Chapter 2

oliver

"bullshit! what the hell was that?" i watch the man scream for the third time as the guy with purple hair gulps audibly. he adjusts his glasses and from here i can see his lip quivering as he exits the booth, patting my shoulder awkwardly as he takes a seat next to hazel.

i can feel my hands shaking as i take a deep breath trying to calm myself down. the people who just performed were actually really good and i would never consider myself somewhere even close to their talent. none of them played the piano so i was slightly hesitant, as i clutched my bag pack tightly, waiting for my name to be called.

"oliver finely," the deep voice booms and i quickly fix my fringe, insecurely walking towards the booth. i keep my head down as i slowly step inside, sighing out loud before dropping my bag and folder on the floor. i look up, through the glass and i can finally see the face of the man who has been yelling constantly.

he has dark hair, fawning over his forehead in a perfect fringe and his skin is pale, too pale. his lips are abnormally pink and i can clearly see the frustration behind his icy blue eyes, as he shoots me a glare and mutters something under his breath.

"what the hell are you waiting for?" his voice is slightly annoyed and i snap out of my trance, making my way towards the keyboard set in the corner, almost tripping over a wire in the process. i can feel judgemental glares burning into my skin, as i gulp, sliding the headphones over my ears and taking a seat on the almost worn out leather bench.

i take another breath, closing my eyes for a brief moment and before i know my fingers glide over the black and white porcelain keys, and my mouth begins moving. i can feel my heart loudly pulsating in my chest as i continue, my throat feeling like it could explode any moment and my vocal chords feel threatened from the pressure.

i need to get this right.

everything i have been wishing for flashes behind my eyelids as my voice gets louder, the pitch scaling towards the end of my song. my mouth is dry as i try hitting the notes, legs shaking as my hands press down on the slippery keys. my body is constantly telling me that i've fucked up as i reach the very end of the tune, ending it with a loud note and an impressive playback.

i keep my head down, staring mindlessly at the instrument, biting my lip harshly and i refuse to look at the rude critic. i could actually cry if he insults me right now, which is what i am expecting as i take off my headphones, running my fingers through my slightly sweaty hair and i try to steady my breathing, ignoring the deafening pounding in my chest.

"we will need to work on him but i guess he is the best out of the horrible collection,"