly relevant at times like these. Howie sees your smile and grins back, giving you an almost unnoticeable thumbs up, inevitably causing your smile to falter. You know he means well, but the signal seems so undeserved that it makes you want to just give up.
And then, without much of a warning , you feel an arm being slung around your neck, already knowing Nickolas is on the other side of it. He does that a lot. To everybody. Especially to you. Maybe because he finds your height inviting enough to lean on, or maybe he feels that physical connection will get you to focus more. You let him, following his lead as he swings happily from side to side. You can’t really figure out how the distorted version of your first single is not bothering him. Maybe, probably, he too, has become a master at hiding. At pretending. At trying not to be immensely bothered by the fact that you put every single aspect of your efforts into your performance, but it still comes out as the abomination that is now your voice.
It’s torture. And the torture becomes complete when you feel the firing pain shoot through your throat at the end of the song as a sign of overuse. Sometimes, you hatefully think of the given fact that even Kermit the Frog would do a better job on a Backstreet Stage. The final notes of the song come as a relief, but the fake smile feels even more plastic than it normally does.
The still present arm of Nick Carter bends and draws you closer to his head.
“Next is ‘In a World Like This’,” he informs you.
You smile a real smile for a change. You know you like the new songs way better than the old ones. They have been adapted, formed to show your strengths, instead of blatantly blaring your weaknesses out loud. And you know Nick knows that too.
Author's Chapter Notes:
*this will probably become highly irrelevant once the documentary comes out...
Chapter End Notes:
does not reflect my own opinions neccesarily. These are fictional character's thoughts
